RIP – Gone Never Forgotten
Many moons ago… It seems so many Moons ago… You were beside us…
We could see you… Touch you… Hear You… Feel You…
Now you cloak us in sun rays and starlight… Penetrating clouds and tree limbs… 
Together… Still it seems… So many moons ago….
Think of me…When the clouds hang low…Threatening to place….Your Life on hold.
Think of me…When you feel the rain…Or hear the whistle…Of a lonesome train.
Think of me…When winter brings snow…Blanketing the earth…Keeping secrets close.
Think of me…When you hear the wind…My spirit’s soaring…I am with you still.
Think of me…When the sun is high…Nurturing your future…Helping you to fly.
Think of me…When you see a star…Twinkling and shining…Calling, from afar.
Think of me…I’m up above…Guiding your footsteps…Sharing in God’s love.
Think of me…
Momma says that life is no box of chocolates…with surprise fillings…some pleasing…some not so much….No, Momma says life is more like a Spool of Thread that starts unwinding, sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly, with your first breath, to you’re your last breath…least that’s how she sees it and she has seen a lot apparently…well, according to her…..
Now Momma’s not going to say the minute she clapped her eyes on RIP Daddy that she knew that he was her death-till-do-us-part-partner. As you know, she’s one of those analytical, logical, step-by-step Virgo ….not prone to head-over-heels reactions…still, RIP Daddy’s impression lingered long enough and deep enough for her to take a second look, go with the flow, give him a chance.
How they met was purely Lady Luck since Momma was out with her family at a very staid-older-crowd bar. It was more a Whiskey-Drinking-Musac-Listening rather than a Shake-Your-Booty-Crowd but somehow, RIP Daddy noticed Momma and came over.
Every one knows the actual first date is the deal maker or breaker…and it conveniently was 1973 so they went to see the movie, ‘Jesus Christ, Superstar’. Momma’s family said ‘Cool’….RIP Daddy’s family, being Evangelistic-No-Movies-No-Dancing-Christian-Reform-Born-Again-Bible-Thumpers said, ‘Oh, my’ …. which was a forerunner of things to expect, throughout their 38-year-old marriage……till death did he finally part.
Sometimes that Spool of Thread of life unwound in a mannerly fashion, providing Health, Wealth and Happiness….at other times, the thread unwound at a pace that traveled like a Shanghai Maglev Train, ready to jump the track……which it did on occasion…leaving mayhem in its’ path.
RIP Daddy and Momma closed their eyes, held on tightly, took the twists and turns like professional race car drivers that won the race of life at the birth of their only child, Wonder Boy. They know when the awards are handed out, the prizes collected, there will be no mention of their contribution, not even their ….ability to hang on… till they are once again united again.
If it is in your ♥, think of them, as your own Spool of Thread unwinds and Remember, Remember:
Many years have now passed by….And Momma misses you, she can’t lie…She’s got ties and so do you…She knows not else what to do…
So let’s just kiss.. And no goodbyes.(Paraphrase The Manhattans)
So I saw Momma, when she thought I wasn’t watching…windexing RIP Daddy’s humongous photo glass and frame…and she was grumbling at him…that he never comes around anymore…never whispers in her ear… like what’s with that….when did he get to step out of her dreams, whether she is awake or asleep? Who makes the rules, sets the timelines….tell us who?
Now Momma realizes when RIP Daddy first passed, he was worried that she would not be able to handle the mundane. What Momma knew about furnaces, contractors, cars or house hold repairs could have been written on the inside of a thimble…a very small thimble…how to get her up to speed with him in Heaven and her still firmly tethered to Earth was a conundrum.
Momma supposes that once you get to Heaven you have so much time to separate from those you left behind before you get appointed your full-time Help the World Become A Better Place Position. After all, there was more than Momma needed assistance….wasn’t she from the generation of ‘Bring Home the Bacon, Fry It Up in A Pan?’ No pain, no gain. Up and at it. No time for shrinking violets.
RIP Daddy did keep a close eye at first, bursting through with his knowledge and advice but then, over the years and tears, he noticed…..Momma had got the hang of it….somehow. It took a lot of Prayers (and Googling) but she made steady, if questionable progress and so the time arrived for RIP Daddy to Let Go and Let God.
After all, RIP Daddy had a mission that only he could complete, said his personal Guardian Angels….which would never occur unless RIP Daddy accepted his present location ….recognized his Heavenly Assignment as he waited for Momma to complete her Journey and join him, In the Sky Lord, In the Sky.
Another reason for RIP Daddy to cut the cord was Itty Bitty… she always wanted to be first…to beat her older brother and sisters… and no one can argue…she won that round fair and square ….even though she was born to be the Baby of the Family and filled that position beyond expectations.
For so long Momma had visited Itty Bitty everyday, hopping on the bed with her – talking – laughing…now that Itty Bitty had taken her flight to her Greater Reward, it was important that even though she was still confused by the abruptness of it all, she must drop by…often…in Momma’s dreams…in thoughts…all day, all night …because, like RIP Daddy, although their passing was inevitable, it still came like a thief in the night…without time to assimilate…contemplate….and tell me how many dead people can a sane person, (even Momma), entertain on the same day?
Now I, Jakita know…the cats, especially Charlie knows….RIP Daddy actually drops by often but poor Momma hasn’t been blessed with the same awareness… The Two Footed only believe what they see…Sucks to be them…the Four Footed can feel your presence as it permeates our existence….so we implore you RIP Daddy, come on down, make your presence known, give Momma what she wants. Get with the program. Multi-task. Make her believe:
♥♥♥Oh Baby, our goes on…goes on….♥♥♥♥ ♥♥Happy Valentines Day♥♥♥
Listen, listen to the trees! How they natter solemnly and sometimes giggle as they pass down the stories of the ages…if only you have ears. Long branches, stretching to the heavenly skies, with abundant lush green leaves whispering and swaying to music only they can hear, all supported by solid tree trunks, rooted into the intricate, deep earth, supplying, providing, sustaining life.
Oh… we got the goods on the Two Footed buried beneath us….like Russian Hackers, we know it all and one day we’ll share…the who, what, when and where.…but we are still not sure about the why!
And that ‘Whoever has the gold, makes the rules’ …forget-about-it…not in the cemetery! Here all men and women are equal...under the ground….
Right here a former Mayor and his family claim a prize plot, shaded by a big old tree with a stone erected so tall and wide, mere mortals stop to stare. But the marble has crumbled, along with their earthly dreams and even if you squint, you can no longer read their names or dates of their birth or demise….. just that he had been a Mayor at some point in time. Good news is the stone is so deteriorated that it probably wasn’t paid out of the Public Purse.
Over yonder you see a gravestone proudly announcing the bodies therein were born over the pond….like being born in Canada made you less, more or less….but we were good enough to put food in your belly, a roof over your head, educate your children…but hey, we’re not bitter….just a bit hurt.
Next plot houses what is rumored to be a Godfather figure whose Holy Roman Catholic religion did not want him defiling their sin-free resting place….not like the Mob were ever fussy about the graves they buried their dead in….this will do nicely, ever if you have to spend eternity with ‘mangia cakes’ other wise know as ‘cakers’.
Now that towering headstone is home to a family that goes back, and back and back….if you can believe them, their ancestors descended from King Henry V111 who had so many wives, anything is possible. In any case they are rich as Midas and want to be given the respect they believe they are due…. Our’s is not to question why…..ours’s is just to do or die.
Still simple folk have to be buried too….and there is row on row of them, with their sad stories, if you look closely enough…..predeceased by children, deaths occurring in short time spans…. every gravestone tells a story and we mourn them all.
But we never tell…well, except each other, the tears we see shed, the family fights at the graveside….even happy reunions sometimes…we just draw up our chair, make ourselves comfortable and listen…trying to somehow lessen the pain, diffuse the tension, help the mourners move past the moment, with the white noise rustling leaves whispering condolences…because:
They lived…They laughed…Saw sunsets glow…Loved and were loved…. (Paraphrase John McCrae)
But we are on it…We take the rich, the poor, the huddled masses, all yearning to be free…at last! Your moneys worth nothing when your last breath’s spent….
I dreamed of her again last night……Her blonde shiny hair….Fell upon her bright jumper….And she flung her arms around my neck….And said…’I love you Auntie’…
My father often says he wishes….He could bring her into his dreams….It would make it seem for a brief time…He had her back again…
Ah, but I am the Lucky One….I dreamed of her again last night……
Let me tell you ‘bout the birds and the bees and butterflies and trees…and the moon up above…and a thing called love….
The late 60’s was a powerful if sometimes a toxic place to live. As Bob Dylan could testify…the times they were a changing and even the most innocent were swept along with the cool hippies and burning radicals who would help shape today.
Born and bred in the inner city, The Boy was cool…way cool…tall, dark and handsome and a handful for his parents who were country born and bred and had no desire to become or understand city slickers.
So you know what happened…The Boy and the latest love of his life, both teenagers, ended up with a baby, who they both loved but had no clue how to parent. Lucky for The Boy, his parents let them live with them…until they finished school…got jobs….matured….but that was a pipe dream that never came to pass. Next thing you know there is another baby on the way and The Boy panics and bolts, leaving his parents to support (now the Ex) Love of his life.
Now the Ex Love of his life has decisions to make, along with the support of her own family. Baby #2 was put up for adoption at birth….but what to do with Baby #1, a gorgeous little girl, full of light and love. When the Ex Love of his life said she was also putting Baby #1 up for adoption The Boy’s parents were devastated…they went to court…but the Judge ruled the Grandparents could only adopt Baby #1 if the mother agreed…she didn’t…and then there were none.
The Boy literally left his life behind, moved from the West Coast to the East Coast, got counselling, years and years of counselling, met a terrific lady who he would marry on one condition…they would never have children because his parenting skills had absolutely wreaked havoc on two innocent, precious little lives already.
Today he may be labelled a dead beat dad. Over the years he kept his silence about that part of his life but the Real Love of His Life who shared 42 years of wedded bliss with him, said he wanted to find his children but feared rejection, so he went to his grave with a heart heavy with sorrow.
What we know is The Boy, who eventually turned into The Man, was the favourite uncle of every niece and nephew in his family. He made each one feel special, listened to their stories, chided them when necessary, supported them wholeheartedly.
Actually, a big bear of a man, a ready laugh, a little paranoid about the digital world…still, he always had an opinion to share…yup, he was a father figure to countless youth.
So if you were adopted and wonder…did my biological dad even care…Well, it’s so very plain to see….That it’s time you learned about the facts of life…..
Starting from A to Z. (Paraphrase ShaNaNa)
That being said….Believe me…The Boy…The Man cared…lived in regret…and ♥ed you….enough to walk away!
It’s not like Momma was ever some Angel, glistening on a Christmas tree. I’ve told you before….she can be trouble and it seemed when she was with her Cousin Buddy…Best-Friend-Til-He-Did-A-Houdini, she kicked it up a notch.
You remember, Cousin Buddy (on his Father’s side)… always had Momma’s back and a plan to destroy anyone or anything that irritated, challenged or did not meet the cast in stone standards written in indelible ink somewhere, somehow. You could say he maybe had a problem with authority but if you were ‘in’, you ruled but if you were ‘out’, May God Have Mercy On You and Your Loved Ones…
Take Miss Tattle-Tale Rena, Buddy’s cousin (on his Mother’s side). She had this annoying habit. She listened to conversations, and then took the parts that would cause trouble and reported it back to their mothers (who thanked her for the information but did not react to it). In desperation she would take it to others who did believe Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes. Now we all know adults can not handle the truth but somehow that bulletin passed Miss Tattle-Tale Rena.
Buddy had the fix – he always had sure-fire cures. He went over to Miss Tattle-Tale Rena’s porch, kidnapped her new yellow rain coat that she was so proud of, and took it back home. He went in, got a pair of scissor and cut it up in a thousand one inch squares. From that point forward, Miss Tattle-Tale Rena was definitely out of a club since it was more rewarding making, than being trouble in her Goody-Two-Shoe-World. Like, duh?
Note: To be fair, Rena actually helped Momma attain her first job but even that ended up putting a sour taste in Rena’s mouth because she had been slotted in the Mailroom and Momma was put in an Accounting Department (something about the scores on the aptitude test…LOL). However, it ended well for Rena, because she was a very good-looking. She was befriended (alright, alright picked up) by a (probably) married Air Pilot (yeah, you’ve heard stories about those pilots, too) who helped her get a job as a stewardess. Cousin Buddy made sure he was never on her flight! No use to tempt fate…..or Miss Tattle-Tale Rena.
At Family Dinners, our Auntie Who-Never-Saw-Good-In-Anyone, (except Miss Tattle-Tale Rena) assigned Kitchen Duty to the cousins. Buddy, Momma and Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, would be sent in to the kitchen to peel pots of potatoes, carrots, turnips and what ever else grew in the garden.
In silent protest, Buddy came up with a passive-aggressive solution. He suggested they wash the carrots with the toilet brush and tell their mothers so like us, they would avoid eating them. (Momma’s father did not eat veggies and Buddy never saw eye to eye with his own father, so would gladly exact revenge on him, any chance he got). Then they would sit like Angels at the table and pass along the bowl of carrots, with smirks and snickers.
But the work was not done. After supper, Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, Buddy and Momma were expected to wash and put away the dishes – funny how those days it was considered girl’s work but Buddy never get mad at helping. He got even.
Like a military drill, the three of them got in position. Momma, who was undoubtedly the clumsiest, would toss a dish to Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, who was at the half way point. Her job was to throw it to Buddy, who would put it in the appropriate China Cabinet, if it arrived in one piece. Crash, Bang, ‘Whoops, that one did not make it’, they commiserated in glee. Who knows for sure if the walls have ears, or if there was a spy looking in the window (where was Miss Tattle-Tale Rena, you ask). Soon after that, an adult or two (other than their not-to-be-trusted-entirely mothers who resented their kids being used as hired help, without the pay) were always assigned to the kitchen, to ensure that for the next dinner that there would still be enough plates to go around.
So such a planner, such a schemer, some would say… who would be shocked that Buddy has popped up, taken over, invaded Sister Itty Bitty’s dreams since she became so sick? Not Momma. Itty Bitty, was so much younger than him, that she never really had the pleasure to know him, but now, he is her Knight-In-Shining-Armor…still busy, busy…
After such a long, uninterrupted silence, Momma is so glad you are back, Buddy, Best-Friend-Til-You-Did-A-Houdini… Like really, when you told Momma all those years ago, she rolled her eyes and said…yeah, whatever…..but now…
We believe in angels….When we know the time is right for all…You’ll cross the stream…Be in our dream….You’ll cross the stream…..Be in our dream…..(Paraphrase ABBA)
There are so many theories about when something goes amiss and like lots of blame to go around. According to Momma, when you lived in the country side, it seemed liked the good folks enjoyed your failures more than your successes any day.
It almost appeared, wicked as it may sound, that they were just waiting for you to fall flat on your face because no need for surveillance systems with complicated cameras, the very walls, trees, skies and neighbours had eyes and ears on your every movement, your every word. So what may be perfectly innocent could be blown so out of proportion that a court of law would not have been able to ferret out the truth.
And so Momma puts all caution in place when she tells this tale because none of this was or could be proven in a court of law…..but it kept bored souls entertained as they all added their own details and swore on good authority.
You remember The Wanderer, Grandpapa’s first cousin who was a rare individual, bitten by the wander lust bug, a regular Renaissance Man, who after years of living with the Inuits in Northern Canada, communing with the all natures’ best, including deer, moose and black bears, got a longing to return to his Good Lord, his home and native land and his Live-for-Today spouse.
Now, this entire making it right with the Lord stuff, with her husband going all soft and religious on her, made Live-for-Today apprehensive of the stranger who, after years of being way, now slept under the same roof as her. Do-Gooders now came knocking at her door, trying to save her lost soul. Downright gave her the willies. As we all know, girls just want to have fun. Live-for-Today and her daughter, Massive Mini just had to drive him out of there, somehow.
That is why, it was speculated, that they devised a plan, not to harm him per se, just maybe make him a little sick him, so that he would think, in order to start feeling robust again, he should move back to the land of the Midnight Sun and they would once again live their life as they saw fit.
Now The Wanderer had children who loved him dearly and started to see him shrink before their very eyes, as he rapidly lost weight. He was taken to doctor, who sent them straight to the local hospital. It was a total mystery that had to be unravelled one blood test at a time. Unfortunately, it seemed time ran out before the fix came in. Once in the hospital, his conditioner worsened. The Wanderer slipped into a coma and journeyed on to his next playing field, before the blood test results were finalized.
It was rumored the test results revealed that he died of unknown contaminants, a little surreptitiously, possibly added to his bitter coffee in the morning, or in the water of vegetables cooked to perfection, maybe even in the salt and pepper shaker. No charges were ever laid because neither the coroner nor the local detectives could find evidence to support a conviction, so the story spun.
After The Wanderers’ funeral, you didn’t see Live-for-Today and Massive Mini out so much anymore. It was like the wind had been taken out of their sails. They probably never dreamed it would end that way.
Although as a community, no one invited Live-for-Today and Massive Mini to tea, (or went to tea at their place, just in case there was any left over unknown contaminants), they were not treated as outcasts. After all, being self-righteous, the country folk believed that they were put in place to save the sinners, not the saints.
