Tag Archives: Absolute

The Way We Live It

by Richard

Mom continues to live her life according to a roller coaster, with the highs just a little bit less high each time and the lows a little bit longer each time.

On Tuesday night, Mom really enjoyed visits from a number of friends and family. They stayed until 10:30 at night with Leslie, talking and telling stories and laughing and generally having a great time. And so was Mom. Her eyes were following people around the room, she was smiling and nodding in all the right places and even managed to say a couple of words. It was a great night.

On Wednesday morning, Leslie had a difficult time waking Mom up at all. She just wanted to sleep and lay still in her bed.

And that right there is what makes this so difficult. We can see flashes of the old Mom, the old Catherine, the old Kaki (and she’d absolutely hate to hear me refer to her as old. She never thought of herself that way.), and then it just. . . goes away. And we’re left with the new reality.

We know that the best we can hope for is that Mom remains comfortable, happy in the knowledge that she made the world a better place just by being herself and that she can die knowing she is loved. And, yet. . . And yet. . . There are those flashes.

We can see exactly what it is we will be missing. And we know we’re don’t want to say good bye.

And this is beoming far too maudlin, dudes. Mom would hate this. Let me tell you one of my favorite stories about Mom.

This happened back in the days when dinosaurs ruled the earth and I had to walk five miles to school every day, uphill both ways, through the snow and avoiding alligators. I was in late junior high school, surely old enough to know better, and I was pushing all of Mom’s buttons. Every single one.

I can’t for the life of me remember what the argument was about, but it was ferocious. Finally, Mom had had enough. She reared back and was about to slap my face off. She tried. I, being the not-quite-manly man that I was, reached out and caught her hand. The blow never landed, but my smirk sure did.

I was about to make some joke about her not being big enough or tough enough to do anything to me and I was going to rule the place from then on out and I was going to —

Then Mom grabbed my wrist, turned around and flipped me right over her back and onto the ground.

I just lay there, stunned. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Mom smiled down at me, shook her head sadly and then walked away.

Ever since, I’ve asked for a rematch. She’d just smile and shake her head. Heck, I even asked her for a rematch a few days after she went into Hospice. She just smiled and shook her head.

That’s my mom.

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Sunday Serenade: Marry Me

by Richard

Well, with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I thought I’d share some romantic music with you dudes. Something for you to share with the sweetie.

Unfortunately, it looks like I won’t be doing that today. Instead, I’m featuring a fun song called “Marry Me” by an absolutely fabulous band called the Drive-By Truckers.

Just listen to that first line and you’ll see what I mean about this not being a romantic song. A good song, but, really, in no way romantic.

Still, give it a listen. I think you’ll enjoy it.


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To All Good Things. . .

by Richard

Something absolutely, appallingly odd is going on here: Dudes, I think I might be sick of college football.

After going through the season since August, actually paying attention to all the bowl games and actually caring who was going to win and by how much, and finally going through until the championship game, I find that I am absolutely, positively done. I don’t care if I never watch another college football game again.

Of course, that’ll all probably change once August rolls around again later this year. I imagine it’ll be like having babies. The first baby, so I’m told, you’re basically amazed about the amount of pain you have to suffer and you know there is absolutely, positively no way you’ll ever do that kind of thing again. Then the months and years pass and the memory of the pain begins to wane and the idea of another baby starts to sound like a good idea.

And then you feel all the pain once again.

Which means when the season starts again in eight months, I’ll probably be glued to the television just like this year, although now I can’t actually imagine that one.

I. Am. Done.

Although, now that I think about it, I wonder what the new coach of the Florida Gators will bring to the team. . .

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