Life After Facebook

Seizures

August 17, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

Last night for some reason I got to thinking about Dad and about the seizures he used to have. I don’t remember the first time I found out my dad had seizures, but I have a few memories of being with or going to get him after a seizure. These experiences “traumatized” me, for lack of a better word.

There are at least 3 times I remember actual seizures. I don’t know how they fit chronologically.

The one incident that stands out most in my head occurred while we were living in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. We had gone on a father son camping trip. Darin may or may not have been there, I don’t really remember him being there. The camping trip was with the Indian Guides. I remember drinking “bug juice” for the first time and how crazy that seemed to me. I remember shooting a gun/rifle that had single loaded rounds and we got to keep some the shell casings. I remember picking them up and whistling in them. I remember making/wearing an Indian-type headband. I remember searching a creek for salamanders and frogs.

And then there was the horseback riding.

Perhaps growing to the point of legendary in my mind, but in my memory this was the thing I was looking forward to most. There was a corral that the horses were in, and it was just a hand lead walk with just the boys on the horses. We were standing beside the corral with the wooden posts, waiting our turn. The next part of the memory has my dad lying on the ground convulsing. I feel like I might’ve been sent back to the cafeteria or something, but ran back and forth between concerned for my dad. I remember someone talking about putting a stick in his mouth so he didn’t choke on his tongue. I remember being terrified. It’s really strange. In the memory there are few other people. Just me and my dad and this “anti-person” who’s tending to him on the ground. There’s also a kid on a horse, but not me.

I don’t remember how the story resolves… I don’t remember leaving the camp, I don’t remember how dad was tended to or any thing else.

I have some recollection of being at a doctors office or hospital, but I can’t tell whether it was the same incident or not.

There are some other times I remember….but not in nearly as much detail. There was the time at the fleamarket in Knoxville. Another time when we had to go get him from work in Columbia.

Strange things we remember about folks. Miss you dad!

Fall To Grace

April 20, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

A month or so ago I got an email from The Ooze asking me if I wanted to join the ViralBlogger and receive free stuff in exchange for a review,I jumped at the opportunity.

While I’m not much of a blogger any more, although this will the second post in two days, I’m also not much of a reviewer. It’s been years and years since the last time I wrote a book report and never since I’ve written a book review. So this will probably be less review-y and more friendly recommendation.

There were a list of books to choose from, my first choice was Brian McClaren’s Naked Spirituality, but they were all out. My next choice was Fall to Grace. I promptly forgot about all of this until 2 weeks ago when the book arrived.. Unfortunately, I had just started reading The Name of the Wind. I attempted to read the two consecutively but ultimately the fantasy drew me in….and I had to finish it first. So 700 pages later, I’m getting back to Fall to Grace.

While I knew a bit about the Bakkers and PTL, I knew very little about Jay. He starts the book by bringing us up to speed with where he is now. Establishing a bit of credibility to his story. While I’m sure that anyone could’ve written this book, Jay seems to be just the guy to bring the message.

I almost feel that timing of my reading this book couldn’t have been better, almost planned by a higher being. In a time when I am questioning the final destination of someone plagued by addiction, it was a helpful reminder that its is grace through our faith that saves us, not by our works.

In struggling with how to share my God story as a result of “The Open Journey”, one of the things I shared at our small group this week is about my apprehension that my friends, the recipients of my story, would look at my life and see all of the crap, and see me not as a Christian but a heathen. I found encouragement in Jay’s words as he reminds us about being selfless and serving others, not out of guilt or desire to earn our way into the kingdom, but out of a desire to show God’s grace. Grace to everyone, regardless of their circumstances.

I have a new found excitement regarding my life with Christ. I’m eager to re-read the book and make some attempts at poring over the scriptures a bit, in attempt to make the message real in my life. I intend to encourage all of my friends to read it.

At this point I feel like I’ve rushed this review… I might get back to it, I might not. We’ll see.

Me and Wally

April 20, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

I didn’t know Wally really well. But from the stories I heard at his funeral reassure me that even folks who didn’t know him that well were usually permanently affected by his personality. I don’t even remember the first time I met him. I’m sure it was at mom and dad’s house, probably on a visit while we still lived in Baltimore. It was during the month that I was living in Ohio while the rest of the family was still in Baltimore, that I remember him most. Another friend of the family had some deal where she was able to arrange for us to work at Kings Island for a shift during Halloween Haunt (probably fear fest at the time), in exchange for two tickets. We were mostly working the entrance and scanning tickets and such as the performers did their thing behind us. It didn’t matter where I was in relation to Wally, but you could hear him just about the entire time. After our shift had ended I got to walk through the park with Wally and Jenna and some other friends and just see his enthusiasm for life. I know few people who I could say radiate life… Wally was one, in fact I can’t think of another right now.

During those 2 months that I was there, I started at a hotel, but ended on the floor in one of my parents spare rooms. It was the time that I was at my folks house that I felt like I got to know Wally. It was possibly only 2 weeks that we overlapped, but the damage was done. My life forever changed. Nothing in particular happened except that I got to experience Wally that those close to him had more than I did. At this time I’m not even sure how much Wally I knew wasn’t high. I know now that he was in a downward spiral, that he had been using, staying with addicts next door to my folks, and trying to hide it. Through lots of phone calls and tears Dad had arranged for him to go to Dunklin for inpatient treatment. My heart broke when we took Wally to the greyhound bus station that Sunday morning. My heart broke for the man that was missing….that was being squandered. My heart broke to think about how many more chances Wally would get. My heart broke for the pain of my family and friends as they poured out so much into him. My heart broke to recognize all of the sins in my life that keep me from having the fulfilled relationship with my heavenly father, and yet he still loves me, and we loved Wally the same way.

I told myself that I wanted to invest a little in Wally. That I wanted to be there for him the way my dad was. That I’d get the address and write to him, to encourage him. I didn’t. I hate myself for that. Not in a self-deprecating active way, just for not being obedient. Over the years on a few occasions I was around Dad when he’d received a phone call from Wally. My heart would skip a beat, hoping beyond hopes that he had gotten a handle on his addictions. That he was making some progress. I heard the ache in Dad’s voice when he told Wally that he’d have to ask Mom if Wally could stay with them again, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen.

I don’t do “what-if’s” often. They’re not productive. And even up until this minute, the “what-if’s” weren’t even, What if I’d have followed through with those feelings. The what-if’s of this week and last are: What if dad was still alive? Would dad have been there for him this time, as he was so many times before? Was dad’s death somehow an impetus for this current episode which ultimately led to Wally’s death?

My heart was uplifted as I saw Wally enter the chapel at dad’s funeral. All of us knew that he was incarcerated at the time…. but Wally being Wally, sweet talked his parole officer into letting him come. Dad loved him, and we loved him, and he’d do everything in his power to make it. Wally got to talk about Dad’s impact in his life during the funeral. I wish I remembered it. I’m grateful that he had the opportunity, because I’m sure that while Dad wished/prayed beyond all hope that he’d outlive Wally, I’m sure Dad didn’t really expect to. That’s the life of someone dealing with addicts and in recovery…. especially recovering yourself. The lives you invest in are always one step away from a relapse and to destruction, Dad told me so many stories, showed me so many pictures of folks who were living a life of recovery who were now dead due to an overdose.

My heart broke and still breaks for Wally’s passing. Though I only knew him for a short time, my life was changed. My mom, brother, sister, and neice all knew him for a much longer time that I did…. I can’t imagine the grief that they’re feeling. But like dad’s death, it’s not really the end. It’s the end for us, but not them…. and for that I’m jealous.

Wally is hanging out with my dad somehow. I imagine Wally giving dad a piggy back ride, telling jokes and it hurts so bad. It hurts so so bad.

Dad, I love and miss you. Wally, you now get to live in freedom with both my dads! I love and will miss you too!

Daddy Hugs

April 10, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

I had a dream about dad last night. It was very vivid. It’s the first dream about him that I’ve had that I wasn’t mourning him, or that he wasn’t “gone”.

As dreams are, I’m not quite certain how things started, we just sort of materialized. I was laying on my stomach, reading something. Dad got down on the floor with his head near my head,his feet away from me, interested in what I was reading and then told me we needed to talk.

He told me that we don’t talk like we used to. That he felt like he was apart from me. He told me he missed my hugs and wanted to hug like I was a kid again and he pulled himself up on his arms and sort of dived and grabbed me and hugged me with a big hug. He told me that I didn’t seem to be myself.

I had been up a few times before going back to lay down this morning before I recalled the dream. It was really strange moment when I realized how real dad seemed in my dream…and that there was nothing sad about him in my dream, it was just a daddy/son moment that seemed so normal.

Old Guys

February 21, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

I never imagined my dad as an old man. At least at 64 years old in my head he still wasn’t an “old man”. In seeing pictures of old men lately, I’m reminded that my dad died young. That I’ll never know my dad as being an “old man”. I can’t decide if this is upsetting or not. When I see photos or video of happy old men, fishing, swinging, playing with grand babies… it’s definitely sad. When I see images of old folks barely living, I’m grateful that dad died when he did. It’s just more of the stuff going on in my head.

Trying to remember.

February 9, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

I’ve spent an hour or so writing and remembering the day that dad passed. It might go up here at some time… it might not. In an email to a friend, I told him I don’t know why it’s so important that I remember. I know a lot of it has to do with wanting to remember the funeral and the last time I saw dad’s body, and in the effort to remember that, remembering the family and friends that were around, and the individual days is part of telling the story. Each day as I think about the things I want to remember, it seems that things are getting foggy. I don’t want the fog… I want the memories. Unfortunately remembering is really eating at my heart….it’s not difficult, just saddening.

gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

February 8, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

when we die i bet they’ll haul a box into a pile of dirt
nothing in it but a sack of bones and stuffy tie and shirt
as loved ones wish that we’d get up and moan “this isn’t fair!”
but you and me won’t be there…

death, it doesn’t scare me thinking that you’re somewhere on your way
i can’t go on pretending i might never see the day
it’s not hard for me to picture but makes me feel out of place
i hope i’m not afraid when i see you face to face

to some you’re like a prison when they’ve yet to taste freedom
and maybe you feel bitter because Jesus broke your kingdom
once you felt so powerful and power made you happy
but now you’re like a ferry boat
now you’re like a taxi

when i die whatever you might say, don’t say i’m gone
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

Filling Daddies Shoes

February 3, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

When mom asked me to come over and see if there were any shirts of Dads that I wanted, I was glad to be given the chance. I imagined that it’d be difficult to go through his stuff. It really wasn’t. I imagined that mom would break down and the two of us would sit sobbing on the side of the bed. We didn’t. In the end, I think it was fairly therapeutic for us. Over the last few weeks various people have been staying at the house with Mom. This has made things easier for me to process and hopefully easier for Mom. But I think she’s got a headstart on the distribution of things. It can’t be easy. There’s so much to think about. The clothes are so temporary. Dad was shorter than I. Most of his shirts were XL’s that may have gone to the middle of his thigh, while on me they barely make my hip. The collars and sleeves are so crisp from being freshly pressed. His job required him to wear nice shirts. Me I wear button down shirts untucked. Today, I’m wearing one of dads shirts…. and a pair of his black socks.

Hanging on…

February 2, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

I have a voicemail on my cell phone that dad left for me a few weeks ago. Google voice handles my voice mail, and for some reason, probably because I called him right back, I hadn’t listened to it. I have it though. Saved forever. Yesterday, I checked the comments on my blog to see if anyone had commented on the last post, no one did, however I had a comment from dad that was “held for moderation”. My dad was a really awesome man, he did his best to encourage me the best he knew how. I didn’t appreciate it while he was alive, but how I long for it now.

Emptiness

January 31, 2011 | Author: dean_mck

As I return to work part of me feels empty. It’s odd that I feel it now. Dad’s been gone for over a week. I think it was nearly impossible to feel the emptiness with so many people around.

I talked to a guy at work who is a also counselor at a hospice center. He had a computer problem, i didn’t seek him out. In any case, for some reason I feel the need to tell folks about my dad passing away. I told this guy, just to get it off my chest. In our discussion I realized that if dad knew that night that he would breath his last breath, that he would’ve called to say good bye and that he loves me/us.

This hurts more than it should. I think it plays on my heart strings…. a song so melancholy that words can’t describe it.