The Future

Currently I am taking care of my dying father.  I am focusing on making him happy.  He is often the reason I get out of bed each day.  I still believe unseen forces align our lives. They do not determine our destiny, but the give us the things we need, if we allow them. I have positive affirmations written out on cards. These are suppose to help me reprogram my mind and help me get over this break up.  The top card says, "Everything I need comes to me at the right time and place."

My co-worker would say we tend to give significance to random events in our lives.  I believe there is more to it all.  My friend Sam went to see a psychic last week.  This is the second psychic to tell her she will be getting married again.  The psychic said she would be meeting him soon.  Sam does not believe it.  She is twice divorced.  Both guys cheated on her.  Deep down I think she wants to meet someone.  Don't we all?

My dad is finding it harder to swallow certain foods.   I think the tumor in his throat is growing again.  It is hard to tell without testing.  I don't want him to die of starvation, unable to get anything passed the lump in his esophagus.  Other parts of his body are failing.  Any of them could be the final cause.  Getting old sucks.

I have a friend at work.  Her mother-in-law is dying from a disease that hardens the lungs.  Her mother-in-law is in hospice and has been for over a week.  My friend says it is agony watching her slowly die.  It scares me.  I am not ready to see this happen to my dad.

Little Houses

The weekends allow me to stay in bed until thoughts of Billy drive me out.  I reduced the amount of CBD oil I am taking.  Tinkerbell said I was taking too much.  My morning sadness is better.  I don't find myself pacing the condo in tears.

This morning Billy was on my mind.  What if she does get clean?  What if she is happy?   Was I holding her back?  Sometimes I don't want her to be happy because I am not happy.  I tell people I did not like everything about our relationship, but I did like being with Billy.

Long ago when The Ex (wife) and I were looking for houses the realtor told us, "I am just going to give you the listings.  Drive by the houses.  If you don't like the outside there is no use in me showing you the inside.  You have to come home to the house every day.  If you don't like the outside you will never be happy."   Billy was a house I could come home to every day.

Still no luck on the dating apps.  The only one where I get any interest is a app called seeking.  It is for prostitutes and girls looking for sugar daddies.  Good to see money can still buy you happiness for the night.

Past to Present

I called Tinkerbell on the way home for the car.  "So when am I going to see the new kitty?"

"You can come over tonight I guess.  We are still cat proofing the condo."  she did not sound too enthused.

"Did you guys eat?"  She had not.  I made the idea more appealing by offering to take her and the T Rex to dinner.  They never turn down food.

The new kitty is a cute black and grey named Wednesday. Tink bought it for the T Rex but I think she is more in love with it.  The T Rex is in his first year of high school.  The name really does not fit anymore.  He is not into dinosaurs.  He is in the ROTC.  Tink got the kitten because he had to cut his hair as part of his training.  I pulled them away from the kitten long enough to get dinner at Qdobas.

It reminded me of one of our adventures nearly ten years ago:

Posted Sunday, June 28, 2009

The Doctor Appointment

            Saturday Tinkerbell asked if I would take her to a doctor's appointment downtown. She did not know the area and did not want to go alone. I picked her and The T- Rex up at 11:00. The T- Rex was nervous at first. He will be three years old next month and it had been a while since he saw me. I had come prepared though. I pulled some Lego guys out of the armrest storage compartment and handed them to him. Quickly he was quiet and happy while we maneuvered are way to the inter most areas of Detroit.

The heat of the day was already climbing though not yet noon. We passed overgrown playgrounds and empty buildings but you don't see a lot of people. We found the office with time to spare. It was a surprisingly well kept building on the outskirts of the downtown medical district.

"Can you take him to McDonalds or something while I'm here?"

"Are you kidding. It is the middle of Detroit. There are no McDonalds," I said.

"He can't stay in the car the whole time."

"I'll figure something out."

Tinkerbell got out and I continued deeper into the city. I do not come downtown very often but today I had a good idea of where I was and where we could go. I pulled into an empty parking lot. An Asian man wearing a blue turban came out of the valet booth and asked how long I was going to be. I said an hour. His English was poor and I had a hard time understanding him as we bickered over the price.

He glanced in my wallet as I shuffled through my money. "Give me $10 and I will give you $4 when you return.

"How about I just give you $6 now."

I helped The T Rex get out. He gathered up the Lego guys in one hand and held mine with the other. We left my shiny new red Charger alone and looking out of place and headed out into the city. We were near the courthouse. Tall buildings surrounded us. I kept The T Rex interested by pointing out the various buildings. I was afraid he would be scared without his mom but we were on an adventure and he was fine.

We talked as we walked along. "Mommy at the doctors?"

"Yes your mommy is at the doctors. Have you been to the doctors?"

"Umm hmm."

"Did he listen to your heart?"

"He fixed my finger."

"He fixed your finger? That's right the doctor is going to fix mommy's finger too."

We were headed for Coney Island, a famous little dive dinner on the corner of Lafayette and Griswald. As we approached the restaurant we saw a black man sprawled out on his stomach on the sidewalk. His head was resting on a folded jacket. Pigeons pecked at scraps on the cement around him. He was wearing only one shoe. On the other foot was a stark white sock. I found myself wonder how the bums sock could be so clean if he was walking around the city in it.

"He's dead, " The T Rex said matter-of-factly.

"No, he's is just sleeping." I hoped. "Lets walk by quietly so we don't wake him."

We entered the restaurant and sat at the counter. The servers and two men at the counter were all middle eastern and kept up a steady conversation in their native tongue while we ordered hot dogs and french fries. The T Rex was more interested in playing with his toys then eating. Each time I would encourage him to eat he would tell me , "I'm fine." He was no trouble though and seemed to be enjoying his adventure.

Tinkerbell called to check in. "What are you doing? Where you at? Is he okay?" I assured her we were fine and asked what food she would want us to bring back for her.

Toward the end of our meal The T Rex figured out that the orange stool he was sitting on could spin. He would spin the stool fast and the stool would vibrate. He would laugh and giggle as I imitated the sound and tried copying me with his own lips.

Time went by quickly. We ordered chili cheese fries to go for his mom. The T Rex carried them back to the car.  He reminded me to be quiet as we walked past the sleeping homeless man. It reminded me of when my kids were young. Three years old is such a magical age. Everything is an adventure and conversations are delightful because you never know what they will say.

We drove back to the doctor's office and Tinkerbell walked out a few moments later. As we pulled back out onto the road The T Rex asked, "did he fix your finger mom?"

Tinkerbell looked at me confused for a moment, she went for a female exam. I quickly explained that was what doctors do and she played along, showing her index finger to her son and flexing it. "See all better."

Together they devoured the chili fries on the way home. I was a little sad when I dropped them off but it was fun. It reminded me briefly of when we all lived together.

Why

"Why would you want to be with someone that does not want to be with you?"  My therapist once asked me.   It is a simple question.  The answer should be easy.  I don't.

Each time there is contact between Billy and I it sets me back.  I tell myself I will not reach out to her again.  Not now, not while the wound is still fresh, but in my head I imagine scenarios when it would be appropriate to contact her.  I want to hold her.  I want to feel her love again.

I started taking CBD oil to calm my anxiety and help me sleep.  It is not working.  I think it is like alcohol and just makes me more emotional.  I thought drugs were supposed to numb the pain.  After Billy left I cleaned out the house and removed the memories of her.  Part of me wished she left a pack of heroin behind.  Just one small square of folded tin foil forgot beneath the couch cushions waiting to be found.  There was none.  That is a good thing.  One pack would probably send me to the ER.  Billy is a pro with a tolerance built up over years.

I have no chemical addictions.  There was a time when we were first going out that I felt like I was addicted to Billy.  Just the chance to be with her would send me running.  Am I still that starved for affection?  I always hear you need to love yourself.  I do love myself.  I know there is love for me all around.  As I am writing this I am picturing the past, Billy and I lying in bed our legs entwined and sleeping.  Loving yourself does not replace the comfort of such physical contact.  I see people around me all day that never get to feel such comfort and I wonder to myself, how do they continue to live?

I tell myself I do not want to love again, but I spend my time swiping left and right on these stupid dating apps. Love opens you up to pain but I know I long to touch someone, someone I love.

Little Things Kill

I touch your mouth my will is food

Addicted to love I'm addicted to bull-shit
I kill you once I kill you again
We're starving and crude
Welcome my friends to

To the little things that kill

Tearing at my brains again
Oh the little things that kill-- Little Things, Bush

I moved Dad to the assisted living center last night.  It is not perfect, but given his situation, it is better than him being alone at home.  He has a small two-room apartment with a kitchenette that includes a microwave and mini-refrigerator.  Dad seems to go to the hospital on a weekly basis lately.  Here at least someone is watching him and there is help close.

I broke down again and sent a jab at Billy this morning.  "After all the shit I have done for you.  All the shit you put me through when I need you.  You are off playing puppy love in fantasy land."  I need to stop.  It is not doing me any good, and I am sure it is hurting her.  I want it to hurt her.  The way she hurt me.

I have had a short fuse lately.  Too much caffeine, I guess.  I feel like ripping the heads off of everyone.  Dad was discharged from his physical therapy rehab center yesterday.  He was at the hospital when they decided to call me and tell me they were going to have to pack up his stuff.  I asked them not to do that.  I told them he would be back shortly.  He was due to be released when the hour.  They went and did it anyway.

When Dad and my younger brother picked up his stuff.  He was missing a tablet, phone charges, hangers, and a few other items.  I am so surprised the minimum wage orderlies did not pack all his things.  I will be going over there at lunchtime to ream the person who called me out.

My dad's health will continue to decline.  It is a race to see what ailment will be his demise.   The cancer cannot be treated.  His heart is frail.  The other organs don't get the blood they need.  I am trying to keep him happy and give him some quality of life.  Why he has such a desire to live, I cannot fathom right now.  It must be something that comes with age.  I would not have it.  Perhaps you find a way to enjoy the little things when you get to his state.  Maybe I will find time to enjoy the little things.

"I am not in fantasy land.  Don't you think I thought about this?  The last few months I was with you, I was not happy.  It kills me that I cannot be there for you the way you need me.  The whole situation sucks.  I'm sorry, I will not contact you anymore."  she replies later.

They are the words I do not want to hear.  The words that bring me to tears in the middle of my office.  Why could not I make her happy?  I still cannot handle the rejection.  I still cannot face being alone.

It Keeps Coming

Tuesday, Billy text me again.  I was already stressed between the demands of my job, my dad being back at the hospital, and moving my dad to the assisted living center after work.

"Bummer, I can't find it.  How are you doing?  Your dad?"  She asked.

I texted Sam, "She is texting me again.  I am about to cut loose on her."

Before Sam could reply, I lost my control.  "I thought I made it clear, I cannot talk with you right now.  We are not friends. We are ex-lovers.  I am stressed with work and dad and missing you." I texted back to Billy.

I worded each text carefully, so I fit within the character limit.  "I think about you all the time.  I think you made a stupid decision leaving me for some little boy who lives in his mom's basement, and I know you will come running back when things fall apart.  Is that what you fucking want to hear?"

"I care about you.  I always will, but unless you have come back to reality, you need to leave me alone."

I am mad now.  Much more came to mind.  Part of me wanted to twist the knife deep and say, 'I hope that boy gets to see what an asshole you can be.'   Part of me wanted to say, ' did you ever think the reason you keep reaching out, the reason you miss me, is because you made a mistake?' 

I made a mistake eight years ago.  Was the pleasure worth the pain?  I don't know anymore, at least not at this moment.  I only blogged about the bad times with Billy.  I seldom blogged about the good times.  If I am going to write this novel.  I will have come up with some good times. That is a problem for another day.

Monday Doesn't Get Any Easier

Keeping up on work while dealing with the fragile health of my father is mentally taking a toll.  I spend an inordinate amount of the time working on my novel instead of work.  I am reliving the past through hundreds of posts.  I have not even made it to the time Billy and I dated.  I am still working on organizing the early years after my divorce when Tinkerbell and her son were a big part of my life.

Yesterday I was missing Billy.  It was this feeling inside my chest just below the surface.  An ache I have learned to live with and mostly ignore in the last few weeks.  Last night it came bubbling to the surface.  I want so badly to call or text Billy.  What good would it have done?  Probably none. 

I called Tinkerbell instead.  It was after six, but she was still at work.   She works so hard for so little pay.  "What are you doing?"  I ask. 

She proceeds to tell me she is working on schedules because tomorrow she is working from home and picking up a new kitten with The T-Rex. 

"I am having a hard day." I tell her.  I want to say more but I get choked up and cannot continue.  There is concern in her voice. She tell me she will call me from the car.  "Just give me twenty minutes, " she says.

While I am waiting for her call  I get a text from Billy.  I swear we are psychically connected.  "Hey is my medical card at your house?"  She means her insurance card.  I have not seen it around. I do not respond.  Ten minutes goes by  and I get another text from her."I cannot seem to find it, let me know if you see it.  How are you?"

I want to say so many different things in response.  Medical card are you okay?  Terrible, I think about you ever day. You left me for a stupid dream and a little boy who lives in his mom's basement how do you think I am?  I do not.  I wait for Tinkerbell.

Tinkerbell calls on her drive home.  "She cannot have it both ways,"  Tink tells me.  "It is not fair to you."  I know this.  Despite the fact I tell her I cannot be in contact with her, Billy cannot go a week without reaching out to me.  She misses me.  That makes me both happy and angry at the same time.

Forty-five minutes after her initial text I reply.  "It is not here."

Dating Sucks

At least trying to date sucks.  I have never had good luck with it.  Even with a positive attitude and all these new apps I don't seem to connect.  If I have to read,  "Living life to the fullest," in one more profile, I am going to fucking go off on the bitch. 

I miss Billy's a lot today.  It is probably because Sam and I went out to eat last night and drank a few beers.  Sam said Billy and my age difference 28 years was the number problem in our relationship.  The reason it would never work.  Then you pile the addiction and her other issues on top of that.
I don't like to believe that.  I cannot make myself younger.  I wish I could.  If I was forty and not fifty-five,  Billy would still be with me.  That is what hurts the most.  It is not who I am or how good we got along.  The reason we are no long together comes down to a number I cannot change.

Meanwhile I am trying to date.  I am trying to keep an open mind.  On the dating sites, woman from forty-five to fifty-five in the Detroit area who are physically active and somewhat fit are scares.  Those who find me attractive are even fewer.  I am fit, attractive and make good money.  What does someone have to do.

From now on when ever I see an attractive, age appropriate woman I am going to ask them if the are seeing anyone.  The time to be settle is over.  I can see you have to grab an opportunity and get their number first thing.

Weekends Are Hard

The weekends are the hardest—too much time to think and obsess.  I still obsess a lot.  Am I depressed?  Probably, but I have been worse and on medication.  I don't think the occasional bought of emotions is worth going back on medication.  I do not want to lose myself to them again.

Friday night Tinkerbell and I go out for dinner for my birthday. I drive.  Tinkerbell is wearing a pair of exaggeratedly flared burnt orange pants with a black sweater over a black cami.  I am in my signature jeans and a tee shirt.  It has been a long time since just Tinkerbell and I have been out alone.  It is nice.  We never lack for conversation, but tonight we are talking about Billy.

 I give Tinkerbell the details of my last encounter with Billy and express how disappointed it made me feel. 

"I don't think Billy and I will ever be as good as friends as you and I,"  I say.  " I don't want that.  You will be the only one who will not put me into an old-folks home.  She can barely take care of herself.  She would try, but her habit would always get in the way."

Billy texted me on my birthday.  "Happy birthday.  Hope you have a great day."

Thank you, Billy, is all I replied.  I want to say so much more, but I did not.  What good would it have done?  My head keeps telling me she will come back.  She always comes back.  Then I ask myself, "Do I want her to come back?"

Tinkerbell and I are driving to the Green Lantern restaurant.  Our journey along the surface streets takes us past a grey billboard with stark black and red wording.  "kNOw fentanyl,  know what is in your drugs."  I tell Tinkerbell that I knew exactly when Billy switched from heroin to a fentanyl mixture.  She started nodding out again for a few days.  Nodding is the comical head bounce a tired person does when they are trying to stay awake.  That was shortly after she switched jobs.  Being an electrical apprentice was not paying enough to keep up with her habit.  Her dealer offered up something stronger.  Before we reached the restaurant, we saw three more of the same billboard.  There must be a fentanyl epidemic in Macomb county.

I do not want the same type of relationship with Billy that Tinkerbell and I share. I think Billy is hoping for such a relationship to develop.  I don't want that.  Tinkerbell is special.  Our friendship was forged with a lot of pain.  I am not willing to go through that again.  I went from dating Tinkerbell to raising her like a fourth child, with all the pain and disappointment children bring.  I wouldn't change it.  Tinkerbell is now a responsible adult and a good mother.  She takes care of me now.

Billy is no longer a child. Though ironically, her new twenty-three-year-old boyfriend is a child.  She is an adult.  I have handed her all the tools she needs to turn her life around.  It is up to her now.  There will be no more bailing her out, no more rescues.  It is time for me to move on.  I don't harbor her any ill will.

"No one will ever be as good to me as you,"  she texted me during the break-up. "I would be dead long ago if it was not for you." Loving Billie almost killed me.

Tinkerbell and I get individual pizzas.  She checks in on The T-Rex three times during our evening.  I don't bother telling her he is fourteen and can take care of himself for a few hours.  Our waitress is beautiful and age-appropriate for me.  Age-appropriate is on the list of things I am looking for in a partner.  See, I have grown.  I do not know whether it seems too forward to ask her if she is seeing anyone.  In the end, we decided I should leave her my card with a note to have her text me.

Saturday, I sat for a four-hour tattoo session and continued the work on my back.  I have a good tolerance for pain, but my body was shaking in shock by the end of the four hours, and I could not go on.  It will take one more session to complete the work. I went to bed early and ignored Sam when she called around 9:00 pm.

Sunday, I awoke with Billy on my mind. Weekends seem to have too much time when you are sad and alone.  I need more things to do, but my motivation is not consistent.  Billy and I still share one thing.  My name is on her bank account.  I would not take any of her money, but I did find myself checking her balance.

Part of me wants to see her fail.  I am not sure if it is to rub it in her face or because I want her back.  I do miss being with her.  If someone better for me came along, would it still be true?  I think a somethings I still would miss about her.

Birthday

You cannot quit me so quickly
Is no hope in you for me?
No corner you could squeeze me
But I've got all the time for you love

The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell to keep us safe from the pain
Will I hold you again? The Space Between,  Dave Mathews Band

So I managed to avoid texting Billy on her birthday, but she is texting me on mine two days later.  "Happy Birthday.  Hope you have a great day."   A simple thank you does not begin to say what I would like.

I guess it is time to tell what happened between Billy and me.  For the last five years, we have lived together.  Living life day by day. For the last year and a half, she has been working as an electrical apprentice.  I am very proud of how well she is doing in this new career.  One of her co-workers told her he had feelings for her in the spring.  Instead of shutting him down, she started texting with him outside of work.  I warned her what he was doing.  I saw how it would go.  I asked her to stop, but she would not.

In July, she ended up sleeping with him.   I figured it out right away.  I asked her what she was thinking.  I gave her a chance to make things right, but she didn't, and she ended up moving back to her parents.

This is more complicated than just the affair.  We were making plans and looking to the future. It scared her.  Our age difference (28 years) and her desire to get married, have kids, and a normal life weighed on her.

I understand.  I don't hate her for wanting these things. I do hate the way she decided to end things, but that is a women's way.  Her dream is more than likely just a fantasy.  She is still an addict (heroin mixed with fentanyl now).   She has been an addict all her adult life, and she is 27 years old.   I don't think she will be able to quit any time soon.  Without the stability I brought to her life, it is more unlikely.

I should be glad she is gone.  I should be happy I am no longer involved in her decline.  The drugs and the demand of her physically demanding job have not been kind to her.  She is too thin.  Her face looks older than her years.  I will always care about her.  I have done what I could to give her a chance at a good life.  It is up to her now, but she is currently one bad day away from disaster.  I cannot say I understand why she chose this.  She said to me once during the time when she was moving out, "I don't think I deserve to be happy."

My phone reminds me of the past.  One year ago today, we were in Traverse City visiting the lighthouse on the peninsula.  In the pictures, we were happy.

You Are Dying

My 80-year-old father sits upright in his hospital bed.  He has been in the hospital for a week.  He is suffering from congestive heart failure and stage 4 esophageal cancer.  The cancer treatments are adversely affecting his fragile heart.  The palliative care nurse called me yesterday.  "This is not an emergency, but we need to have a meeting right away to discuss your father's DNR."

My father's mind is still sharp, but the time in the hospital weakens his body and dulls his mind. The nurse and I are trying to get the seriousness of his situation across to him.  He is in denial.  He still wants to outlive his doctors, but the truth is, he could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. 

The nurse leans forward and rests her hand on his leg.  "Listen, you are dying," she says.  She is stating it not to be mean but to cut through some of his protests.  She goes on to explain that he doesn't want CPR.  There is little chance of success and even less chance to come back to his same fragile state.

Age and sudden weight loss have caused the skin of my father's face to hang in deep folds.  His forehead is shiny with wisps of white hair.  He swallows back his emotions before he replies.  He concedes her point... reluctantly.

I am running around the hospital for the next hour, getting documents filled out and wrangling witnesses to sign. 

*    *    *

Two weeks before this conversation, I sat across from a psychic.  She was the real deal.  She asked me two things: my name and my age.  From there, she began to tell me things I didn't want to hear.  She described Billy. She said Billy's new relationship was not ending any time soon.  She said my father's health was fragile and that I would be the one taking care of him.  She is right.

Returning

This is my official return to blogging.  Yesterday I was reading old posts from my past three blogs and realized I enjoyed writing.  I enjoyed the community (hopefully, it still exists).  I think there is a story to be put together from my old posts.  I believe there is a novel in there.  I am going to start working on that.  In the meantime, I am going to start recording what is going on now.

It has been two months since Billie moved out.  Yesterday was her birthday, but I did not reach out to her.  I cannot say I didn't think about her.  I did.  Though I am unplugged from social media, there is still an infinite number of ways to stalk someone.  I try to resist.  After work, I was with my dad,  looking at assisted living facilities (more on that later).  It was after nine when I got home.  I was tired and hungry, but I turned on the Xbox.  Billy is still on my friend's list.  She is home, watching Netflix.  I pictured her sleeping in her bed.  The glow from the TV bathing her face in light, and I missed her for a moment.