Grasping

January 25, 2013

I am an optimist.  Sometimes to the point of naivete.

Before I began this post, I reviewed the titles of previous posts one of which was Don’t Make The Same Mistake Twice.  I don’t remember that mistake, but I find myself repeating the advice.

 

I’m trying to remain optimistic while being honest with myself – another axiom I preach.

My dad is really sick.  I’ve known if for some time during most of which he enjoyed thoroughly.  He was not in too much pain but I knew he was frail.  And then he got frail.  And frailer.  And I’ve been scared.

I hold out hope that he will get strong enough to receive more drugs with the hopes the tumors will shrink.  The lymph nodes go down.  The blood flows back through his legs so swollen they are not moved.

A part of me believed that, and I’m not sure if a part of me still does.  Would it be easier to say it’s gonna end as we always knew it would and begin the goodbye process.  Do we talk about executors and executrixes and make the five year deposit into the grandchildren’s college funds.

 

The doctor said to me, “we’re grasping at straws” before leaving.

I know my dad.  I know how strong he is.  I know he beat this before. And came out with a great quality of life.  And perhaps will just have bursts of that, but we’ll take it.  He is stable now. They did a successful procedure today and are now stopping the blood thinners.  I made him soup for tomorrow.  He’s going to get out of the ICU and into a room on another floor. My sister and cousin will come in this week.

 

And life goes on.

Whoever has the most fun wins.

 

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Kosher Flirting

January 2, 2013

I love my husband and do not want to do anything to jeopardize our relationship.

Any fantasy I have of me and another person, after more consideration is less appealing.  

So when I found myself sitting next to a young guy at a bar asking questions I smiled and ordered a drink.  He was young, a little nervous and when his friend showed up he lost his focus – the concentration gone.  

 

It was a rough night.  I was asking the bartender to blend fruit for my father upstairs because it was so uncomfortable to chew.  I had engaged an emotional survival tactic hit of grass earlier and remnants of my earlier high lingered.  Then when the bartender offered me a drink and a preppy kid who finished swimming laps encouraged me to order, I found myself drinking a vodka soda while the blenders were cleaned to smooth my dad’s fruit.  

 

I omitted references to my husband and three kids because why not, for one drink while my father fighting his cancer laid upstairs in his bed awaiting pureed watermelon, while my kids with whom I was able to spend time at their school holiday parties were being bathed and fed by the nanny could I not engage another person with trivial facts and pretend or hope or pretend to hope that a possibility exists for more fun outside the bar? To grasp hope for one moment and fantasize how the little shared details might affect the future together.  

 

The giddiness appeal to me, feeds the ego.  But the end goal of all excitement and unknown is to end in a relationship like the one I already have with the man I love and who loves me unconditionally.  A great father husband and soulmate.  

 

Since I’m not looking for more, I’ve granted myself permission to flirt.  To pretend there could me something more.  But i know that the fantasy of another person is infinitely more attractive than the reality and all of the consequences that accompany that transgression.