Bitter Winter Cold

In the snowball game of life, I've been getting hit more than I've been casting the frostbite spheres.  Sometimes it's in the funny bone, sometimes in my pride, and even to my heart.

Ash Wednesday, usually a somber occasion on its own, proved especially morbid to me this year.  While in a Sheetz parking lot, trying to adjust my place in a spot, I backed into a tow truck.  Of all things, a fucking TOW TRUCK.  I only scuffed the other vehicle's tire and dented a tool box under the flatbed while suffering only a bit of rubber smeared on my back bumper (pierced by their wheel well that only got off with a cleaning), but the fact that my brother hadn't put the updated insurance information in the registry led the tow truck driver to call the cops on me.  Now, I'm afraid of cops at the best of times.  But having a cop literally called on me, I nearly lost it right there.  Thankfully I got a hold of Mom who could get the insurance info printed out at the insurance office down the street a ways (I didn't want to get in further hot water by leaving an accident scene) and calm the situation down.

I only wanted some goddamn fries before I had to report for my shift...

For Lent I gave up a few things, mostly swearing (kinda gave up on that one after the first day) and video games.  For those who know me, video games are essentially my LIFE.  I went to school to study their development, and they've been with me throughout my self-described career as an author.  Even so, I've found it relatively easy to go without them for this week or two since Lent started.

Mostly it's been easy because I've been watching over my maternal grandfather (grandfather on mother's side) who everyone knows as Papa.  He and Grandma came to stay with us about halfway through my college career after he had been having some problems at home.  He got progressively weaker since Christmas, needing either my mom, Grandma, or me to move around at times.  More than once I had to watch him while my grandma took a nap from assisting him late at night or else watch him in the late evenings to allow everyone to get something of a full night's sleep (staying up past midnight proved worthwhile experience after all).  Of late our Church's pastor stopped by to administer Anointing of the Sick, and a couple doctors and nurses arrived to assess his condition.

Then came a day of infamy for many sci-fi nerds, namely 2/27/2015, a.k.a. last Friday.  Most people know this as the day renowned Spock actor Leonard Nemoy died.  Even I felt pangs as I realized that he also played a role in Kingdom Hearts (mainly as Master Xehanort's voice).  With him now gone, how will they properly complete the story arc they've been crafting up until now?

Of course, my concerns mostly focused on the home front for that day.  My normal work shift involved a surprise party not registered through the Y.  In other words, about half an hour into my shift, at least forty kids younger than ten swarm the pool area with their parents.  No warning, and no backup for at least a half-hour.  Thankfully no one got hurt, but such a large volume of kids arriving all at once undoubtedly unnerved me.

My nerves had been shot because, earlier in the morning, my older sister receives a call that the furnace in her new rental home went out, causing a pipe to freeze and burst in the floor between her kitchen (downstairs) and bathroom (upstairs).  The ceiling had been ruined, and a lot of equipment needed either vacated or pitched (well, exchanged for BB&B store credit, anyway).  Well, guess who had to sacrifice their morning to assist in the transport in a house as cold inside as the air outside?

Either way, after taking part in a long overdue introduction meeting to the new Y facility, I returned home.  More cars than usual waited in the parking lot.  Usually I go uninformed regarding happenings around the house, but this one I knew full well what it was.  Last Tuesday, Papa had a stroke that severely devastated his functionality.  More than ever he had needed assistance getting around and had even had trouble sleeping without medication.  Even I knew that time was running out.  Walking through the door, I heard the light sobs of my family and extended family in the next room.  They had only been light; Papa still gave off traces of life.  He was too weak to speak, but the slight heaving of his chest and his constantly monitored pulse indicated his life had lingered.

Not a half hour after I arrived home, though, he breathed his last, a breath that coincided with a motorcycle alarm clock revving its alarm.  A different clock in the hallway I passed stopped except for the hand ticking the seconds.  I failed to recognize these phenomena at the time; I could feel sadness welling up within me.  Actual emotion watered my eyes and streaked down my cheeks.  Papa had died, and I actually felt something.  A bit of a smirk found its way onto my face as I half-jokingly told myself that I really wasn't the heartless bastard that I had believed myself to be.

Since then the conversations have all been about either salvaging my sister's belongings from the partially ruined house or making funeral arrangements.  I've mostly stayed away from them unless my services proved absolutely necessary (like the nighttime removal of kitchen items and other stuff unintentionally amassed in the way of the servicemen).  It's not that I didn't like Papa, far from it; we had often shared stories (well, HE mostly shared, I just listened) as I watched him and had even done his shaving when his scruff got too long.  And... he had waited for me; he waited for me to get there before he finally left us.

Rest in peace, Papa, you will be sorely missed.