It's Been A Long Time Comin'

 

By Harry Patrick

This time in my life is one of remembrance and pondering questions and filled with depression and dark, long nights and sleepless nights.

April has been a month of coming to terms with my aging process and my mortality. That has been a long time comin' and I knew eventually it would have to happen.

There are certain things I can do on a daily basis, but I can't make long-term plans for obvious reasons, but I can still lend my voice wherever I can for things I believe in, like the abuse of God's creature.

April is the Prevention of Animal Cruelty Month and I have seen a lot of cruelty to animals in the past several years and it still sickens me physically when I see the product of someone who has abandoned an animal and left it to starve and probably die, especially after the Easter holiday.

Parents who buy their child a bunny as a "gift" should have to have a license saying their child is a responsible child and they are responsible adults. But, there are a lot of ignorant people in this world and their stupidity is not fixable.

I'm going to be jumping around in this blog, because I don't know how to make this particular one flow properly. A lot on my mind lately, so I'm going to write it down as it comes in my head, so good luck following it.

Today, April 27, my brother Sonny wold have been 76 years old. He died on October 16, 2011 and I miss him terribly. We had just begun to work out our differences, saying "I love you" to each other as we parted ways.

The last time I saw him alive was in September of 2011 at our family reunion. Because of a back problem, I helped him to his truck after dinner was over. He couldn't drive, but he really missed that freedom that driving used to give him. He said, "Come see me soon". I said I would, but did not and that is one regret I will carry with me until I breathe my last breath. His death was posted on Facebook by one of his stepdaughters who said they loved him, but I doubted it from the start of his marriage to their mother. Thank God, I didn't see it on Facebook, someone in the family finally got hold of me. The stepdaughters and my widowed sister-in-law are no longer on my Facebook Friends list.

I have been crying lately and I don't know if it's just "good old" depression or the reality of my life. I believe it is the reality.

I will look at one of my babies and start crying, thinking what a miracle they all are and if I go first, how lonely and heartbroken they will be. I am determined to be the last one to go, out of the ten of us. I want their last image to be of me. I don't want a stranger to step in and take over. That might happen, but I don't want it to happen. The crying, at these times, will sometimes last for an hour or two. The sadness and pain and grief at this time devour me until I am a broken shell of a man.

There is a new show on ABC called The Black Box = I think it's on Thursday night at 10:00 p.m. It is about a woman with bi-polar disorder who is herself a therapist. Her therapist is played by the remarkable Vanessa Redgrave. The main character portrays what has happened in my life and for anyone who thinks this mental illness is something to be dismissed, because after all, "you look so good on the outside" = you couldn't possibly be sick. It is  not something to be dismissed, but it's very hard to explain it to other people. My ex-wife accused me of faking it all those years we were married. She also accused me of faking my sexuality.

Even though I was up front with her when we became engaged in October 1965, she said later she didn't know what homosexuality really meant. I didn't believe her when she said that, because I think she took me on as a "project" to see if she could change me, you know, make me straight. Her second marriage to a younger man was also a "project" of hers, to make him socially acceptable. She met him on a vacation in April 1989 when she went to Charleston, S.C. with a friend of hers. She had unprotected sex with him and one of his friends in a tent they had on the beach. He was homeless, suffering from schizophrenia, but she moved him to Marietta into the house I used to live in and she married him, stayed with him all these years, so I guess that particular "project" worked. He has been riding a "gravy train" all these years, not working, drawing disability, so I guess when he decided to marry her, he knew he would never have an opportunity like this again. Even though abuse happened, she stuck with him. She didn't want her latest "project" to fail.

I was involved with someone else in the summer of  1965, but between her and  my mother, I was psychologically beat into the ground, because my mother didn't want people making fun of me. So, I finally relented and have regretted it ever since, even though the marriage lasted from 1966 to 1989. The divorce was one of the best decisions I ever made.

I've found a measure of happiness and peace this last year, because I don't think anybody ever has complete happiness and peace in their lives. I'll take that measure, but one of my neighbors and his family, out in this neck of the woods, are obnoxious, loud people who need to live on another planet or on a deserted island, with no other people around.  They are non-educated rednecks who think nothing of target practice at midnight. All of a sudden, there is this loud sound and you know that the neighbor or one of the family members, has "let loose". Wish I had a remote control that I could press "Mute" on whenever they raised their voice to a roar, which is anytime they are outside. The children are following in their parents' footsteps, if you know what I mean.

I'm glad we didn't have any children, because the baggage from both our lives would have spelled disaster for the kids, but now I wonder if that was a mistake, because I believe I would have made a "great" grandfather. I wondered if I would have made the same mistake a lot of parents make with their kids, thinking they owe them something, even after they are grown. They don't owe them anything, it should be the other way around, the kids owe their parents respect and love and should step up to the plate when there is need for a caretaker.

I can't think of anything else to put in here, so this is my blog for April.

Until next time, this is the "last word".

Frozen in Time

By Harry Patrick

I can't believe it's been 50 years this year that I was a sophomore at Berea College. It was also the year that the world as we knew it changed forever.

I was working in the basement of the college library, checking out "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" when my supervisor ran into the room with her transistor radio in her hand, saying "Kennedy's been shot, Kennedy's been shot"!

Although the JFK assassination has been the subject of thousands of ideas about conspiracies, etc., it can't change the fact that JFK will always be that age, never growing older and Jackie will always be that age, never growing older. Even though Jackie was not killed that day, she went on with her life which has been well documented, but to me, she will always be the First Lady dressed in pink that day in Dallas, on November 22, 1963, about 1:00 p.m.

Footnote about Jackie = she died the same day a female relative of mine was murdered, shot by a man she thought was a friend.

JFK and Jackie are frozen in time and at times I feel like I am, too. Even though I am now 68, almost 69 years old, my mind still feels young, I love the same things I did when I was younger, even though lately I have not been as interested in the new TV shows as I used to be.

I used to couldn't wait until the new season to see my favorite shows and Sunday night is one of my favorites, but this season, I could tell something was "off", different, I didn't feel the same enthusiasm and anticipation as I have in other years. Is it just a lack of interest or is it something else?

My motivation for doing anything productive has gone right out the window, no desire to dig in and do something, from beginning to end, the desire is just not there.

Another Sunday coming to an end, November 10, 2013. My neighbor decided to mow his huge yard for several  hours today, disrupting the quiet that the country at times provides for you. Sometimes, not so quiet.

The country life is not for a lot of people and although I enjoy certain aspects of the isolation and the quietness, I still would love to live back in town. It would be easier on my psyche, I believe.

I'm thinking about going back to Pathways because my bi-polar disorder, or something, is causing me to "lose my cool" more than I should lately.

Or is just my opinions coming through verbally, without a filter? According to a recent Reader's Digest article, it is normal to think of what you would say if you wanted to, say someone cut in line and you wanted to say something but you just thought it, you didn't say it out loud. Well, here lately, I have been saying my thoughts out loud, no filter, sometimes with negative consequences. I didn't feel it was negative while I was saying it, but since the people around me don't know my mental history, they, of course, didn't understand where my outburst came from, even though, from their whispers in the crowd, they wanted to say something.

What I did and said next is frozen in time, I can't get that five minutes back in my life, so the words are out there, time-stamped on the wind.

The cashier at a certain store was having trouble understanding a customer's request that the two items she had lain on the counter were "buy one, get one free". She iterated this to the female cashier several times, but the girl still rung up the sale and charged her for two items.

All Hell broke loose because the girl started yelling, at the top of her lungs, for her manager. She yelled over and over and over and then the people in line behind me started to yell for him also. She did not know how to undo the problem.

While she was waiting on the manager, she struck up a conversation with two males she apparently knew. They stood in front of me and started talking to her, leaning on the counter while they talked. They both were young black males, wearing khaki shorts with their white briefs on display for everyone to see. The back waistband of their khakis were down below the leg holes of their briefs, their asses hanging out. The briefs were of very thin material and you could see their ass and their ass crack.

I found this very offensive and asked them if they would pull up their shorts because I did not enjoy looking at their asses on display. They ignored me, a verbal argument ensued between me, them, the cashier and the woman in front of me.

Without going into detail about what all was said and I was already frustrated and angry about waiting for the manager to clear the cashier's mistake, the young men refused to pull up their shorts, but left the store, then the lady in front of me decided to put her two cents' worth in and started telling me how rude I was to them.

I snapped, no other word for it and I let the cashier, the manager and the lady in front of me have it = let's just say "I tore them all a new one".

By the time I finally was checked out and made it to my car, I was shaking all over. I don't like confrontations, but I was so tired of people just doing what they damn well please and nobody saying anything. The people in line started complimenting the cashier for "doing such a good job" and said people should be allowed to wear what they wanted to wear in public.

Excuse me, I don't think so!! No . . . no!!!

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be "frozen in time" but frozen at a good time, not like the one I encountered recently at that particular store.

So much for filters!!

 

I Believe In Yesterday

by Harry Patrick

It is said that the heart and the mind process grief differently. The heart feels like it is literally aching, there is pain and tears. I don't know enough about the makeup of the human body to understand how that happens, but it happens. The mind processes a death sort of logically, trying to figure out what happened, where it happened, who it happened to, things that are logical and rational and understandable.
But, when the sadness and grief come from a death that was unexpected and violent, the processes of the heart and mind become intermingled.
On a rainy Sunday night, October 6, 2013, when the sky opened up with a fury, my close and dear friend Ray Ellis, on his way to the First Church of God evening services with his wife, Nellie, was struck by a car on Slate Avenue. I said goodbye to one of the closest friends I have ever had on Wednesday, October 9, 2013 during visitation hours. I didn't go to the funeral.
It's hard for me, has gotten harder for me over the past couple of years, to go to funerals, because since I've been in Bath County, I have been to so many, I became almost numb to the proceedings and the grief pushes me to a place I don't like to be, close to the edge of my mental limitations.
Ray and I first met at the Outlook office when I started working there over ten years ago. I don't remember the exact year we met, honestly, numbers escape me at times, but I believe I have known Ray for about 12-13 years.
We sat side-by-side at the Outlook office and exchanged many, many stories over the years we worked together.
He and Nellie owned the Kountry Kettle Restaurant in Miller Plaza at that time. It was a very popular place that I ate at quite often and where, on occasion, Margaret Metz and I would have lunch and where we would celebrate our May birthdays together.
Margaret passed away this year also and I look back on the yesterdays she and I shared at work and at the Kountry Kettle. She holds a special place in my heart and I cherish those lunches she and I would have, Ray sometimes joining us for a cup of coffee and some gossip.
I know our time on earth is limited and no one is promised tomorrow, so that is why we should embrace our blessings while we can and be thankful for the people we love and enjoy the moments as they happen.
There was a table in the back of the restaurant that Ray claimed as his personal domain, but I managed to wrangle my way to the table on many occasions and finally it was just natural to go to that table when I walked into the Kettle.
One night, I even washed dishes when one of their employees didn't show up.
Sometimes, when the restaurant closed and the last customer had left, I would stop by after Ray called me and said he would like some company. We would sit at that back table and talk about everything and nothing. There was nothing off limits as to what we would talk about.
Occasionally, we would have a drink. Some people I know, if they had known about that, would have frowned and pointed fingers at both of us, but neither one of us cared what people would say and we enjoyed the moment while it lasted.
Ray was a good person, with a good heart and a personality that would win over whoever came into his circle.
Recently, he had battled a medical crisis and was on his way to recovery, I have been told and I had not spoken to him or seen him in recent weeks, but I would think about the good times we had and the laughter we shared when I accompanied him on his trips to Sam's Club to buy supplies for the restaurant. Sometimes we would go to Max and Erma's to have lunch or sometimes we would go to the Waffle House to indulge in food that was not really good for us, but it tasted heavenly.
I'm not going to dwell on the aspects of the accident because I don't want to remember him that way. He is more than a highway statistic, he is more than a victim, he was a friend who accepted me, warts and all, without judgment. Sometimes he would be critical of some of my decisions, but it was always constructive criticism.
He drew people to him because he knew how to make a person feel comfortable, he knew how to carry the conversation and he had a wicked sense of humor.
I will miss all of that, but most of all, I will miss those talks we had over those drinks late at night in a closed restaurant, when the world seemed far away and it was just two friends enjoying that moment in time.
I pray he is resting in God's loving arms and will be at eternal peace.
It is God's decision to call someone Home and I am not one to question that decision. I can only grieve for a man I loved as a good friend.
There is a Beatle's song that I think sums up my life at this moment = "There's a shadow hanging over me, but I believe in yesterday".
Yesterday doesn't have to be literally the day that has just passed, it can mean the years that make up a person's life and memories.
My circle of friends has diminished by one, but I do believe in yesterday, where the memories of my friend Ray Ellis will live forever.
Rest in peace, Ray, will see you one of these days where we can talk among the clouds.