Recollections (Randyjw; June 1, 2017)
We always find that what we miss and mourn most are the people who mattered in our lives. End of life ruminations don’t generally tend to dwell on wishing that more time had been spent in the office, but lamenting the time not utilized spent with loved ones.
The memories we carry of our dear ones passed are the cherished treasures remaining to us, and a few of their items may help to bring a sense of comfort to our lives.
My tiny storage unit of mostly worthless items at any fair market value meant the world to me in the absence of my loved ones’ presence in my lives. I began the initial mourning of their loss toward midnight last evening, when my non-ability to pay for continued storage will necessitate their removal/sale/auction by the company from which I rent the space.
For my own nostalgia, I recall some of what may have been contained amongst my treasured personal items, more so because my father and brother are no longer alive — my mother because she has decided to treat me as if I am dead to her, cast-off as undesirable and purposely remaining jobless and homeless in order to make her life miserable (this makes two mothers to have done so). It doesn’t mean that I feel the same way about them.
Ask yourself, and answer honestly: Do you know what love is?
My Mother’s Rainbow Blanket – a mother-daughter collaboration, paid tribute to in writing.
My father’s pajamas – decades old, thin, cottony, two-piece Daddy pajamas; epitomizes the essence of my Dad (slippers would, too).
My tennis racket – My father instilled the love of his hobbies in me, as well, beginning as a young girl — tennis, piano, flying (although I don’t know how). He played tennis with Pancho Villa, before, and won alot of local trophies throughout the years. My wooden Davis tennis racket was the one I’ve used since then. Now, it’ll be gone.
Photo Albums – Not sure if these were here, because my Mother has claimed most of my things as hers and taken them back over the years. Don’t know if she has, or had, these. She made me once put my things in the conference room at her boyfriend’s company, even though I had a storage unit; then, they’d gotten rid of what was in there, including other peoples’ things, and claimed that I had put nothing in there and that everything that had been stored there, including the contents from my Mother and Father’s previous home(s) which hadn’t gone into my Mom and her boyfriend’s apartment, belonged entirely to my Mother. My mother has since moved with her boyfriend to an assisted-living facility, and I have no idea what has become of all of our things. I had to look up the new address and ask the facility for her apartment number, which she didn’t give me. My mother had my brother’s and mine old family albums, and life with my Dad at our old home. My own albums contained other parts of my life.
Old Articles – Additional articles I’d accumulated on Judaism, terrorism, general topics.
Wedding Dress – My mother beaded a white two-piece outfit she used to wear, for my wedding (by justice of the peace), which was unattended by my parents, because, unbeknownst to me, my father had been diagnosed with cancer. I was only alerted to this fact when he was already on his deathbed, morphined out of his mind and babbling about his elementary-school days. My poor father. Poor me. I only had a few visits with him before he passed away. I knew the evening before it would occur, when I associated the look of evil I saw on the face of the nurse who called herself both “Joanne” and “Johanna” (“Joanne. Or Johanna”, as she specifically says) hovering over my father after smiling goodbye at us. I had turned to look back at my Dad, and when I saw that, I begged my mother to let me stay overnight in a cot in the room there. She refused. We got the call in the morning that he’d passed away. Yeah, I knew it. The lady looked like an Austrian/German woman who was married to someone associated with my Dad’s company. Almost two decades later, in a totally different state, I could swear the same lady was now at the facility where my brother had been placed, where he died of cancer. She introduced herself as “Joanne. Or Johanna”.
Cousins of mine on my mother’s side had moved into the nearby areas, as well. One of these, and her daughter, had taken to using a Ouija board and was convinced it really worked. These are the cousins whose dachshund, Heidi, alerted me to follow her to find that their lakeside dock was beginning to smolder from the embers of a stubbed-out cigarette upon its post, and I was able to douse it.
I was skeptical, having once used the Ouija board with a fourth-grade friend at her house, and felt that my friend must have moved the planchard very quickly, and I didn’t believe it. But, my cousin was adamant. I began to watch her sessions, and the planchard moved. I’m not sure I agreed with the answers to the questions she posed to it, though. So, I asked her to question who the respondent was providing the answers. I actually invited the “spirit entity” to follow me back to my house. Yeah, stupid, right? If I’m recalling some of the details, some of them were: Preston. Elizabeth, I think. Something like 4321 Revere Lane. A bunch of weird letters for the town, like “Q-U-A”; Maybe Virginia, W. Virginia, or something. I tried Googling it, but didn’t come up with anything succinct. Oh, yeah… A message once, which was something like “Alive! And glad to be!” and something about going AWOL. Sounds like an old sailor who may have died and is on a quest to find his love.
I had since become convinced and bought my own board and was doing it at home. I used the organ my Dad used to play in their new condo, and felt like I was channeling the voice of my old boyfriend’s dead sister. I screwed up the courage to ask a message to my father about the circumstances of his death. The answer was: “True. Bad lady put pillow over (and the planchard went to the male character on the board, which, on close inspection, does have a resemblance to my father). Wow.
Eventually in doing this sorcery, for that is what it is and is forbidden to us, I got scared, and was told to get Hebrew. The only thing Hebrew in the condo was some Passover Haggadahs, so I got one out and began reading it aloud. It got better, and then I got rid of that Ouija board.
This was also a period of two Biblical visions: one, a burning bush not consumed (like Moses), although I did the wrong thing and put shoes on instead of removing them; and the presence of a Kaf inside one eyelid and a Shin in the other while physically in the presence of another individual (possibly representing a Kabbalistic reading of Crown/Head/Army of G-d).
Scuba mask, snorkel, and fins – These were my brothers. He loved to snorkel in the ocean. My parents had bought him a Sailfish styrofoam-type sailboat for his birthday once, which we used to sail in the seas around Cape Cod. We loved it. Eventually, since we weren’t vacationing much in the Cape anymore, my Mom sold the boat to my cousin mentioned above. Presents taken back, like most of mine have been.
Another guy is talking and interrupting my train of thoughts. He wants to also use my phone, and now this phone is at 50% battery. I want to transfer my poetry from my blog to the journal a friend sent for my birthday, and I can only do so on this phone, since my data is used up and I can’t use the internet on it. Now, 47%.
Personalized Bamboo Tray – The bamboo tray I was personalizing for my friend for a birthday passed. I brought it to storage for safekeeping, but I have no way to save it. I’m so sorry, Chuck. I meant well, as I always have… Things just got messed up in “life translation”…
Album of Brother’s Things – An album put together from a few things left inside his apartment, where I stayed during my final three months with him. It contained a bit of his writing, some fake tattoo sheets I’d given him, and all the hospital notes, which I was kindof investigating, due to alot of inconsistencies (falsified paperwork) regarding timing, hospital staff initials and entries, etc. I suspect something, perhaps having to do with a catheter (maybe Foley’s) and problems with a spinal injection, and what occured at that point. Documents don’t gel from one hospital to the next and indicate a clear lie that they DID know what was going on and covered it up by saying that they didn’t have the report from the other hospital, which they then proceed to reference a bit later, etc. But, it’s really irrelevant, being that he’s dead and can’t come back. They said they never knew what kind of cancer it was.
My Poetry And Artwork – Everything since I ever began.
I may add recollections to this post, as I later recall them to mind…