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Saturday, September 27, 2008

The light of reason hurts my eyes...

The surgery was a success. It bought my Dad ten more years and a diet he loathed. Already a fairly disagreeable old prick, the diet did not help in making him a cuddly, shorter, Wilford Brimley. More like a seriously pissy Mickey Rooney.

"See..." he said, propped in his hospital bed, showing me the scar that ran like a big blue zipper in the middle of his chest, and a thinner, maroon scar that ran the length of his leg, from groin to ankle, where the 'good veins' had been removed for use in his well buttressed chest. "This is what you've got to look forward to." I think it actually thrilled him in some perverse way.

"Yeah Dad, thanks for the genetics, sport, can't hardly wait to be opened up like a human fucking canoe."

"Watch your language, there's a god damned lady present," he growled, motioning to his 'doppelganger' bride. Shit...she looked just liked him, except her ass was bigger.

He had never in his life curtailed his language for anybody, except possibly his mother, but she was liable to call him a 'shit ass' as well as anything else, so I'm not sure where the big moral push came from.

And then began the family litany of heart disease. My Uncle-bypasses-many heart attacks, but God love him, still going strong as I write this 23 years later, and of course our dear Uncle Charley, the Episcopal Priest whose heart exploded either in his living room, or the fairway at the golf course, depending on who is telling the story.

He even mentioned his Father, which I thought patently unfair, as his heart only stopped after he plowed a 30.06 round through his skull after being found with a hooker on his lap by my grandmother. He was tired of her nagging.

I think he made his point. But that was not technically a heart attack-so I don't think it counts.

I had done my dutiful son routine and it was time I went back to the coast...I made it seem like I was terribly busy at work, and now that he was out of the woods...well, you know.

I should have stayed, sought help and burrowed in with my family, but I had something to prove.

And I knew my Dad was not going to die, at least not yet...because whatever it was, I hadn't proved it to him.

And you know what?

I never did.

As soon as the Southwest flight leveled off after takeoff and I headed into the sunset, I ordered two beers and a tequila.

I had earned it.

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...