Soaking

Dear Kathe:

I love you.

I love you so much that over the last 27 years, it has soaked into every fiber and fluid in my body.

When I realized that being too emotionally dependent upon you was not good for either of us (my therapist once told me it seemed as though we had become potbound, our roots painfully intertwined), I thought that learning to stand on my own would mean that I would not love you quite so intensely and passionately. It was quite a surprise to find that actually I was able to love you far more.

Friction and frustration and defensiveness built up over years of difficult times have made both of us shy of saying what we are both thinking. This note is a small step towards reminding us both of a simple fact of life:

John loves Kathe.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Yes."\\

Now It's Dad's Turn...

...to be hospitalized*, with a new multi-species bladder infection and aspiration pneumonia.

He's at Riverbend, the same Springfield hospital where his mother-in-law stayed.

All of which means it is my turn in the barrel tonight.

Not that other people don't have it harder. Mom, for instance. Still, this gets old after awhile.

Not that other people aren't older.

Sometimes I feel nostalgic about working night shifts, and having been one of Night's Own Children is a cherished part of my identity, and to be sure if I am offered a night job I would take it so fast I'd be there the night before, but I don't think I want to actively court a night job.**

//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Stand watch through the night. Somebody's got to do it."\\

*Funny, I thought I had written at least something about Grandma's heart attack last week. Maybe later I will go back and make a post about it.

** Which means either that I am getting old, or that I no longer need to abuse myself in order to feel worthy of love and respect. Or both, I guess.