1802 Bits

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Bertrand Russell: "The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt."

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Jay's father died yesterday. I was having a late lunch with Daughter when Jay's eldest sister called to tell me. I feel guilty, because I was planning to go to Rochester to see him today. I was sure that he'd have at least a few more days.

That sureness came from my own arrogance. All my life people close to me who were on the way out have waited for me before they went. I feel a call, I go, I hold their hand, we talk, I tell them it's ok, and then they leave easily, while I'm holding them. It's happened so often I began to feel like that was my role, to ease the passage. Jay's father had told me many times that he found me the easiest to talk to, and in the past few years he often cried when we talked, cried about all the abilities he was losing and all that had been taken from him. He couldn't cry before anyone else.

I am comforted by the thought that Jay was with him. Of the living, his two youngest daughters and one of the caretakers were there (not the most calm group of people). The eldest daughter told me that they're still not sure that he'd had strokes, because scans showed nothing, but he had severe weakness on his left side, so that's what they assumed. I pointed out to her that that's the same side Jay had lost. Yeah, I think Jay was there, has been for a while, perhaps even pulling him.

I met up with Daughter and Hercules yesterday at a geocaching flash mob in a NJ park, after which they took me to find a nearby cache they thought would amuse me. It was right out in the open, at the base of a tree in the woods near the dog park. The owner of the cache had made a brown cement cast of her dog's poop, hollowed out underneath to hold the log book. I took one look, yelled "Raccoon poop!" and ran the other direction.

Daughter and Hercules laughed, but didn't explain it to the other cachers. I guess we don't want to start a panic, eh?

For Mothers' Day, Daughter gave me an essay, in her own handwriting, on what she loves about where she lives, and Hercules gave me a container of his own recipe peanut butter cookies. This was exactly what I wanted.

I had spent Friday evening with the man, sent him off on Saturday morning to visit his mother - a 10-12 hour drive.

I still don't understand the attraction. When I'm not with him, I wonder what I'm doing, and why. Why am I wasting time on something that I don't see as ever being anything more than what it is now. There's so much against this ... whatever it is, and I'm fully aware of that, and I'm too old to waste time. And yet, since the first time he touched me, I've had no interest in any other man, real or ideal. When I'm with him, I don't care about all the negatives, all the differences. I adore his mind, the way he sees so clearly. I find the timbre of his voice exciting, deep and slightly rough. He's technically not handsome, but when I see him I see handsome, I see beauty, I love his face, his body, the way he moves. I love sitting across a table from him.

I wish I could see the future.
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