howling

Coyote dog 1988

I heard the coyotes early this morning. I usually miss their racous yelps due to a condition known to some as sleep... not last night though. I should definitely know better than to drink anything caffienated - EVER! but Tejava sounded really good late yesterday and being that it had been at least two years since my last taste of the dark black tea, and anything caffienated for that matter, I didn't give my purchase a second thought. Not until 3a.m. anyway. And now that it's 6:30 a.m. and sleep is still eluding me maybe caffiene and I should part ways indefinitely....

The coyotes bantering took me back to my childhood in the desert. Back to 1987-88ish. We were camping at Thousand Trails and saw a sign for puppies. My parents really weren't animal people, or at least not lovers of the 4 legged variety. But for some reason, possibly being two young daughters with big ol' pleading eyes, we stopped and found us a dog. She was half collie and half coyote. I'm quite certain I came up with her name. Being the half wild creature she was she needed a fitting moniker. In the late 80's Tiffany was it. Hmmmm... well at least she had red hair. AND thankfully I am no longer 10 years old passing out names. I like to think I have more appropriately named my children. After Taluelah, some may disagree.....

It has been 5 years and 5 days since my dad passed away. We are 2 days away from the one on which my dad was born 70 years ago. Remembering life as a child always brings me back to him. My life truly was what it was and is what it is because of my dad. The same blood did not course through our veins, but you wouldn't have known it. My dad's heart pumped a love more pure than any I ever could have experienced from a biologically connected father. The life previously known to me, prior to life with dad, did not include a dog named Tiffany. It couldn't. It did not include a home and the freedom to be a child. I grew up pretty fast, saw a lot, hurt a ton. I'm almost certain life with dad slowed the growth to a somewhat normal rate, I still saw - it's what I do, and well, some hurts never go away... but they can be soothed. Or smoothed over.

It has been one week and 4 days since my Aunt KenniAnne passed away. Still boggles my mind. It seems to me that one of the most oft asked questions pertaining to death and dying has to do with the suddeness with which it can come. Is it best to go suddenly or to slowly fade away? Guess that all depends on who you're asking. and when.

My dad withered. Not like a delicate flower whose petals slowly shrivel and turn to dust, whose stem hardens and bends and with the slightest provocation breaks... no. More like a balloon. once so full of air, so bright. shrinking. but still plump. fading. going through the motions, though quite a bit slower, until there is no more Oomph... no more lift. no more. The cancer took it's toll on my once strong, proud father. He lost his hair. I tried shaving his head to free him of the pain of waking to a hair covered pillow. All he had was a Bic razor. My poor dad sat and grimaced as I attempted to shave off the dark black hair we were in earlier years so sure he would die with in his much older age... while I laughed... only because if I didn't laugh he might see the actual pain I was feeling. I wasn't able to complete the job, and my dad had an even patchier head when he compelled me to be done. He made it 7 months rather than the 6 they gave him. He died with a head full of silvery gray hair.

7 months of suffering, for all of us. 7 months of realization, for all of us. 7 months to say what had to be said and 7 months to spend what time could be spent. I will never regret those 7 months. At 17 I took a bunch of pills. I hated my dad. mom. sister. life. I was angry. I knew when I was sent to the hospital I was not sick. Sick people were in that psyche ward. Sick people tried to harm themselves again and again. The pills were my first attempt. my only attempt. not my proudest moment. But absolutely my most clarifying. Anger is poison. Secrets are deadly. Happiness is a personal responsibility. Oh, and children should be allowed to just be children without the weight of the world thrust upon their shoulders. A lifetime of lies will wear a person down, no matter how short a lifetime we're speaking of. When you're 17, miserable, angry, unhappy... it's hard to sort through all of the heavy stuff. 7 months to make amends for all the pain secrets and a bottle of pills caused.

I am learning everyday that parents, this parent more specifically, are doing the best they/we/i can. We've all heard it. But of all the truths in this world, that's at the top of the honesty list. We are all raised by parents. They do the best they can. Some's best ain't that great. Some's best is what it is. Some's best is enough. (sidenote---> I'm not sure "some's" a word, but i like it.) We aren't all equipped with the best tools. We aren't all taught. We aren't all seekers of knowledge. This is what parenting is about and our poor children suffer at our inexperienced hands, be the suffering on a large scale or small. I couldn't see at 17. I started to

at 20

and 22

and 30...

My children are the greatest gifts I've ever had the honor of caring for. To say they are the air I breathe is more than a nice metaphor. Through their births I have found myself. I have found peace and all that matters. I have found why my dad bought that beautiful, half wild dog, even though he wasn't much of an animal lover. I put all that I have into being a good mother. I don't want to be adequate. I want to be good. Good is enough. Great would be too much. They have to see that I am human. That I fail. That I make mistakes. That I love them whole-heartedly through all blunders, theirs and mine. Ask them, does mom make mistakes? Abso-frickin-lutely. Ask them, is mom a pain in the ass? You betcha. Ask them, does mom love them. yes. Ask me, am I doing anything right? I am constantly trying. Hopefully that will be enough to ease any pain my mistakes cause my children.

I believe in good and bad. I believe in reward and punishment. I would never call a child a punishment... but maybe a challenge to those who deserve one. My daughter is my reward. She was conceived within a 3 day window. The middle day of which was July 18th... happy birthday dad. This world and beyond works in mysterious ways. I have always wanted a daughter. I am pleased she came after my two boys. I am older and maybe, this is a big maybe, a bit wiser. Having a child at 30 is quite a bit different than having one at 20. A girl was important to me for so many reasons. Not the least of which, is to see her be a child. I can see bits and pieces of myself in my two wonderful little men. Adam has my heart, Avery my enthusiasm. But Taluelah. My lovely little girl will bring me closer to seeing this world through a child's eyes, a girl child's eyes, than I ever have before. For that I look to the heavens and the earth and the seas and I thank the powers that be. I can't help but think my dad had something to do with this last little gift of life. of love. It saddens me that he never met her, at least on this plain. My kids have their angels... and so too, do I.

Mandi, Dad, Me... a new life beginning 1985

My aunt is gone. No goodbye. No laying her in bed so she can die in her sleep. No last moments of redemption. No time to heal together. Just shock. I've always wondered which way was easiest to go. Now I know. 7 months wasn't long, near 65 years weren't enough, but to be able to say I love you, thank you, I'm sorry, I understand.... I am so very glad my dad did not just go to sleep one night and leave all of this unsaid.

mom, me, dad... together 2004.