Entry 817 – Strength Through Tears

Dance With My Father 

Back when I was a child
Before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me and then

Spin me around till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure
I was loved

If I could get another chance
Another walk, another dance with him
I’d play a song that would never, ever end
How I’d love, love, love to dance with my father again

Ooh, ooh

When I and my mother would disagree
To get my way I would run from her to him
He’d make me laugh just to comfort me, yeah, yeah
Then finally make me do just what my mama said

Later that night when I was asleep
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he
Would be gone from me

If I could steal one final glance
One final step, one final dance with him
I’d play a song that would never, ever end
‘Cause I’d love, love, love to dance with my father
again

Sometimes I’d listen outside her door
And I’d hear how my mama cried for him
I pray for her even more than me
I pray for her even more than me

I know I’m prayin’ for much too much
But could You send the only man she loved
I know You don’t do it usually
But dear Lord, she’s dyin’ to dance with my father again
Every night I fall asleep
And this is all I ever dream

(Or as I sing the last stanza:)

"I know I’m prayin’ for much too much
but could you send the one I love the most?
I know you don’t do it usually
But dear Lord I’m dyin’ to just see my Nana . . . again.
Every night I fall asleep
and this is all I ever dream . . .

 

Yesterday morning, I woke up to the annoying and frankly obnoxious sounds of Mike and Dan taling/laughing/whatever-ing. Is it my imagination, or does everyone else think Dan sounds like a freakin’ horse when he laughs? Considering I’d only had about six hours of sleep at the time, it was rather irritating. Yeah, maybe I should’ve been awake by then, but it’s called common courtesy, you know? Though to be completely honest, Mike seems to have lost any semblance of courtesy towards me in the past five weeks or so.

Anyway, it wasn’t too long after when I heard my dad and Mike talking outside my door. I don’t know what my dad first said that clued me in on the fact that this was a conversation I wanted to hear, but whatever it was, I opened my ears and listened. I realized pretty quickly that they were discussing the Staten Island house, where Nana lived and my uncle still lives.

Okay, bit of background there. At the start of the year, my uncle went in and out of the hospital a few times because he has Krohn’s disease and it was acting up. I don’t know much about Krohn’s, but as far as I understand, it makes it hard for people with the disease to digest certain foods, so there can be blockages in their intestines and stuff like that. All in all, not fun.

Anyway, because of the hospital trips, he missed work. Well, when he went back to work, they ultimately fired him. So now he’s out of work, behind on bills, and has no way of really supporting himself living in that house. It looked like what my mom predicted years ago was going to come true. That after Nana died, we’d end up selling the Staten Island house, and Uncle Bill would come live with us. My parents had actually been talking about that as a possibility not too long ago. I pretty much stayed out of it. I didn’t want to lose that house, I still don’t, but I also can’t argue with the logic of doing it if it needs to be done. My parents, even with both of them working, can’t support the bills of two houses. Not to mention car repairs, or anything else that happens to the appliances or whatever in this house or the other one. Not to mention I have no idea where it would leave us if he went into the hospital again. I have no idea if Uncle Bill even has any kind of insurance to help cover that.

Well, back on the main point, what I overheard as I was laying there was that my dad was suggesting that instead of trying to find an apartment in Manhattan, why didn’t Mike and Shannon, and whoever else was joining in this venture just move up to the Staten Island house? It’s about a mile from the ferry, so it’d be easy enough to go into Manhattan, they wouldn’t have to worry about a deposit, or finding an apartment that allowed dogs, and what with more than one person living there, it’d really help my uncle with the bills and whatnot.

And I’m laying there, listening to Mike tell my dad that their apartment venture may not be Shannon, Kathy, and Mike anymore, right now it was up in the air, because Kathy might pull out, but Dan and his girlfriend Jess might join in. He’d have to talk to them about it, but that it was something to think about.

I could tell just by how my dad was talking, and what he was saying and how he was trying to get it across that he’s pushing for this. But let me not get ahead of myself.

After they finished talking, all I remember is wanting to talk to Rob. Wanting to be in his arms, just wanting to feel him hug me and say things would be all right. I obviously couldn’t have that right then, but looking over at the bouquet of flowers and the balloon helped some. It brought a small smile to my face.

When Rob did call later, asking if he still had a ride to work, I said of course, and that I would leave in a few minutes. I purposely left early because A) I wanted to get out of the house, and B) I wanted to talk to him about this.

When I got to his house, he let me in, and it turned out he had downloaded a song we’d heard the night before. My Own Worst Enemy, by Lit. Not to mention the song from the Rocky movies. Eye of the Tiger, I think it is? Anyway, he’s become a lot more perceptive on picking up at least my mood differences, and he asked what was up. I told him about the conversation I’d overheard, and the

n gave my perspective on it. That I didn’t want them, especially not Dan and Jess, in that house. That house was my Nana’s. And the idea of other people living there, the idea of somebody else having her bedroom . . .

I tried not to start crying, really I did. But it didn’t work. The tears came. And Rob came and sat down beside me and pulled me into his arms and just let me cry on his shoulder for a while.

I was semi-okay a little while later and we got going. While we were in the car, tears came again, though, cuz I was telling him how honestly, Nana would have loved him. He made me laugh when he said, "Why, because I’m naive?" I said, "Well, yeah, that’d be part of it." But then, thinking about his sense of humor, his innocence, his romantic-ness, how happy he makes me, how he’s so good at comforting me, and everything else he does for me, I also added, "Honestly, she would’ve loved you for all the same reasons I do."

When we got to Staples, he said he wanted me to cheer up, that he didn’t like seeing me so sad. I couldn’t promise I would cheer up, but I told him I’d try. We kissed and I said I’d see him later that night.

I came home, everything that I’d heard still weighing pretty heavily on my mind with one solid thought in my head: I don’t want him in my Nana’s house. I went through washing the dishes while listening to different songs on my CD player, and Mike and Dan came back to the house while I was doing that. They didn’t even see me. Luckily, Dan left not too long after. Mike came up in the kitchen and was making small talk that honestly, I couldn’t have cared less about. At one point I said, "Okay, have you just not cared to ask, or has your perception gone down that far?" He asked what was up and while I do acknowledge this may not have been the best way to open things, I said something like, "I heard what my dad was saying to you earlier. I don’t want him in that house."

He basically gave me a reaction of having no sympathy towards what I thought, and I decided ‘you know what? Hell with it, then.’ It wasn’t worth trying to explain. It’s not like he’d have listened, anyway . . .

I more or less said to just leave me alone and let me finish what I was doing after that, and that’s exactly what he did. Thank God for small blessings, huh? I turned my CD player back on to listen to You and I by Celine Dion. I didn’t even make it past the first verse before I started crying again. All I wanted was Rob’s arms around me and I knew I couldn’t have that because he was at work.

Later that day, I was talking to Melanie online. I’m sure she’ll leave me a note saying that she’s fine, but I’m worried about her. That worry, plus everything else in my head, and the fact that my mom at least, was just being extremely annoying and snippy, encouraged me to go for a walk after Seinfeld was over at eight.

I went out walking and just meandered around Sycamore, past where Staples is, and then onto the plaza where K-mart and Pathmark are.  On the way, I passed the Hallmark and saw that they have a Help Wanted sign in the window.  So I went in and gave them my info.  ::Crosses fingers::  I hope I’ll be hired.  As horrible and annoying as Melanie says it is at times, it’s a job, and that is something that I definitely need.

I wandered around there for a good deal of time and when I found out it was just after nine, I walked back and waited in front of Staples.  I was there for about an hour and once again started crying.  Rob came out towards the end of that burst of tears to change the trash bag in the can outside the door and we were able to talk a bit.  He was finally able to leave about twenty minutes or so after that and we walked down to Sycamore and stopped there to talk for a bit.  He kept saying to not be so sad, that he hated it when I was depressed and whatnot.  I said that I’d be okay, but I do go on stints like this.  It still hits me sometimes that Nana’s not there anymore.  That when I think about Staten Island, I have to remind myself that she’s not up there waiting for me to visit her.

He said that if I needed to cry, and it sounded like I did, that I could.  That I should just let it all out.  I said that I probably would before the night was out, but I wanted to get home then.  Not only was I cold and had started to shiver, but I didn’t want little icicle tracks going down my face.

So we walked back to my house and ended up going right back out to Wawa’s for subs.  We sat in my room and ate them and around one AM, I said I wanted to go skating.  So we checked out Union Beach, the outdoor rink there.  Instead of skating, we spent a good deal of time either sitting and talking/kissing, or standing and kissing.  I suggested checking out Veteran’s Park, so we drove there, me in one rollerblade and one sock, him still with the blades on.  Well, Veteran’s Park appeared drier, so I pulled in there.  I drove over to where the bathrooms were so Rob could make use of the men’s room, and I drove back to the parking lot nearby to park and get my other skate on so I could go down the hill towards the restroom building.  So that’s exactly what I did, and I appeared just as Rob was coming out.

I gave him a hand and we skated back up the hill, (which he half-fell going up.  I caught him, but he had to go on his knees anyway to stand upright again,) and then we skated over to the tennis courts, which was probably a mistake.  I’d forgotten how long it took to skate there.  Or rather, how far it was, because not helping Rob, it would’ve taken me half the time.  Helping him, though . . .

Anyway, we made it into the tennis courts, skated for a bit, then I pinned him against the chain link fence that surrounds the court, fastened my hands under his arms and around the links and we spent some more time just kissing.  Or him slipping and grabbing onto my shoulders.  Lol.  Every time he didn’t fall from that, I’d just look at him and say, "See?  Told you I wouldn’t let you fall."

I also started thinking about Nana again while we were standing there.  I told him about how this wasn’t the same as when my grandpa died, because their house, my grandma and grandpa’s, i never truly felt like I was at home.  I was always just a guest.  But Nana’s . . .  I was always, in a way, at home.  I told him how every time she would talk to me, she’d ask me, "When’re ya comin’ home?"  Then I just leaned against him and murmured, "I’d give anything to hear her say that again."

After that, we found a dry patch on the court and just sat there for a good half hour or so, just talking.  You know, I don’t remember how we started talking about this, but one thing he said just broke my heart.  He was talking about all the different accomplishments his younger sisters and brother have made, about how "Stephanie’s gotten this award," "Veronica’s in this club," "Jonathan’s won this," and stuff like that.  I’d thought this for a bit, but this time I said it: "You feel like such an underachiever compared to them, don’t

you?"  He told me yeah, that was putting it mildly.  I don’t remember if we were just silent for a little while or if something else initiated me saying this, but I do remember curling up next to him, laying my head on his shoulder, and saying, "You’re not a failure."

I hope he truly did believe me when I said that.  Because it’s true.  He isn’t.  I mean, for cryin’ out loud, he’s able to deal with being epileptic!  That’s no small feat.  Yet he hasn’t let it stop him.  That is not the mark of a failure.  That’s the mark of someone determined to overcome something that by all rights, should never have been placed on him.  I mean, seriously, how many people would fold under the pressure of knowing that their lives are periodically interrupted by seizures?  How many people wouldn’t be able to deal with daily doses of medication?  How many people wouldn’t be able to deal with knowing that before some event, they were "normal?"  But he has.  I’m not gonna say he’s been unchanged by it, but he’s dealt with it.  And to me, that’s no failure.

I think I wondered about this once or twice when I knew Shaun, but I definitely have now that I know Rob.  I’ve wondered how I would deal.  And you know the answer I came up with?  Badly.  I would deal very, very BADLY.  God only knows how much stuff seizures would scare me away from doing.  It’d drive me nuts.  Honestly, Rob has no idea how much I admire him for being able to deal as well as he has.  Or at least as well as I’ve seen him.

We decided to leave not too long after and I convinced him to stay at the tennis court and let me skate back to the car.  It’d be a lot faster.  So I said, "Just wait here," and left him standing at the chain link door to the tennis court.  There’s a little rocky cement hill to step up, then you’re on solid road.  But it’s nice and gravel-y.  I let myself focus on pushing myself forward, instead of stepping over the gravel, which is what I usually do.  It’s really annoying having to walk in skates on a place you know you should be able to roll, at least to some degree.  Anyway, I made it back to the car pretty quickly, all the while hoping that Rob was still on his feet.  I got back in my shoes, shoved the skates in the back, and drove over to the tennis court.  I was looking towards where Rob had been when I skated off and didn’t see him.  Instead, he was across the street, standing near the curb.  I grinned and stopped the car, unlocking the door for him.  He got in and I asked something like, "You didn’t fall, did you?"  He said no, that he’d just gone, really carefully, sidestepping up that slope and then I’m guessing he pretty much walked it across the street.  Cuz it’s by sheer force of will and talent with rollerblading that I’m able to skate on that ground.

Anyway, we went back to my house and hung out up in my room, just kissing and being in one another’s arms and stuff.  I like stuff.  Stuff is fuuun . . .

ANYWAY.  So I’m not sure what time we left, it was probably a bit after four.  But as we were going, I turned the radio to a different station and the start of Dance With My Father was playing. My hand hovered near the buttons for a second, because Rob had always told me that that song made him cry when he listened to it, but I also like the song.  I just let it play and we both started singing along.  But I think when it got to the lines, "Never dreamed that he would be gone from me," that was when Rob stopped singing and I heard him sniff.  Since I was riving, I obviously couldn’t get a good look at his face, but I reached my hand over and his fingers closed around mine.  I was okay singing through the rest of the song, and did so, under my breath.  We got to the intersection where I always make the U-turn to get to his house and I asked if he was all right.  He said, ""Why’d we have to listen to that song?" and said again that it always makes him cry.  Somehow, the fact that rigor mortis was setting into my hand got mentioned and he said it was the only thing keeping him from bursting into tears.  Then, as the light turned green and I started to go, he kind of shook his head and said, "It doesn’t matter . . ." and I knew he wasn’t winning at fighting them back any longer.  I pulled over into this parking lot right after the turn, turned off the car, and just sat there holding him while this time he cried on my shoulder.

He told me today that he was trying his hardest to hold back and not cry in front of me, even though he knew that he’d probably break down and fall to his knees as soon as he walked through his door.  Cuz to some degree, he half-believes that antiquated thing about it not being strong for a guy to be seen crying.  Yet that’s not all of it.  He also mentioned today that I’m always so strong around him, he wanted to be that way for me, too.  When he said that, I remember looking at him and saying, "It takes more strength to let tears out in front of someone than to hold them back."

Besides, like I told him, he saw me burst into tears twice that night and he was there to comfort me.  It’s only fair that when our roles were reversed, I should be there for him.

Okay, this entry is insanely long at this point, so I’m gonna end off here.

Bye!