Unleash Your Rage And Write!

The one thing in blogging I have always been good at is pouring all I have inside into the posts I write. It is not something I do every time because it is not needed nor necessary but upon occasion…

I need to do it here. I need to just unload and unleash but I am almost beyond anger so putting words to the page feels…hollow. But I intend to try and then we shall see if I hit publish or if I delete it all.

Delete it all.

Sounds nice. Sounds like a modern way to bleach away bad memories but bad memories and I don’t just let go of each other. In part it is because scars are a writer’s best friend and because I can’t rid myself of the bad without destroying the good.

The good is far too important to lose and the bad, well it helps me understand just how lucky and fortunate I have been.

Unleash Your Rage And Write!

My cousin died. It happened a few days ago and I have been sitting on it, thinking about it and trying to process it all.

It wasn’t unexpected or surprising. She had been battling cancer for a long while. I never saw nor asked for medical reports but I know it was part of the same family as the one that took ‘D’.

Seven years ago when I heard the news about what she had I felt ill because I felt like I knew this disease. I knew that ‘D’ had the best medical care and that hadn’t been enough to prevent that bastard with the scythe from slipping past all of his defenses.

I felt guilty thinking that so I kept it to myself and never said a word. I figured that with some luck and advances in medicine my cousin my beat it.

She lived longer than ‘D’ which is to say that even though she had a good life it was still cut short far too soon.  I can’t say we were particularly close. She was 12 years younger than I am and lived in a different state. I remember her best as a little girl but I knew the woman she grew up to be too.

Death took her just a few days after ‘D’s birthday and several weeks before the anniversary of his death. It is sixteen years since we buried him but I can still feel the shovel in my hands and the sweat in my eyes.

Do not go gentle into that good night

I keep hearing excerpts of that Dylan Thomas poem in my head.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

When I close my eyes I hear the voice and I nod my head. I promised myself the day we buried ‘D’ that I would be the guy who raged against the light. I swore I wouldn’t go silently into the darkness.

Some people give in to things that feel hard or impossible but I have never been good at that. Life has been challenging again, transition time has reappeared and I feel like I am walking through lava while battling a 100 enemies who never rest.

The damn dogs of war have been unleashed and there is no one I can rely on to get me through this besides me. Frodo had Sam, a dwarf, elf and a freaking wizard but not me.

I just have rage and fury and a desire to kick some of the pretentious and self righteous fucks of the blogosphere in their hypocritical cabooses.

Remember that quote I shared in Star Trek & Parenting, the one about not knowing what to do, just knowing what I can do? Well that is how I am handling things.

I am looking for my Spock but doing my damnedest to keep moving forward because inertia kills people.

Don’t ask me to explain why things happen or if we should believe in miracles because right now I don’t have time for it.

Right now I am making my list of good things and trying to wrap myself in gratitude.  My children need to see that our attitudes have an impact upon how we go about things.

They need to see we spend more time being thankful about what we have and less being bitter about what we don’t have.

Live Another Day

I don’t know what happens when we die. I don’t fear death. That bag of bones knows if she shows up before I am ready I will put a boot in his bony ass.

My grandfathers used to laugh when I told them I would fool the Angel of Death by smearing lamb’s blood on the door or alternatively clip his wings,  ten year-old boys can say shit like that.

What I know for certain is I have something my cousin and ‘D’ don’t–one more day. Hopefully it is far more than just one more day.

I am the one who is writing about August memories. I am the one whose life took a detour so that I would be prepared to wait for the click and then act upon it.

This is who I am.

The hard part about all of this is trying to find an appropriate way to teach my children about it all. I want them to appreciate how very short life can be but I don’t want to scare them.

I want them to understand why I promised to rage against the dying of the light and what that means. They are far too young to understand the craziness that comes with being a parent. Too young to appreciate how parents subjugate dreams to make them come true for their kids.

One day we’ll talk about that but not until they are much older. I don’t think they’d get it now and it would turn into some massive guilt trip.

That is not what I want. I knew before I became a dad that this would be part of the package and I am good with it. Doesn’t mean I have forgotten about my dreams, just that I have adjusted how I chase some of them.

What I See

It is well past midnight so I can’t tell you much more. I can say that I have followed my heart and held true to my advice, writing should scare you.

I can tell you that even though I sit at a desk in Los  Angeles I see myself driving back into Texas and walking the streets of Jerusalem.

Somewhere out there my cousin lies in a box and I only wish that I would do more for the rest of the family to help heal broken hearts.

I can’t do much  more than offer a shoulder to cry on, arms to hug them with and a few words.

But what I can do in my life is to continue to rage against the dying of the light and appreciate that the sun still shines in the middle of my sky.

And that is how I will honor their memories, by taking advantage of opportunities and doing my best to suck the marrow out of life.