My Dad was dead twelve years and I was still angry at him.  I still remember the last conversation I had with him and he said he was more impressed with the million dollars his future son-in-law made selling his company than anything I did.  My writing did not matter to him.  I tried to tell him, maybe, my words might have more effect on people than my future brother-in-law’s money.  It was to no avail.  Money meant more to him than anything else.  I never got “the blessing” from him.  And even today, years later I was still angry about his rejection of who I was.  He was the one person I wanted to please.  And even now the hurt and pain has not gone away.

Praise the Lord for small favors.  Our TV in the living room “burnt out”.  It just did not work any longer.  When you turned it on, all your saw was a line or two in the center of the screen and there was, also, no sound.  I wanted to see our favorite show, “The Saint”, starring Roger Moore.  Every ten o’clock in the evening we watch it and then go to bed.

There was another color TV in the office we were not using so I quickly hooked it up to our antenna and “box” so we could watch it.  We found out the color was crisper than the old one and although the screen was smaller, it did not seem too small.

The next day I tried to figure out how to wire the DVD player and also the VCR to it.  I quickly drove to the nearest Radio Shack and they sold me something called a modulator, which enabled me to hook up a DVD to the old TV.

Now I had to figure out how to wire the VCR also.  I called my brother-in-law and he suggested a type of splitter, which I had.  I used it and now I was back into business:  both the DVD and VCR were now hooked up to the TV and worked.

Everything is by grace including advice by people and old TVs that still worked.  It even had a remote and now I can go back and watch my “Touched By An Angel” episodes again.  I know the latest thing is all these gigantic flat screens with brilliant color but I was happy to have this old color TV.

The trees blanketed by the first snowfall were beautiful.  It was a “dusting” but nevertheless breathtaking.  It made me glad to be alive.  I was heading for church in the morning.  Everything–the ground, bushes and trees were completely covered with white.  I would be glad when winter would be over and the warm weather returned but I really was in no rush.  It was a brisk thirty-two degrees outside.  And everything was white, a sight my brother-in-law would never see, who lived in San Francisco.  In a few hours the snow would melt.  The morning truly was a “miracle”.

Death Is The Last Taboo

Author: siggy

I felt odd discussing my health situation:  I went to my nephrologist (a kidney doctor) for the second time.  The report of my condition was worst than I thought:  my kidney function was down to twenty per cent and my doctor in the next visit was going to discuss  putting me in dialysis.  It takes six to twelve months to put into motion.

I started to mull over what this meant.  A loss of my freedom.  I could not easily go away.  I had dreamed for forty years to travel to San Francisco maybe even by train (I loved train rides).  I would visit my sister whose house I had never seen and my brother-in-law who I have never met.  This would be almost impossible to do once I started dialysis.  I could at most go away for a day or two at a time.

I was reeling from this news.  I did not want to bear it alone.  Sharing it with others meant reminding them of their own mortality.  And death was the last taboo so I could not discuss my situation so easily with others.  I felt all alone.

Time all of a sudden became very valuable.  I did have a window.  I am going to take the trip that I dreamed to take for most of my life before I start my dialysis.  You only live once.