Here Be Monsters
March 8th, 2010
Here is where my father’s heart has not beat on its own for the past 70 minutes; a machine is doing that work for him, while doctors take a vein from his leg and fashion a new path for his blood to flow.
Here is the sharp edge of the rough side, the hang time of the hardest part. (Or so it seems; it’s only gotten more difficult so far, with a tough recovery ahead, but there has to be a time when things begin to turn back to the light.)
Here is where I saw daffodil shoots poking out of snowy ground the other day. I am taking this as a sign, but then, everything feels that way lately. Another week of this, and I’ll be keening on my knees, throwing bless yous and hosannas in every direction. (There are no atheists in the OR waiting room. Not when your dad’s under the knife.)
Here is where we had a stupid crash two days ago, two large truckbeasts glancing off each other to no particular injury other than fenders and front ends (although mom still feels dumb for misreading the sign, and I can only guess dad felt that his outer shell had been breached, as it has been breached again today.)
Here is where we’re all fragile and underslept, just loopy with worry. Do not trust us with vital items or heavy machinery.
Here is my 4th hotel and 8th place to sleep in the past 3 weeks. I am emotionally homeless; what is my address again? Surely someone knows where I am supposed to be? Oh, yeah…this is the only place I belong right now.
Here is where I still feel walloped by stupid shit every day. You’d think I’d have greater things to grieve than wasted time and blown hopes. But anger’s such a clarifying emotion; it can drive you through the days. And it’s giving me something else to think about while they work on my dad, my Quiver. (I’m delivering ninja kicks in my mind. Take that, motherfucker.)
Here is where I know who my friends really are (and thank you all for being here in spirit. I feel you beating beside me, like a small dog’s hummingbird heart beneath the covers). There are people all over the world who are hoping and praying for my dad right now. Thanks for all your concentrated thought on my family’s behalf.
Here is a fluorescent room where my mother is stitching on a quilt, one sister is flipping through elderly magazines, and the other is putting a jigsaw puzzle together; it’s 500 pieces that add up to a clapping otter, and she’s more than halfway through. We are frightened, hopeful, sometimes snappish, and often tickled by something only we four would find funny.
Here is where we are waiting.










