Monday, May 07, 2007

We Interrupt This Program...

Some day soon, I'll write about the hilarious antics of the furballs and their adventures in moving. And I'll post about my adventures at my cousin's wedding (the groom wore a purple zoot suit, and was attacked by shrubberies). And I'll whine and moan about the job.

Today though that's on hold. It's on hold while I curl up in a corner and rock and wish that my parents were close enough for me to hug. Right now I don't want them leaving the house, much less undertaking a road trip to come visit me. I don't want them leaving the cotton batting that I'd really like to wrap them in. I've been off living life in the real world, and it's been bumpy. My best friend's dad has been having serious hello-nursing-home-with-restraints health problems. My aunt had surgery on her cancerous kidneys. My brother split with his girlfriend of 2 years. And I make it back to blog-land, and all hell's breaking loose here too.

First, Sharfa lost her dad. Yeah, she knew it was probably coming. So what? Still sucks beyond words. But what really knocked me over, dropped me for the count, was MM's loss. Oh god, oh god, oh god. To have everything poppin' up daisies one minutes and then the next... gone.

I've got some baggage going on here that really makes this resonate for me. After 45 years, Dad is retiring from the really big tire company. This, even more than the grey hair and the aches and pains, has made me have to admit to myself that he is aging. And I gotta say that he is aging more gracefully than I'm accepting. So anything that makes me look at parental mortality right now hits a pretty big bruise.

And the other thing freaking me out is that I know that stretch of highway. I know it very well. I drove it every time I headed for home, and I had a couple of narrow escapes along the way. So seeing that was a shiver down the spine.

As much as it pains me, I know that I have no idea. Because I can call my parents and talk to them and they'll make it better or try to. So I don't know what he's going through, the pain that his whole family is experiencing. It's like a back injury, I think. Yeah, it gets better - with lots of time. But you're never all the way back to normal and you never know when you're going to turn or twist the wrong way and send a jolt of agony from your toes up through the top of your skull. So I'm sorry, MM, for your loss. I'd help if I could.


There's another thing stuck in my craw too. I can find things. I've always been able to - it's a gift. With the introduction of the internet, there's very little that I can't track down in fairly short order. When MM posted about his Japanese sex book, I found him. Nothing like an image search if you know where to look. And I looked at the squiggly lines on the page, and I looked at the "translate this page" button... and I didn't. I closed the window and surfed away. Because I consider him a friend, though one I've never met who wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground. I'm invested in his life, in the stories he choses to share. And if my friend wants to tell me something, I'll listen. If it's none of my business, I'll walk away.

So him having to deal with being outed on top of everything else just fries my bacon. And the worst is that it's going to happen from people who also consider him a friend. Please, don't post links to articles about the accident. Or the obituaries. Don't mention names. Don't sign guest books. DO NOT show up for calling hours or funerals. As a friend, the best thing you can do is post a comment on his blog and then leave him alone.

Yes, I know it's with good intentions. And he really doesn't care now. But things on the internet last longer than you'd think. I know because I find them. And every link posted and shared and every comment on a guestbook will be there, waiting for someone to stumble across, like a little timebomb. And in time, when things are better - or at least, not as awful - I think he'll care. A lot. And I really don't want him to leave us for his own good. Please, just back away slowly and let him, and his, just be.

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