Irreplaceable

Another song for the ever growing, despair/hope soundtrack.  I know, this blog has been a real delight to read lately but I do have plans to kick it up from no Prozac prose to Arbor Mist musings someday.  Right now, the whole "Stages of Death" maze has me stuck and I can't seem to find the acceptance exit just yet.

Especially not after seeing my mother off to the airport.  She didn't want to live alone and left  to go back up north to live with the rest of my family (including the little grandbabies) without my father.  They were planning on going together, even looking at condos four months ago, but that was just wishful thinking. He knew his heart was getting weaker, that his legs were numb and that his joints would stiffen up in 60 degree weather yet he was willing to endure that - for her. Even his parting words to his first born son were, "Take care of the family."  He knew then, like he knew twelve years ago, that he might not make past his sixties and went for his dream to live close to the ocean, in the land of palm trees and perpetual sunshine.  They had their time in the sun though, (even if it didn't last as long as it should have) and she'll always have those memories.  Not everyone can say that.

 I tried to take care of her before she left,(as much as she would let me), but how could I or anyone else fill in the emptiness?  At most I think I was a companion in an otherwise lonely house. I could drink from his coffee mug, eat his sugar free ice cream, and talk with her in his chair on the back porch while the sun set but I'm not him.  His soul is a part of my soul but  it's just a pale reminder. At most, I might have given her some passing comfort.

On the upside, I hear that in about five years things get better. You begin to accumulate enough new experiences to mask the loss and you start to feel like yourself again. Five more years of getting weepy every time something reminds me of him.  That's too long.  I don't want to lose anymore time and there's only so many times I can pull off wearing sunglasses to hide my eyes before people start thinking I'm growing weed in my garage. I might just have to cultivate some bipolar disorder or drinking problem to help speed up the process. 

Clocks -ColdPlay- Lyrics - YouTube