~ debi
Tag: Death
RIP Dixie Yazbeck
October 26, 2001 – May 14, 2016.
Dixie has been my constant roommate, travel companion and comforter for almost fifteen years.
Little pieces of life leave. Fissures in the dam. And I cry endlessly with each. Those fissures repair themselves eventually or that dam would break and I’d flood all life downstream.
I imagine Towanda Yazcat and Fefe will terrorize me for a few days as they adjust to not having Dixie to pick on (don’t get me wrong – she loved the attention). And I’m a big sloppy mess.
I love you, Dixie. Forever.
- debi
Starfish or Just Stars or Maybe Cats
If I climb out the window, my mind will be free. I don’t have to drive my truck home. I just have to think myself home.
And that Negroni will be iced and waiting on the counter.
Susan is sitting in the living room. She never really died. They just told me she did ‘cause I was a really bad influence on her even though they always told me I was good for her.
But I showed them all and outlived most everyone. And then started over.
Well kinda, lots of things never change. Maybe they should change. I need to walk on the beach.
Horses would rally around me and lift me on their withers and charge through the waves breaking on the shore. We’d head for the sunset that would never set. We’d be forever heading for it… Until it abruptly becomes the sunrise.
I’ll have to go back to work tomorrow, won’t I? But now I don’t have my truck at home and I don’t know how to get there.
Can I call a shooting star? I’d get there really quickly. Ok, I feel better now. But I’ll have to go to work before the sun rises or the star won’t pick me up. Maybe I can call the horses back.
Starfish are beautiful. But they smell bad if we take them from their homes. We don’t even realize they are at home and they become sad and die when we love them and want them as our possessions.
Maybe the star would die too. I wouldn’t want that.
So maybe I have to go home through the great big door in the front of the building – not out the window. NO! I refuse. I’ll find another way.
Doors are confining. Windows are the answer.
The window to my soul wants to open. I’m not sure if it wants to let something out or let something in. So it kinda jumps off the tracks sometimes. Then I can’t get it back on the tracks and when it rains water leaks all over the floor. What a mess. And sometimes spiders come in and the cats play with them. But the cats never clean up after themselves.
If I could I’d have twenty cats. The litter box would have to be ten feet by ten feet. And they would all have to follow the number one rule: cover that shit UP! Whew.
When I come back in my next life I want to be a cat.
- debi
Fleeting
It goes by too quick. Life does.
I look into the face of my dear friend. In the hospital. (Apparently, it’s a recurring thing lately – these hospital visits.) He has aged. I have to admit when I look in the mirror – I have too. Dammit. And dammit that it took the alarm of the ICU to get me off my butt and by his side.
We share news of kids and grandkids (his) and great-grandkids (his again – yes I’m envious). Nearly four decades of communal history are in the room with us… like it all happened yesterday: crazy dangerous fun, laughter, pain, loss.
He says he doesn’t want to grow old. This scares me. So I ask him, “But if your quality of life is good, old is good, right?” I can’t bear losing him.
But I don’t think I’ll lose him any time soon. He’s a tough bird, “older than dirt” according to his estimations.
He’s side-stepped doctor recommendations for a good long while now, hence ICU and the once-again stay in the hospital. This time they’ll be keeping him for a while – in the pulmonary rehabilitation wing. The fun of youth catches up.
(Seriously!? Are we allotted just some quota of over-the-top living!?! I suppose there’s no rhyme or reason to the life and death cycle TIMING thing but it’s REALLY hard to not contemplate and wonder if there is some allowance-of-fun-score-keeping device that pulls the plug on us through death or discomfort.) Sigh… Enough ranting.
I wish you comfort, my friend.
And LOTS of old age that we can share together.
I love you, Claud Wayne.
– debi
Hi-jacked…
Yep.
Nine members of my family and almost four-hundred other persons. BA flight 2069, December 28, 2000.
It’s not something I think of often, but my daughter, Rachel, recently posted on Facebook a dramatic re-enactment of the hi-jacking causing a flood of memories. It made me wonder how others on the flight were affected by the experience.
Here’s one article with comments from fellow passengers:
My thoughts?
I distinctly remember my heart pounding so loud and slow that other sounds were drowned out. I’d never felt as calm as I felt in those moments – and I’ve never felt that since. I knew we all were on the verge of death, and I was thankful all nine of our family were together so none of us had to face the pain of life without the others. I accepted my fate as easily as I would accept a hug from a loved one.
Does that sound callous? My husband of twenty-two years, the father of my children, had died suddenly in an electrical accident six months previously. Russell, Rachel and I were still reeling from the loss. For me, the contemplation of imminent, sudden death was not at all frightening.
If you were on the flight, what are your memories?
If you weren’t on the flight but have had a similar experience, please share.
– debi
Quiet Lost: Chapter 11
Quiet Lost is a story of betrayal, murder, love and lost love. It will require several chapters to tell Neil’s story.
***
Quiet Lost
Chapter 11
Monday, September 14
Brad
“Bro, I love your car,” Brad said, glad his bother wasn’t with him, as he turned the music louder and took off too fast from a red light, glancing over both shoulders to see if there might be any comers to a little racing; wanting to show off the 400 hp, twin-turbo V8. Continue reading
Quiet Lost: Chapter 10
Quiet Lost is a story of betrayal, murder, love and lost love. It will require several chapters to tell Neil’s story.
***
Quiet Lost
Chapter 10
Monday 6:30pm, September 14
Neil hung Brad’s keys on the key rack. When I wake in the morning, maybe MY keys will be here. He cut short a laugh, closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Continue reading
Quiet Lost: Chapter 9
Quiet Lost is a story of betrayal, murder, love and lost love. It will require several chapters to tell Neil’s story.
***
Quiet Lost
Chapter 9
Monday, September 14
The day was not going well. He’d had trouble concentrating during the 7:30am once-a-month staff meeting. The gathering that usually proceeded with light-hearted teasing and sharing of ideas was dry and long-winded; his staff sensing their boss was preoccupied and upset. Continue reading
My Neighborhood (Part 4)
Cat, cat, kitten, kitten and dog.
How can five tiny beings consume so much of life?
For years, I had only two cats and no dog. My Siamese, Mesey,
ruled the roost and the backyard. She was a pest of loud meowing proportions (those of you who are proud slaves of Siamese know exactly of what I speak). Continue reading
My Favorite Knife
I haven’t posted in a few weeks, but I’m always writing. I started a new writing class, and all my energies took a detour to pure fiction.
Here’s one of my assignments:
Think of something you would never do. Continue reading