What Now? – Chapter 1

I have to say this because I believe this is true.
We take moments for granted. We assume that this is life and that life will be the same. We make plans and never consider the alterations of life or the weather. We go and we live and we assume; and the ideas of change are not considered. Safe to say, we think that our life will be as it is, until one day, life changes, and then nothing is ever the same again.

This brings me back to the ideas of my Mother, or as I affectionately referred to her as Mom, and back to the ideas of life as it was for her. Then again, this brings me back to the life that Mom assumed she would always have.

I think about her plans and her ideas to retire one day and move to some retirement community, perhaps somewhere down in South Florida, where she and my Old Man would live out the rest of their days together, perhaps spending time on a golf course, or living some clubhouse life and eating their buffets while living in a nice house with a nice driveway, a few palm trees in the yard and, of course, the Florida weather would be their friend.
I say the Florida weather would be their friend, except in the summer, which is when my parents would probably plan their trips up north to see us, my brother and myself, or to see how our life turned out which, of course, if the preferences were allowed, I assume this would mean my brother and I, running the family business, and successfully too, I might add.
I assume Mom pictured us living on our own in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, a white picket-fence, two-car garage, kids, a dog or two, and, of course, I assume the ideas that Mom had are equal to the quintessential American dream.

I can say that there is something peaceful to this idea, even for me; yet as peaceful as the vision may be, reality was not quite the same.

I remember when The Old Man passed. I remember when Mom stood on the stoop in front of my childhood home. This was the morning after.

She stood at the merciless fact that the love of her life was gone, and that she would never see him again, at least not in the flesh.
She told me about the unfairness of life and how brutal this was. She was taken aback to see how the television went on, the traffic lights still worked, and the bread trucks and the other delivery trucks still made their way down the street, as if it were just another day in the life, or as if everything was business as usual.

She told me, “I just lost the love of my life, and the world didn’t stop. Not once.”
She told me, “Everything just kept going.”
I’m sure she wanted everything to stop. At least for a moment, or at least for a longer period of time where mom could process her loss or deal with the fact that her husband, or my Father, The Old Man, was gone and he was never coming home again.

“What now?”

I remember the clothes that The Old Man left behind before he went into the hospital. Everything was left as it was and in the exact same position as The Old Man left it before going into Hempstead General. He left his favorite nightshirt on the chair in their bedroom. There was something odd and eerie about this, as if I could feel him, or feel his energy in the things he left behind.
I saw where The Old Man left his sneakers and how one was laid on its side and the other was situated right beside it, sort off off-center.
I could feel his presence. But yet, The Old Man was gone

Mom told me she kept his nightshirt for years and she never washed it because Mom said the nightshirt smelled like him.

Years later, I remember going through my things and I found one of the gifts The Old Man left me. The gift was a small book which was given to me on my 13^th birthday. It was a prayer book.
I was supposed to give this little book to my youngest son on his 13^th birthday. But life didn’t work out that way. I never had a son . . .

I remember opening the pouch where I kept the little book. The book was wrapped in a scarf that used to belong to my Father—and yes, the scarf smelled exactly like him,
The Old Man.

I remember when he passed. I remember thinking about the life I assumed I’d always have and how my life would be. But all of that changed the day of The Old Man’s first heart attack.

I think of this because life will always change and so will our plans.
Everything changes. Life changes. People change, and so does love. Fashions change and so will opinions and matters will change.
Life is filled with breakups and new beginnings. And no, I can’t say that all breakups are bad and that all new beginnings are good. However, I can attest to the fact that breakups can be heartbreaking and new beginnings can be uncomfortable. But change is part of life and much of our life is filled with unexpected changes that we wished we could avoid.
We all age, and that’s the truth.
But more, we are all on an inevitable and eventual course of action which is life. Life comes with a beginning, a middle, and sadly, there is always an end to everything.

I always wished Mom and The Old Man could’ve had their retirement. I wish that Mom had her way and that her dreams came true. But life had something else in store. And Mom had to face a new life and life forced Mom to create a different plan.

However, and before I close this entry, I have to say this here and now.
I am my Father’s son. I am working hard and sometimes, I wonder about this. Hence, I wonder, to what avail? What am I doing?
In the end, is all of my work going to be worth it?

I think about the life which is taken all too seriously. I think about the common losses and the particular ones, or the personal ones; whereas life changed and nothing was ever the same again.
I think about the so-called endings of old times and how the new face of reality was odd or sad and even uncomfortable. Just like the energy I felt when seeing the clothes that were left behind by The Old Man in my parents bedroom, before The Old Man went to the hospital, sometimes, I look at the remnants of someone or something, which is a reminder of how I thought my life “would” have been.
The energy is still there, only the person is gone and the death of what was is still present in my heart.

I think about the nights when I stood alone, looking up at a yellowish moon, and wondering if I have done what I was supposed to, or if I am still nothing more than an unwritten page, and all of my travels have amounted to nothing.

I am not blank, like an empty page, not by any means.
However, there are times when I am at a loss and viewing the nighttime sky, as if the moon were like some mystical body or, to me, I am in some quasi-like fragile moment of awareness.
I look up at the stars and view the sky. I take in the calmness and the sullen nature of a mournful thought, and I think about the life ahead of me, which has yet to unfold.

Things will always pass . . .

I view the stars and look to the constellations, like the big or the little dipper, and I’ll look for Orion’s belt, and I let myself breathe or exhale, as if to exhaust the tension and the angst which has built up like a series of unwanted sediments, or like an irritant, I look to remove the old burdens which have built up throughout the years.

I am alive and well. Yet, I am living proof that life takes place and anything can change.
Life can switch with just the ability of a word.
Life can turn around at any given moment and next, we have clarity, or as it is with moments of awareness—life refuses to cease or desist and life moves. Relentlessly . . .
Life can be just like the bread trucks that sped down Merrick Avenue the morning after my Old Man’s death. Nothing stops. Nothing pauses. Life moves, and, so do we.
It’s just business as usual. . . .
Life, I mean.

I am a person with a full heart and yes, I have flaws and imperfections. Like anyone else, I have a past. I have made mistakes. I have done good things for bad people, and sadly, I admit to have done bad things to good people which I understand that this comes with a debt.
I understand that I owe.
Whether this debt is karmic, or long-term, or even if this debt is only momentary, or short term; I understand that there is a cost for every moment in life—and should I choose to adapt or to improve, I have to understand that there are going to be moments of heartache. There will be moments of loss. And there will be times when the sky is beautiful and the stars are bright, the moon is full, and the tides are kind enough to let the waves trickle across the shoreline.

I live as a man who has seen both great and terrible things. I also live with the understanding that some of the greatest views are views that I will never see again.
And that’s okay.

I thought my life was going to be a certain way.
Then again, I never thought that I would be someone who lived in a big house with a big driveway, a mailbox in front of the home, and me, old or getting older, and quietly mannered, or wearing a robe and slippers as I make my way outside to get the morning paper.

If you told me that this would be me, I would have laughed and said, “never.”

Is this me?
Well, not really.
Life changed and so did my location, my level of status, and so did my situation as well as my relationships.

I am in a new phase of existence and perhaps I might (or might not) ever reach such high peaks again. Perhaps there is more in store for me. Maybe there’s more than I believed, and it’s all out there, just waiting.
Or maybe life is only making a correction and my temporary stay of loneliness is nothing else but a blip on the great clock, which I call life.

I can say that while growth comes with pain, life comes with growth, and ever the hardest pains come with an eventual relief.

As for my question of “What now?”
I am in a holding period, to which I don’t have the answer to this question.
Sometimes, I relate to Mom when she was standing on the stoop of my childhood home, the morning after The Old Man passed away.

How come nothing stops?
How can the world just move on after something tragic hits us?
How is it that no matter how we beg, the clock never stops, just to give us one more minute or one second longer to hold someone before we say our last goodbyes.

Maybe this is Father Time reminding me that hey kid, you still have some work to do. Get your head back in the game because there’s more in store.
Or, maybe this is Mother Earth allowing me the understanding that everything and everyone has a moment of all kinds.

As for “What now?”
The hour is still early and the workday ahead of me has items in need of my attention. Either way, the television still comes on, the traffic lights still work, and yes, I’m sure that somewhere, there’s a bread truck rushing down the street to make their deliveries, as if it’s just another day, or business as usual.

What now?
I guess I should go with what makes sense, which means another cup of coffee, and then it’s off to work.

Know what I mean?