One more reason why we need our memories,

and, beyond that, some grip on history: whatever your burden, things could always be worse.

Let me melt like a stone in the mouth of the sun,

let me breathe
Like a single clear note, I would gleam and be gone

The only son of an only son

When my father was the age I am now

he had less than twelve years left. Don't why this melancholy notion came up now, but it makes me reflect again on my own experiences as a father. How have I done?

I'm not done, of course - you're never "done" as a parent - but to a great extent, whatever Teri and I have to give our children in terms of teaching or guidance, we've done it. My baby girl is sixteen and my boy is twenty-six; they're pretty fully formed.

I found myself talking about this today to one of my co-workers, and I realized as I was talking how unreal what I was saying must seem to her; her boy is five. But I kept talking. (Surprise)

And I realized  - not for the first time - that I am very proud of my kids, and that all questions of nurture vs. nature aside, at least some of who they are is the result of who their parents are, and the things we did and said over the course of years.

It's just that after so many years of being a parent, and of thinking of that being the most important work in my life, I'm going to need some time to figure out the order of things when that changes.

But not right now.

We thought we had this down

but we were wrong. The feral momma (Pattycakes/Pancakes/Patty/Hey You) is still eluding capture, and the third of her three kittens has been in Jackie's room now for going on ten days but still remains in hiding.

Discouraging. A word I hate, because it sounds just like what it means.

Kittens One and Two, I'm happy to say, are doing great in their new home. So, there's that, and that's an accomplishment. But momma and #3 haunt us, and believe me when I tell you that neither Teri nor I need any more sources of anxiety.

I wonder how much of this is just what it appears to be - two cat-lovers trying to do the right thing (well, three, counting Jackie, but I don't think she's as disturbed by all this as we are), and how much is transference.

I remember that when my mother was approaching her last days - though the process took months - I had recurring dreams about the fish in the aquarium we had in Jackie's room at the time. I dreamt that the fish were in danger, and at one point dreamt that the one big gold fish had escaped from the tank altogether and was flying around the room, gasping for water.

But this is what we signed up for, whether we knew it clearly or not.

June 11, 2004

One World