Category Archives: life and beyond

He’s only two

2014-11-10 18.05.51 When I was gathering Luca’s things to get him ready to return to his mom, he said, “No flowers for Papa?”
Just out of the blue. Gathering flowers at the park becomes a constant for a two year old.

I pointed out the floating flowers in the crystal bowl we bought in Utah? DC? Oregon, maybe.
Luca says, “Big flowers.”
Yeah.
He says, “Grandma’s house.”
And Grandpa’s house, too.
Luca stops. Looks at your photo. He says, “Papa Craig.”
Yes.
Luca, still looking at your photo, says, “Oh. Hi. Hi Papa. Hi Papa.”
Then I lost it.

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So Here I Am…Still Here

Italy 2010

Italy 2010

I almost deleted this blog. This blog that I read over one more time before hitting delete and finding pieces of conversations and memories between my partner and I.  I and, he is…

My partner passed away suddenly, unexpectedly.

My mouth forms an implacable O.

While I can pretend he’s away on a trip, while I can pretend his energy will drink the hot water I place on his side of the bed every day I come home and wait for him and still wait for him, there was something here in this blog that needed to be said.

Where and how I will or choose to I don’t know. But this. Walking together needed to be said.

Seance: I Like to Think of Him as an Egg in its Carton Running in Reverse Utilization

I couldn’t find a box my size
a smaller bigger box because it’s Sunday
and all the owners of boxes are at church
sitting in rows of boxes in a gigantic box
Some of them are really thinking of their boxes inside their homes
more boxes in boxes
Some are dreaming of wondrous things to put in their boxes
a toy truck wheel, a black pocket comb,
a foot of nylon rope
Some are fretting over boxes too full
with corners torn off like a sleeve or a kneecap
skinned of formation

I want to secretly climb in their home
and squat myself inside their box
I want to rub my body with a golden tube of VO5
and spit smoke of an expensive cigar on the walls of their box
When the box owners return home
they will climb inside to sniff at my messy beautiful walls
When people at church come looking for the absentee box owners
they will all climb into our box:
the store keeper, the pilots, everyone except the postman
We’ll pass the golden tube and oil ourselves
and spit smoke of expensive cigars on the walls
No one would ever want to leave our box

Standing in the Living Room

Her grandmother’s words surged
as the storm’s crescendo on the metal rooftop engraved deeper and thicker into her childhood bones

The ridges of the valley
unmoored the ghost clouds
before her a charred living room
echoed with its fallen walls

Remembering Home

It was along through here
she heard her grandmother
tell her of the spirited tree
seeing the padded footprints
and tousled ferns of the bananas
and dried aku left at dusk
no longer here or there

I’ve Waited 28 Years For This

http://www.calderaarts.org/caldera/

The Caldera Arts Center, Sisters, OR.

Shhh… it’s really quiet here. It’s only 11:18pm and I think everyone’s had a full first day at Oregon State’s Cascades’ MFA’s first day of residency!   See what happens when I’m absent from my blog? The creative writing process must have been festering in my silent fingertips, and I just had to apply–and guess what? I got in!

On Colleges and Universities:  We’ve taken three of the five kids to colleges, and set up their rooms, purchased university sweatshirts and other college paraphernalia, but now it’s my turn! I can finally say that I went away for school on the “mainland.” I was raised in a time where only the sons were afforded a private school education and universities abroad. But tonight I am here. After 28 years of life and children and work,  it’s finally my turn. So I don’t mind if I’m the only student awake, writing and creating by lamp light in my room. I don’t mind that tomorrow’s Saturday and we have to be in class by 800am with sessions until 8 or 9pm. I’ve waited so long. I know no matter how thin and smokey your farthest, farthest away dreams may seem, it’s never too late. Wish me luck, everyone!

My very own!

My very own!

A quiet, potential writing spot.

A quiet, potential writing spot.

Walking Tour of Caldera

Walking Tour of Caldera

Visited my father’s grave today

It’s August 1st. The third anniversary of my father’s passing.
I didn’t want to go at first, but I wanted him to know he was missed.

When I remember his passing, it’s sometimes filled with guilt and shame. There are two things which immediately are attached to his passing.

The hospital called us to come down, that he wasn’t doing so well. I did. I saw him lying in the bed, eyes open, my mom sitting across from him, my sister, nurses…I don’t remember exactly.

“Hi, DAD!” (trying to sound normal, cheerful and upbeat).

Nobody said anything.

“He passed away already,” my mom said.

“What? When?” and I looked at him. I walked over and closed his eyes. I kissed his forehead and whispered goodbye to my dad. I heard talk around me about “taking the body” and funeral plans and I don’t know what else.

Shock.

So when I went to visit him today, on the third anniversary of his death, I think I still felt shame for not being there at the moment he passed. I apologized today.

The second memory attached to his anniversary was visiting a psychic. A business partner told me to visit her, and she does tell you things which will happen, but it’s partially true (you know, if she sees you in a big house in the near future–well, yes, but I was RENTING it, not owning it).

Anyway, I went to see about the future of my relationship, and the first thing Lan (the psychic) says to me is, “Your dad is happy now.”

“Huh?” I was expecting love, relationships, career and travel….Dad? Dad who?

She said, “Your dad. He passed right? He was very happy to go. You should know.”

“Oh.”

And even though that incident was also mixed with shame and guilt over my self-centeredness, somehow it helped to balance out the enormity of the guilt of not being there when he passed.

I always tell my mom I give her flowers now while she’s alive so can appreciate them. Then I’m entitled to put flowers on her grave, when she won’t be able to. (You have to understand, visiting your family and gravesites is like a cult here in Hawaii…we actually have family gatherings and lunches on site during big, round number anniversaries).

And I think about my passing, I don’t want any of my loved ones to carry this kind of guilt of not being there at the moment I pass over. I do want them to feel guilty if they don’t find the time to spend with me while I’m alive. It’s now that we can make new memories and moments for me to forget in my old age!

I hope this is how my dad felt before he let go of this world. I hope he remembered all the times he provided for his family, all the birthday parties and special moments, traveling around the world with us,  and especially taking photos with me like this one. Dad, you are missed.