Driving Through a Plate Glass Window
Losing a parent is something like driving through a plate-glass window. You didn't know it was there until it shattered, and then for years to come you're picking up the pieces -- down to the last glassy splinter.
Saul Bellow.
June would normally be one of the happiest months—gardens, fireflies, weddings and nice weather. But this month begins with riots in the US and abroad over the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor (an EMT killed by police in her home) and Ahmud Arbery (a jogger) and countless other senseless deaths like the death of Sandra Bland. And, of course, there have been over 100,000 virus deaths in US, 1,812,00 confirmed cases to date and ppl still squabbling about wearing masks. Over 6.3 million people worldwide have tested positive for virus. 376,000 deaths world wide. 433 cases in our little county but fortunately 5 deaths, 22,000 cases in our state, about 350 deaths. Every death diminishes me as John Donne wrote.
I’m saddened by this.
As for riots, I like and respect police, but I’ve read enough accounts to know that there are bad ppl in all professions. And please don’t tell all ppl matter. White ppl have “mattered” unfairly in the west..Just look at the difference between white protestors with big guns in Michigan who were protesting stay at home orders (unharmed) and the protests for George Floyd’s death. We want answers to be quick and easy, but us’n humans are complicated. Plus white instigators being brought in. Ugh
I read about Sandra Bland last year, and I was devastated. She was on her way to a community college teaching job which she was very excited about, and a cop stopped her for a minor traffic violation. The scene escalated and Bland was hauled into prison. (You can hear this transcript on YouTube and other places.) Bland hanged herself 3 days later bc she would have a felony charge and wouldn’t be able to teach at the college. And she was stuck in jail in a conservative Texas area . #blacklivesmatter.
Racism is a cancer in our country.
As for me, I’m having some mixed emotions this week. Besides a bad uti this week before I could get antibiotics, I’m getting my 51st chemo today. Next week I have a week off but have to return to Nashville anyway for cat scan, eye exams and echocardiogram for this study,
But you’re wondering, why did I put that quote at the beginning? I’m getting to it. I read it once in the New Yorker and it stuck with me.
In this time of Coronavirus and cancer (for me) I’ve lost one parent (mom) and my dad probably won’t last much longer. My parents lived long (89& 92) but it’s still a shock. At the end my mom asked me hard questions like “what if I die and the lord is not ready for me?” I said, “oh Mom, if anyone would go to heaven it’s you!”
Because of my own chemo treatment, when my family texts to say, “he’s declining rapidly,” I am in a quandary. Do I stay home or go? I FaceTimed with my dad last week after his massive heart attack. Sisters Bev and Donna have been staying with him, so he’s getting great care at home. . It’s hard to watch a person die—especially one that is so intimately involved in your life. I was there when my mom (at home) breathed her last.
And of course, I’m a little afraid of being around a lot of people bc of the virus.
It’s all so uncertain. I’ve been put on death alert several times so I expect it to happen soon.
A friend asked me how I felt about my dad’s imminent demise. And I said “I just don’t know.” Sad of course. When my brother died in 2003 I cried an ocean and didn’t get over it really for 10 years. I don’t know why, although someone told me that if you multiply the amount of time you knew the person by 20%, you’ll figure out approximately how long you’ll grieve. That was right for me (he was 50).
My mom’s death in October of 2018 affected me too, and I constantly think of her, but not with the same grief for my brother. She was in terrible pain.
My dad has had serious dementia for at least 5 years now and hasn’t recognized me for at least 3-4 yrs, so I felt like I lost him a long time ago, . He’s laboring to breathe and his extremities are turning blue. And not to put too fine a point on this, but nearly 400,000 families have had to watch loved ones take their last breaths with the covid deaths.
I expect I’ll be picking up the shattered pieces from both deaths for years. Each grief taps into all the previous ones. Hence the riots too. People are grieving past murders.
And here’s poem I wrote in 2016 after Terence Crutcher was killed when his car broke down on freeway. Let’s cure this racism cancer with listening to concerns and love/support.
Privilege
Coffee and croissants ease us into morning
as acorns ping our hundred-year-old clay roof
like gunshots reminding me of the impending fall in the divided south where I was born.
It’s been the hottest summer on record,
I’m old enough to remember Watts ’65, Detroit ’67, Rodney King and Ferguson. The heat will go on.
Meanwhile the world implodes outside safe, suburban borders as brown bodies fall. Terence Crutcher in Tulsa this time.
NPR reported: "What he needed was a helping hand. What he got was a bullet In the lung.”
The heat will go on rising in waves off pavement like diatribe rising on airways while nothing changes.
Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Alton Sterling, Trayvon Martin, Terence Crutcher, Sandra Bland.
So many. “Hands up; don’t shoot.”
Ping, ping the acorns ring again. My roof holds.
