For whatever reason my blogger system has been down and I haven't been able to post any entries since Tuesday. It's been a little frustrating to say the least but when life gives you potatoes you peel them and make homemade french fries.
Time away from writing my daily story gave me a little gift known to many as objective perspective. After four long days of non-scripted material to sift through and make sense of, I am now prepared to serve up a well tailored synopsis of the last four days of my existence. (Keep in mind I'm writing this on Monday September 13th)
The night leading into Wednesday was pretty damn exciting. The season 3 premiere of Sons of Anarchy hit the tube with a much anticipated debut and a couple of million viewers. I'm sure FX made a killing in viewership. Real hardcore S.O.A. fans can relate to my enthusiasm and if you know nothing about this show then you might as well stop reading my web logs. Yes, it's that serious. When I'm watching one of my favorite shows I need total silence. No one is allowed to talk let alone move during any dialogue. That's why commercials were created. But when that someone is your mother it makes it a little hard to be meaner than usual. She was staying the night and as time rolled by I noticed it was inching closer to 10pm, which is when S.O.A. begins, and she hadn't arrived yet. The worst possible thing that could happen is her showing up in the middle of the show and wanting to have a conversation. It's at that point that she may get angry with my lack of interest in anything she has to say. She could've said she was robbed and gang banged on the way over and I would've enthusiastically nodded and said, "that's great news, but can we talk about it at 11?" Terrible, I know. But I speak my truth. Luckily, she showed up five minutes before start time and I quickly briefed her on showtime rules and regulations. Minus the occasional questions about what was going on with the characters, she was a law abiding watcher. This might be the only time I'll talk when I'm explaining what's going on in a particular scene.
Anytime she comes over to stay the night, which isn't often, we always end up having a mini argument about my sleeping with the television on in my room. She can't stand it and I love it. The last thing she says before drifting off to a noisy sleep is, "I don't like it here." I find that to be hilarious.
I'd convinced my mum to stay at my place so I wouldn't have to go to the other side of town to pick her up in the morning only to bring her back to my neck of the woods. Mother dearest was embarking on a nine hour train ride to NC the following morning to visit my sister-in-law's family after the untimely death of her father. (To read the poem I wrote for Zellah visit -http://thoughtsinblu.blogspot.com).
The plan was to take the metro to the train station and avoid driving through Wednesday morning traffic and no parking. My sister came up with that brilliant idea, otherwise I would've been the blonde looking for parking in a no parking zone, which would've probably led my mum to miss her train because I would've convinced myself that circling the block for the 7th time would result in finding a parking space. In any event, it all worked out well. I got her there in one piece and made sure she knew where her gate was, what time she was departing and where to wait. I felt like a parent leaving her child at school all the while experiencing separation anxiety. In my case, I wasn't worried about bullies, instead, my erratic thoughts were consumed with her boarding the wrong train or getting off on the wrong stop. It was quite the chore quieting down my thoughts.
I bid my mother adieu and made sure she was comfortable. I could feel my heart racing as we hugged and kissed goodbye, the anxiety was creeping in but I fought it out. I quickly walked away and tried hard not to look back. It is then that I understood the need for Lot's wife to look back (I couldn't possibly understand her need after being warned), its difficult not to, especially if your anxious about leaving something or someone behind. I gave a quick glance back (grateful not to have turned into a pillar of salt) and saw that she was ok and wasn't even looking my way. I sped up my pace so as not to let the umbilical chord that was clearly still attached pull me back. My fears subsided shortly after and life went on. Now I just had to make it through my fathers' departure without any tears and I'd be in the clear. I get like that sometimes with my parents. Something about seeing them leave and the idea that I may never see them again. I know, it's all in my head but for whatever reason I can't seem to get it out. The irony is, in about two hours I was taking my dad to the airport for his 5pm flight to Kenya.
Daddy dearest was scheduled to be at my place by 12:45 so he could be at the airport by 1:30. He has this annoying habit of getting to the airport four or five hours before his flight so he can avoid lines and rushing. It drives me mad! This time, however, I wasn't going to park and wait it out like I usually do when they are both traveling together. Traffic is an absolute bitch after 3pm and I was not going to get caught up for two hours. So I politely informed the good doctor that I was pulling up curbside and pulling off five minutes later. Luckily, my dad is pretty easy and as long as there is a library nearby he can entertain himself for hours.
So there we were at 1:38 pulling up to the first gate in departures - I unloaded the luggage only to find out that his gate was further down. I re-loaded the luggage back into the car and drove to the air France gate where I unloaded the luggage again with the help of the men that stand outside and ask if you need any help. It would've been nice if he would have asked prior to me pulling the last piece of luggage out of the car. Once all the bags were in the cart, my dad walked in with the luggage carrier and two minutes later walked back out to say goodbye. I tried to push down the growing lump in my throat and did a pretty good job until he gave me a kiss and handed me an envelop. His parting words pushed me over the edge, "be a good girl and don't let your bills accumulate." Well, that did it. By the time I got in the car and accelerated to five miles, the tears gushed out like a wet, hungry and neglected newborn. I don't know what the hell made me so damn emotional in that moment, but I cried on and off the entire ride home. All of a sudden I was flooded with memories of my father being a wonderful presence in my life. It's not often one inherits a step-father who turns out to be father of the year every year.
Our relationship didn't start off with bells and whistles. I was the spoiled and rebellious kid that didn't take too kindly to being told what not to do. The older I've gotten the better we've gotten. To say we now have a great relationship would be the understatement of the century. Funny how that happens. It was then that it hit me how lucky I was and still am to have him in my life because he filled that void of not having my biological father who remained in Kenya only to be seen once every 10 years hiding behind a tree in the middle of the night waiting for my mom to return from her day so he can say hello. But that's another juicy story all together. I don't know where all these emotions came from but there they were, front and center. I had no choice but to embrace the inevitable and let the tears fall where they may.
Two of my favorite people were gone, one longer than the other. Mum was only in NC for six days and dad in Kenya for three months. Before I know it, I'll be back at the airport doing it all over again. It's a vicious cycle.
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