I went to catch up on my “weekly blogs” list and didn’t realize how many people I know of whose fathers died in the last year. Seriously, the Father’s Day blog posts could make a girl cry when it involves someone’s dad being gone. A snippet is “the worst thing that I’ve ever gone through.” And I know this because I still vividly remember my Aunt Shirley’s funeral back in October and watching my cousins sit in the row in front of me trying to deal with their mother’s death. It was bad enough trying to deal with my own grief that I can hardly imagine their own experience.
And this week, on Wednesday, my grandpa turns 95. 95! I sent him a card of an old man on a tricycle being a kid, which reminded me of watching him open his Christmas presents each year. I know that the day will come when I have to travel home for his funeral, and that day will probably be sooner rather than later. And though I will not want that day to come or expect it, I will in some sense be prepared, because we’ve almost lost him twice already. And I know that the day will come when I have to travel home (or to whatever state has decided to retire in) for his funeral too, and that day will probably be later and not sooner, and that when it comes (as of this moment) I am wholly unprepared for that eventuality. I might actually be more prepared for , since she at least talks about it and I know what she wants and she has a plan and a will and so forth.
Wow. That is totally not the direction I meant this post to take.
Where I meant to go was… the depth of these Father’s Day posts took me by surprise because the holiday nearly flew by me with very little interaction. I mailed a card on Wednesday and called on Sunday, but he wasn’t home so I just left a message. That was it. ‘s dad came over on Sunday, but I was out at the store (buying things at JoAnn for half off).
In other news, my dermatologist appointment is in less than an hour. I remembered this about a third of the way into my shower this morning, and decided to take an extra few minutes and enjoy the opportunity. I mean, I don’t get to shower again until Thursday late afternoon. Yech. Not a huge fan of that. Oh sure, “sponge baths” are allowed. Let’s hope it doesn’t get too hot, that’s all I’m saying. And you know I’m going to have to wash my hair in the sink at least once.
Hopefully I won’t itch too bad, because Wednesday (when they take off the patches) I have my first (of two or three, I can’t remember) test of the semester and I really don’t want to be distracted. Also, it said right on my info sheet not to itch the area with the patches. I can apply pressure with a fingertip, but otherwise I basically have to wait until Thursday afternoon, when they’ll apply a soothing balm of some sort. Of course, it’s also possible that nothing they put on will make me itch and it’ll be a huge waste. OK, not really a waste, because then we’ll know I’m not officially allergic to anything. But I won’t get a printout of “safe” products and I’ll just have to keep taking Zyrtec until I build up an immunity and then will just pray to whatever gods are in charge of skin and itchy things to have them provide me with something else.
So, yeah. 20 minutes of work left. Boring day.