Checking In; Decisions

I thought I ought to check in here again. It's Sunday morning, the one morning a week I'm usually sitting around being lazy and letting the day slowly unfold around me. And writing - journal entries or blog posts or email.

This past week both dragged by in gelatinous slow motion, and disappeared so quickly I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that it's Sunday again already. Tomorrow I have to go back to work (I took the whole week off, and my boss was very cool about that - not that he had any choice, but he was - that stupid 3 days off for a death in the family is ludicrous), and begin adjusting to the sharp left turn life has taken. Coming straight home from work, not going to my dad's to fix dinner every night. Having the entire rest of the afternoon and evening to myself, with no obligations or anything particular to do. It's going to be strange.

There are so many things now that I think about, that I could do, that I haven't had time for in so long ... get back to work on the recordings and CDs I wanted to make. Get the house cleaned up. Have time for my quilt again. Begin the yard work that so desperately needs done.

I don't care. I'd really rather be still going to dad's to make dinner. Despite that I complained about how hard it was and how tired I was, I'd still rather be doing that.

But that's not an option, so I suppose I have to work with what I have. I think I need to stop thinking so much, about all the stuff that needs done and decisions that need made, and maybe for a few weeks at least just rest. I really need to rest. Sitting on my back porch in the evening doing nothing ... just looking at the yard. Going to bed early, and getting lots of sleep. Trying to start eating better again, which is going to be a real challenge ... food is a real problem for me now, since just the thought of grocery shopping or cooking now makes me want to just go back to bed and pull the covers over my head. But I've got to start taking better care of myself now.

One of the things I have to stop thinking about for awhile, because I can't yet seem to wrap my head around it, is the issue with the house. So of course, I'll write about it instead. That'll help me stop thinking. (sarcasm alert)

My dad always intended that I should have his house, primarily because it's a nicer house than mine in a nicer neighborhood. It's not a big fancy house, although it is a bit larger than mine, but it's the type of house that I never would have been able to afford myself, so he wanted to leave it to me as a way for me to have a better place to live. The plan was that I'd get the house, and at some point pay my brother half the value to equalize things, probably by getting a loan on the house just for half the equity.

In preparation for that, two years ago he deeded the house to me, and he planned to pay the mortgage off this summer with money he'd been saving, so that I could have the house free and clear, and then when things were settled, when I'd sold my house or done whatever I wanted with it, I could get a loan to pay my brother his half the equity. But the mortgage didn't get paid off, and now I have a house deeded to me, but also a mortgage payment that I can't afford along with my own current mortgage. He left a savings account as well, which my name has been on for convenience, so I now have full access to the money. But I can't just use all that money to pay off the mortgage, for two reasons. First, because there are going to be bills coming in that must be paid out of that money. And second, I'm not sure my brother is entirely in agreement yet that that's how the money should be used. And though my name's on it, I still consider it equally ours - it was what my dad left for both of us to split equally. So I don't feel comfortable just making unilateral decisions about it.

Aside from the quandary of what to do about the two houses and the two mortgages, there's a more emotional aspect. If I decide not to move into the house and instead sell it, I would have to deal with disposing of all of both my dad's and my mom's stuff (because he just left all her things in the house when she passed away, and didn't really deal with any of it) right now, in the next few weeks, when I'm really not ready to deal with it. If I moved in there, I could take my time dealing with all that stuff over time, as I felt up to it. Not to mention selling the house itself ... I know this isn't 'true' but just emptying out and selling off his house so quickly feels like ... I don't know, just feels weird, as if I'm just eradicating his presence from the world.

I'm just not ready to deal with any of it. But unfortunately I don't have the leisure to wait till I'm ready. A decision has to be made about the house by the end of May, because my brother agreed we could continue to use the 'joint money' for the bills at the house till then, but by then, if I'm planning to take over the house, I should begin paying the bills there myself. And that's fair. But doesn't leave me unlimited time to dwell on (or ignore) this decision.

I keep going back to one thing ... my dad never, ever wanted this to be so hard. That's the whole reason he was doing the things he was doing, to make things as easy as possible. So I think at some point I have to stop over-thinking the whole thing and figure out what would be easiest, and what would dad have wanted me to do.

Memorial

Basil L. Hall

9.5.25 ~ 4.20.07

My dad passed away Friday night. My life will never be the same.

It was both expected, and unexpected. Expected, because he had many serious health problems and had been declining for over a year. Expected, because after this last admission to the hospital, our family doctor had advised that his heart had weakened to the point where it had deteriorated his health so much that he didn't see any way he could go back to living at home alone, and had recommended dad go into a skilled nursing facility for several months of rehab, then probably into assisted living. The idea was tossed around that maybe, just maybe, after this rehab and some rest, he might be able to return home, but only with in-home health care and the like. There was no chance he'd enjoy as independent of living as he'd managed to maintain up until this last hospital stay.

But it was unexpected as well. I knew his condition was deteriorating, but I still thought we had a few weeks at least. In fact, I'd just been considering meeting with his doctor to see about having him come home to stay, with nursing care of course, instead of going into the nursing home, since it seemed time was dwindling, and I didn't want him to spend his last days there. But still ... I thought we had a couple weeks. Friday night, I never expected.

My dad has always been a fighter and a rallier. He would end up in the hospital, so weak he could barely stand up by himself, with scads of medical treatments being layered on him ... and he'd rally and end up back home, living by himself, mostly taking care of himself. This happened just weeks ago, when he got out of the hospital a few days before Easter. Our doctor ordered home health care and physical therapy, but after only about a week of that (and they only come every other day) they discharged him, saying he was doing great and didn't need them anymore.

He had continued to run his own errands, pay his own bills, do his own bankbook and banking, and handle all his own affairs right up until this last hospital stay. The only thing I'd been doing for him was the main grocery shopping, and cooking him dinner every night, so he'd get nutritious meals. He didn't know how to cook because my mom had always taken care of all that for him, until she passed away in 2004.

But on top of everything else, he had a respiratory infection this time, and all of it together was just finally too much.

My dad was a phenomenal person. He loved music, and played guitar, sang and wrote songs all his life. To say he wrote hundreds of songs would be no exaggeration - there are notebooks full of them. We have recordings of a lot of the songs, but no where near all of them. It's very sad that some of them I'll never know what tune he had in mind for them, and no one will ever hear them sung the way he wrote them.

It was from him I inherited my musical side. He bought me my first guitar when I was 11. Although he never officially 'taught' me to play the way I play today, he did teach me the basics, and I was able to go on from there. That was my life growing up ... every weekend we'd have people over, and they'd sit around and play music - in the winter, in the basement, and in the summertime, around a bonfire in the side yard. When I was old enough and could play, I joined in. In his 60s and 70s he began to hang out at the local SCOPE center, and met up with a group of other men his age who were also all musicians. They formed a band called the "Over The Hill Gang" and played music on a regular basis.

He didn't only write songs, he also wrote poetry, and won several awards in poetry contests in recent years. The one thing I couldn't get him to write, though I tried, was some of his life history - a memoir. He had told me so many interesting stories over the years, from growing up in West Virginia in the 20s and 30s, to serving in the Army in WWII, to hitchiking all over the east coast when he came back from the War, to many things that happened after he came to Warren in the 1950s, married my mother, and settled into his family life.

He was so intelligent, too, and always questioning. He loved to read books on physics and science, and also different religions or types of spirituality. Although he'd gone to church a lot when he was younger, he hadn't associated with any one religious branch for many years, because he'd made up his own mind what was what in the greater scheme of things, and none of the 'organized' religions quite fit his ideas. So he did his own thing.

Everyone who met him, even only once, was impressed by him. Some called him a 'gentleman,' some called him a 'sweetheart' - especially the nurses at the hospital. He always joked around with and teased them when he was there. He loved telling jokes, he loved to entertain others.

He was a philosopher and a bard, disguised as the quiet guy who just liked to maintain his lawn, plant petunias and snapdragons every spring, and take care of his family ... the world has lost a great man it barely knew, but I know what I've lost, and life will never be the same.

Existential Angst

I haven't been around much. I've been having a bout of existential angst. At various times over the last few weeks it seems like my life has been falling apart bit by bit, and the parts that were hanging around were just becoming untenable. It's been a struggle just to make it from day to day, let alone quilt, let alone blog.

I'm taking a little philosophical break to write here a bit. Disclaimer: It's late. I'm tired. I've got rum. I've been reading Tolkien. I'm fed up with my life.

Read on at your own risk.

My life isn't really mine. Or, it's what I made, but not what I meant to make. It's some pre-fabricated construct that sort of fits into the housing allotment. Like if you were going to have a house "custom-built" in some development. You might get the option of whether to have pillars on your front porch, or what type of garage door to get, or what color roof. But otherwise, your house is going to basically look exactly like every other house on your street.

That's what life in the 21st century in America does to most of us. You get the illusion of choosing a few personal touches, but for the most part you're stuck in the trap like everyone else.

I have to expend so much energy just surviving day to day, that there's no time left to be anyone. We're McPeople, all trying to basically get by without rocking the boat so hard we fall out and drown. Admit it, how many times have you wanted to do something, but didn't, because what would people think? "People" in this case being your loved ones, your enemies, the boss, the 'tribe' with which you hang ... whomever. Our survival depends on fitting in and conforming.

I think as a society and a species we're digressing. I remember reading once that as a species evolves, there are stages. First is survival mode, and there can be no creative impulse or individuality until that initial ability to survive is taken care of. Once that is established, then the creatures that make up said society can begin to evolve individually - discovering and honing personal creative skills, and their individual contribution to the society. Therein does a society grow strong and great and beautiful.

I think we've digressed, in that we've forced the majority of people (in America - I can't really speak for other countries, although I know it's true elsewhere) back to the position of barely being able to survive. Creative expression and individuation are right out the window when you're scraping just to eat and provide a roof over your head.

I work in a job that sucks the soul out of me every day, because it's what I seem to have to do to survive. (I work in a law office that 'specializes' in divorce; so my job is helping people destroy their lives, as efficiently as possible). This area truly is economically depressed, and although I've spent countless hours searching the ads in the local papers, and various sites online, I have yet to find anything in this area that would pay my bills, and not continue to suck the life out of me. That's not entirely an "oh, the whole world's against me" rant. I could move somewhere else. I could go to college and create a new career that would stop sucking the life out of me. Those are options, but they are options for down the road, not right now. As long as my dad's here, I am taking care of him, and am more or less stuck in this rut for the time being.

Now, that doesn't mean I'm railing against every aspect of my life. It's true that taking care of my father is physically and emotionally draining. Yet at the same time, I am very glad that I'm here to do it. He's 81 and in very poor health. He may only have a year or two to live. I am grateful that we have this time together, and that I can help him, and know that I'm actually helping him, not just doing something for the sake of doing it. He has said, and he's right, without my constant assistance now, he'd be in assisted living. But with just what I do, it's enough to allow him to continue to live in his home, relatively independently. And that means the world to him. And that makes it all worthwhile.

I digress. I'll be doing a lot of that. What I'm saying is, some of what I'm doing, though hard, is by choice. Some of what I'm doing I'd really rather not be doing, but for now, circumstances are such that it is what it is, and it's where I need to be now. I'm not bitching about everything just for the sake of bitching. Some of where I am is by choice. What I'm trying to do now, though, is figure out why the parts that aren't working aren't, and what I can feasibly do to fix them.

I'm looking at the bigger picture. To explain it better, let me excerpt what I wrote in my journal tonight.

Greg just left today [on the first of a series of trips that will have him gone most of the next 25 days], and I intended to take the next month to figure some things out. It's early yet, and I haven't really had time to do anything much, but I think I've figured out one thing already.

I have got to learn to become who I am.

Too long I've suppressed my true self, out of fear of rejection, or just to keep the peace and get along. I've spent too much time doing what others wanted me to do, that I no longer had the time or the energy to do what I wanted to do. And over time, I think I forgot whatever that might have been.

Somehow, I have to find a way to go back, far back, to before the world mauled me into some broken version of what I should have been.

I have to find and gather the sparks of what is left, and forge them into a new me - the only person on earth who can give me the life I want and was meant to have ... the one that will bring me true joy. The only person who can make me happy. The presence of another person - boyfriend, friends, whomever - or a job, or anything else, can't make or break that. I have to find "me" first, and then decide what to do with my surroundings. Changing the outer isn't going to fix the inner. I need to find and reclaim the inner first ... then I'll either discover the outer conforms, and all is well - or it will be far more easily left behind because it will no longer serve any purpose.

I know there has to be more to life than this. I've struggled for years to figure it out, but somehow I've been going about it all wrong. I'd look to careers - one of the reasons I never went to college is because I could not figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. And I couldn't see the point of spending years in college, and going seriously in debt, just to say I did it, but having no real goal in mind.

Actually, at this point, I'd change my mind on half of that - I think a good, well-rounded liberal college education would be fascinatingly fun, even without a specific goal. But I still have the debt fear, so I still haven't done it. I still rely on self-education to learn new things.

But I never have been able to choose "a career," to say "this is what I want to do." I've reached the point - whether through lack of options, or learned wisdom - where I no longer think that's the big issue. What I do to 'earn a living' isn't nearly as important as what I do to live a life.

It might be nice if the two matched up, and I admire those for whom it does - being able to earn your living and pay your bills doing something you are passionate about every day. And I'm not saying I may not some day find that. But I think going about the search with the amount of money I'll earn in mind from the beginning has stifled me from seeing more creative possibilities. I think going about the search with 'career' as the main goal has been the proverbial putting a bandaid on a severed limb. Wrong answer.

Besides, again ... it's not about the money (other than I have to have shelter and food. And rum). It's about making a life. That's far more important to me right now than how much I earn or where I live.

I need to go far, far back to find out who I was before my misguided attempts to forge a life within the confines of how everyone else does it took away the joy of living my life. I need to find those parts, and bring them back.

I wonder where one looks for lost bits of the self? Behind the couch? Under the bed? I never was good at hide and seek.

To follow the continuing saga of Rayne Tries To Find Herself, tune in ... well, whenever I get around to writing again. And for goodness sake, if you're having (or have had) the same existential angst, please feel free to comment, or write me an email (mythrilrayne at yahoo dot com). I cannot be the only person on earth going through this. I've just noticed an odd, unspoken solidarity with the people I know that we just don't talk about this stuff. It's like discussing bodily discharge or our favorite way to have sex. It's just not spoken of in polite company.

Stop being polite. Start being an individual. Then let me know how it's done.