Remembering Clarence

I'm a Jersey girl. I've lived in NJ since I was 8 months old. With the exception of other year of my life, I have lived in the Garden State my entire life. As much as  I hate it here, I love it here. If you take the area around exit 13- and 13A of the turnpike  (Newark, Elizabeth, think the opening montage from "The Sopranos") out of the equation, it's really a beautiful state.

New Jersey has given the world some great musicians. My parents generation had Sinatra. The generation between had Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. My generation had Bruce Springsteen, and then later Bon Jovi. Today the big group is My Chemical Romance. But in my heart and head, it's all about Bruce and the E Street band. And the best saxophonist to come from NJ had to be Clarence Clemons.

Clarence passed away a week ago,  at the age of 69, and to many of us who grew up listening to the Boss, hearing him play in the Stone Pony and the later in the Meadowlands- the loss hit hard. The man was a genius on the sax. He made it look easy. I tried to play sax in high school. It's not an easy instrument to play. If you look at his biography on Wikipedia, you can see all the bands, way to numerous to print here he played with. All the TV shows he made guest appearances on, including 'The Simpsons'.

Clarence wasn't born in NewJersey and didn't die there. But he was an integral part of the E Street band, in my eyes he was part of the New Jersey music legacy. He's really going to be missed.

Below is my favorite Springsteen songs- you can hear Clarence on the sax. The photo is from Wikipedia.
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Clarence can be heard at 1 minute 31 seconds in all his glory.

My favorite Springsteen song:

Irish Lawyers Threaten Blogger Mom

In this world, I cannot think of too many things worse than a parent loosing a child. In the great scheme of life, children outlive parents. It doesn't always work that way, and most parents I have read about never get over the shock of loosing their children, no matter how old their child is.

Somehow it seems worse when the  child, a teenager or young adult, for what ever reason takes their own life. Even my own mother told me she doesn't know how one of my friends stayed alive when her son died. "I would have buried myself with him', she told me.

I understand the pain and sentiment even though I will never have children. You bring them into the world, you fight for them, you love them so much your heart swells with pride as you see  them grow up and become the people you hope you did a good job raising. You love your spouse, yes, but the love of a parent with their child- it's something different, something wonderful, and something I know while it's tangible for me to understand, you never really do understand it until you hold that baby in your arms for the first time.

So when I got a letter the other day about  Leonie Fennell my heart broke. This mother lost her son to suicide last year, a son that she describes on her own blog as

Shane was the nicest, kindest, funniest guy you could meet. He was loved by all his friends and family.. and adored by his younger  siblings . 
He took them out every weekend to the beach and eddie rockets. He babysat for us all the time and even minded them when we went to New York for a weekend. We put him down as guardian to his siblings, and never had to worry about what would happen to them.. because Shane was so reliable.
He had a huge passion for the homeless and often gave his dart fare away and walked home (Trinity to Dalkey). We regularly had christmas dinner late because we had to wait for Shane who was handing out dinners in Dublin.
He told people he didn’t want presents at his 21th ..to make use of the saint vincent de paul box instead as he had everything. 
He was known by his college lecturers as an craoi mhor (the big heart). He had lots of really good friends and always had a job. This is the Shane that we all knew and loved.
 He was working one night in the conradh (the Irish pub on Harcourt street) and this guy came in and tried to hit a girl. He was so upset that someone could hit a girl. We said “why didn’t you box him?” and Shane said that he didn’t do violence and he wasn’t going down to that guys level.  He wasn’t capable of hurting anyone or himself. 

Bob Fiddaman in his blog writes;

Irish lawyers, Brophy Solicitors, have sent a threatening letter to Leonie Fennell, the mother of Shane Clancy, who writes about her son's death and offers opinion as to why he died.

Shane was just 22 when he killed a young man before turning the knife on himself. The subsequent inquest found an open verdict, large traces of the SSRi antidepressant citalopram [Cipramil UK, Celexa US] were found in his system.

Irish psychiatrist Patricia Casey was present at the inquest representing and observing for Psychiatry Ireland and to ask questions if the need arose. Casey has come under fire from Fennell on a number of occasions, in particular her relationship with the pharmaceutical industry and fees, grants etc that she has received from them.

Casey was at Shane’s inquest and took issue with some aspects of it, according to Leonie, Casey has publicly stated that there is no evidence to suggest that antidepressants can cause suicide or homicide and she is also a member of psychiatry Ireland  and has worked in association with Lundbeck, the manufacturers of citalopram.

Fiddaman's article continues here. Other  great articles are from Stephany and from  D. Bunker, here,   I will let these pieces speak for themselves.

Just a quick Google of "Celexa, black box" brought up pages of sites stating Celexa has been given a black box rating- something the drug companies in the USA put on pharmaceuticals that can cause people to want to self harm. Here is something from one of the sites:

FDA Issues Proposed Revisions to Celexa Blackbox Warning
In 2009, based on new evidence of suicide and suicidal or dangerous behavior in adults taking antidepressants, the FDA proposed revising the blackbox warning to include the increased risk in patients up through the age of 24. The proposed Celexa warning outlines the age groups that are most at risk for suicide, suicidal thoughts and suicidal behavior according to short-term studies. Those groups most at risk include children, adolescents and young adults ages 24 and younger. The risk decreases beyond age 24. The proposed revision recommends close monitoring while patients are taking Celexa and for those in high risks groups, that the benefit from the drug be closely weighed against the possible risks. The proposed revision also notes that Celexa is not approved for use in pediatric patients. The FDA revision itself can be found online at the FDA website.

 Surely they put these kind of warnings on the same drugs across the pond? If they don't, perhaps it's time.

 I didn't know Shane, but from what his mother wrote about him, he sounds like he was a remarkable young man, and left this earth way before his time. I wish I had met him.
(Picture of Shane used with kind permission by his mother)

Speechless

I made it here but in a lot of pain. Bless you who showed up at Psych Out- the people who put it together and the ones who had the courage to speak.

And to Mr. Robert Whitaker,
who took time to talk to me without criticizing.

I gained convince to keep on going through hell and staying alive, and the courage to keep on living by the remarkable people I met today.

And Mr. Whitaker gave me the courage to keep writing, no matter how impossible it seems at the moment.

Thank you all.I am truly blessed

I'm still here

I'm still here. Between being so depressed I cannot get out of the bed, my Mac dying, and more problems with my health- I haven't been blogging. It's back to 18 hour days, asleep in tremedous pain. I am on meds for my kidneys, meds for my blood pressure, meds for my bladder, meds for pain. Meds for sleep. My kidneys aren't outputting like they should be and I sit on the toilet, tears in my eyes while I attempt to do something that should be as easy as breathing.

I got my old mac up and running, while my newish one is being fixed. Never have an iced coffee near a computer. Never. And miss my newer one, almost 2 years old now. My 8 year old one is slower than anything!

Cutting to the chase- I miss writing and got so much confort from those who took the time to coment. Seriously. Epecially Wonder Woman. I just don't want to get into a bitch fest on how much pain, we all have our crosses to bear, and there is a saying in AA , 'Get off the cross, someone else needs the wood'.

So I am going to do something that is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. I am going into the city tomorow for Psych Out. It's going to be a nightmare getting into the city- i live commuting distance so it's just a short bus ride but I can bearly walk. I cannot take my walker with me. And I am abashed to let others see how damaged my health is now since the kidney episode in November. I haven't even let my two best girl friends in real life see me.  I look a score older than my age. Oh G-d, what happened to me?

It's going to be a huge leap of faith to go, to have people see what I really look like. To trust them to help me walk. To let them lean on me. I'm scared. In my mind, I look like a date for Joseph Merrick. But I want to go. I want to meet Robert Whittaker and hear him talk. I want to meet those from other organizations,  such as Psych Rights, Icarus, Mind Freedom and Opal Project, to learn from them and get strenght from them.

I hope to live blog and Tweet from there. So please check this blog in two days, and check my tweets on Tuesday as well.

Slump

The world didn't come to an end this weekend. But my world continues to evolve into a downhill spiral. My agoraphobia is back with a vengeance. I  cannot leave the apartment for love or money. I've left twice in the last fortnight- once to visit my parents and get blood work done. The other one was to go to the local grocery store, get a 25 lb bag of kitty litter, several 5 pound bags of kitty chow, and a case of wet cat food. (Tuna and salmon of course). 

I hate depression. I hate agoraphobia. I cannot think of too many things worse than these things. Even Brussels Sprouts are better, and that is saying a great deal. 

I know some of it is my making. First of all, Spring and Summer are the worst time of the year for me. I suffer from reverse SAD. I've never met anyone who has this- I am not even sure if it is a medical term. I've sat through countless support group meetings where people have said they have SAD, bought light boxes in an attempt to feel better. But to me- it's the long sunny days that bothers me- the heat; I am so much happier in the fall and winter when the leaves fall off the trees, when it snows and when it's dark more than it's light. 

I even told a joke to my doctor last week- I would be happy living in Antarctica where most of the year is in darkness and it's cold. Seriously. Let me move there with my cat and my books, and radio and I would be happy. 

On top of all that- I seem to be in a slump. I cannot write for anything. It's not that I cannot write- I cannot think of anything to say. The wells gone dry. I just want to lie in bed all day, cry and not do anything. Not go on line and check other friend's blogs. Not look at Twitter, not look at Facebook, not even to read the LOL Cats Cheezeburger site. I'm living on coffee and cigarettes. Food has no pleasure for me, I just want to eat sugar. So I stick with the coffee and three daily  menthol cigarettes. 

I've never been in a writing slump like this before. Not able to write, no ideas. Afraid to address the comments here, should I say something wrong. Just not doing anything other than sleeping, crying, and if I can get to the couch, watching hours of Red Dwarf on my VHS tapes. 

Once again, I'm not living. I'm existing. I don't care if I wake up in the morning or not. I need something to get me out of the bed, something to get me out of the apartment, but it's not there. It's my fault. I'm not looking for it. I need to do that. Soon. I fear what will happen to me when I just exist, not using my brain, or my heart. I'll be a Zombie, living dead, cursing the light every morning and praying, praying for something, anything to keep me alive. I don't want to be that person. I'm scared I am turning into her. To me that's a fate worse than death. This slump has to end.  I have to kill it or it will kill me. The latter is not an option. 

Out of the mouth of babes- Kitty has the right idea to end my slump.....

My Miracle:Repost

I normally do like this time of year. Autumn sounds so much nicer than fall. Watching the leaves fall in my part of the country is the most beautiful gift that Mother Nature provides. All the magnificent hues of reds, yellows, and  oranges. But the leaves soon fall off the trees, withering, dying, reminding us of our own mortality as we watch children playing in the leaf piles. I watch the squirrels scampering around in a last minute of food collecting before the winter arrives.  It always makes me smile at their antics. And I must confess, I feel lucky to live in a town that has both black and gray squirrels. 

But with the change of scenery brings sadness.  This is not a depression, this is a sadness that is overwhelming.  It permeates my entire body, through each pore, worming it's way into my soul. I take extra care to make sure I am doing well, watching it carefully so it does not transmogrify into something more overwhelming and sinister.  It is hard. There are changes at work, and many of us feel our jobs are not as secure as they were prior to September 2001. Yet I manage to stay optimistic, I am fortunate enough that I have saved  up enough money that I could live for a year frugally and write if I lost my job. Not that many people have that luxury. Or perhaps it is me; I have once been homeless, so I watch my money carefully with a sense of dread that it can happen again. 

Despite the best measures, I found myself slipping towards depression around Thanksgiving. I do not know why,  after all, my heart's desire has always been two things, one of them  looks like it will happen next year. I have always wanted two things in life, one is to be a published writer. I have an agent. It may happen. I just need the discipline to make it happen.  The other heart's desire will not happen. That is to be a "normal" person, with a family. And real manic depressives should not be with other people, since we drive them crazy, as our moods washing over us and changing as easily as turning on and off like a water faucet , as mutable as the tides.  And perhaps that is where the depression came, from sadness.  A writer, like all artists, tends to be a solitary introvert. I find when I write, and I get on a roll, I do not want to be bothered. I take the phone off the hook. I walk around in a t-shirt that covers down to my knees, and just write. As a person with bipolar disorder, I find the bests writing I do is when I am slightly depressed, just somewhat sad, as you would feel after seeing a movie like  "Titanic".  Or slightly manic, just ever so slightly just as a normal person would feel after 3 cups of coffee. In these moods I have the discipline to sit and write for hours with a glass of water or a Snapple by my side. But no, this is down and out depression. I see the warning signs. Two days without showering. Three days without washing my hair. Two days without brushing my teeth. I tend to hypersleep when I am depressed. I am now sleeping 12 or more hours a day. I cannot concentrate. I cry at the drop of a hat. I take such things like St. John's Wort. This does not work. I call my shrink. He suggests I come back in to go back on meds after being off them for about a year. With trepidation, I do. I don't like meds, I really don't. But I have decided if it is between meds or suicide, I will take the meds every time. Suicide is not an option. I had Lyme disease so my body chemistry now does not allow some of the more standard drugs anymore. He and I discuss what options there are. He feels I am not in danger to myself, or others, so hospitalization isn't an option. So it comes down to lithium or Depakote. I've been on and off lithium for years, I personally don't like Depakote because it makes me fat. So I leave his office with a script for that and start taking it. 

My body does not adjust to it well. I go several days unable to sleep, unable to keep food down. I have nightmares. I am fortunate enough to have a good friend on the same coast who is a hypnotist, and he helps me through the drug induced nightmares.  I find as the lithium enters my bloodstream to normal levels, I get suicidal. Very suicidal.  I decide to do the unforgivable. I want to die. And being a Virgo, I have to organize it. I paid off all my bills, checked my 401K and my will, and made sure the cat was taken care of. This makes me feel good. It's a fail-safe in knowing that I can do this if I choose to.

Then one night it gets bad. Very bad. I wake up in a cold sweat. I try to get back to bed, and I cannot. I feel alone. I do not mind being alone, but this time I do. Maybe it's my hormones. I feel lonely. That is overwhelming. The sense of despair which has been my constant companion for the last few weeks is sitting besides me, it's arms wrapped tightly around me. I cannot breathe. I sense a panic attack coming on. And then it hits. The suicidal feeling washes all over me. I am not thinking clearly. All I know s I want to die now , right now and ease this pain. I feel like it's not going to get better And I want, no NEED to end it now, and fast. 

For my own safety, I have no sharp knives in my apartment, or razors.( I do shave but it is with a safety razor). I have no toxic things in the house like Drano, for two reasons, my safety and the cat's. There is no place in the apartment to hang a noose, unless I feel like hanging a stuffed anial. And I am on the 2nd floor, so if I jump, all will happen is broken bones. I took care of myself when I found a dwelling place. But then an idea occurs to me. Perhaps it was because I was reminiscing on a quote from Tolstoy "Happy families are all alike".  I live near the train station. Every hour a train goes from NYC to Washington DC. I can throw myself under the train. I get in my old green Ford, and drive to the train station. And just missed the last train, as luck would have it. I sit on the outside, on the cement ledge looking down on the train tracks,  my feet swinging  softly on the track, my feet making imaginary circles. I look at the train tracks and I know when I see the train coming, I just have to jump down, walk to the thrid rail and lie down. It shouldn't hurt too much, what ever pain there will be will be fleeting. I feel somewhat at peace, very calm, an emotion I haven't felt in a long long time. I am at peace,  knowing in less than an hour, I will be one with universe and the stars. I will be anywhere but New Jersey. 

It is an absolutely beautiful night, lots of stars in the sky, and a sliver of moon. the air is clear. I

find tears streaming down my cheeks. I do not know why. I do not feel alone anymore. I feel some presence near me. It's 3 am  and there are no other people around - cept for a cop.  There is indeed a a person next to me, a police officer. He sits down next to me, his badge and belt buckle shining in the moonlight. 

"Are you Ok?", he asks.

"Yes"

'What are you doing by yourself at 2 am here? Are you drunk?"

I assure him I am not drunk. he moves my blonde hair off my face, to get a better look at me. I am surprised that such a big man can do this so quickly I don't feel him do it.

We both look at each other with a hint of recognition in our eyes. 

We knew each other in college. He was in one of my Lit classes when I was a Teachers Assistant. He makes small talk with me, and realizes I am sitting on the curbside because I want to jump. And a miracle happens. He does not talk to me anymore, we both just hear each other breathing and stare at the beauty of the stars. I feel totally at peace. What seems to be an eternity later, I hear the train coming. I can see the light. I know the police officer's breathing is now coming harder, his adrenaline kicking in. He thinks, no he KNOWS I am going to jump.  I look at him, his brown eyes staring deeply into my blue ones. I get up, he is breathing real hard, staring at me. And then I offer my hand to him. 

"Can you walk me to my car, please?" I ask him as the train rolls by.

The smile he smiles would light the entire Vegas strip. "Sure", he says and it is over. I am safe, aI am alive, and in the end, that is all that matters. 

The suicidal feeling still stays with me, it's still here, it's overwhelming. But I am not going to act on it. I won't jump. And that, strangely enough gives me comfort.

Copyright- 2002, 2007, 2011

This has nothing to do with mental health. Please save this cat

Update: Precious was adopted today, Friday the 6th. It's a miracle. Thank you to all who reached out and helped to save the life of this cat. 

For those readers who have been blessed with the company of a dog or a cat, there is nothing like that. They give us so much love and happiness and ask nothing of us other than a warm bed to sleep in, food to eat and a litter box or walkies.

Pets are better than Prozac.

Here is the story of Precious. I cannot believe I'm posting this but cat has touched me and I do not want to see her put down because she cannot find a furever home. And she will be put down in a two days. 

Please if you can, consider adopting her, or if she is too far, another shelter animal. They will love you back with kindness and help you get through the rough times and recovery. And please put in writing what should be done with your animals so they won't suffer like Precious. My fur baby came close to being put down this past November because my parents felt no one would adopt an 11 year old cat that was considered unadoptable when I got her. I am blessed I have a friend who will take her should I have died or become unable to have her.

Here is Precious' story

I lived alone with my mama who I adored above all things. We had a very,very happy life. Then my mama fell to the floor and I went over to her but she was not moving. Her son came over to find her. They took her somewhere and she did not come back for a month. 

I did not want to go upstairs in the house where she was. I knew that if I sat on the hot water heater downstairs, I would have a better vantage point to see her car come in. I waited and waited and waited for a month and no one came, no mama. 

Then some people came and got me. They stuck me in a cage and I got sick in the cage because I felt like they would never let me out. 

Then a woman came to adopt me. She had me for three days and her husband got sick and now I am being taken back to the house with the prison bars and the people who will not let me out. I was a very good kitty at my new home, but the woman too was elderly and she said she would have to stay long hours at the hospital to take care of her sick husband and that was not fair to me. I am very worried. No body wants a 6 year old kitty. I am healthy though, except that I am not allowed out of the small cage and the litter box I have to use is where I have to sleep because it is so small. I am fully vetted, tested for FIV and Feleuk and spayed and have all my shots. 

My mama died, I was told. I miss her something awful. Everything was okay untill she fell on the floor that day and now I live in a small cage. 

Can you ask someone to help me please??? I am in Greenville, SC. 

Rerun:Memories Of The Way I Was

A year ago, when my parents sold the house my sister and I grew up in, and moved into one of those new Over 55 retirement communities that are being built up around here, my mother asked me to come over to the house she found somethings she would like me to have, and if I didn't want them, she would toss them.

I went over the next day, where she handed me a large Macy's bag with my childhood memories. Everything was neatly collected. I was amazed.

Mom had kept all things bright and beautiful from my childhood, K-12. There were finger paints, coloring, cut outs, reportcards, extra wallet sized photos, You name it, it was there. Writing exemplars when you first learn how to print, and then in 3rd grade when we learned script.

Stories I had written. It was really wonderful and weird at the same time.

I saw somethings that were amazing and strange. In first grade the teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up.

I wanted to be a mommy. And an astronaut. I was fascinated with the whole NASA program from about 67-69 or so.

Then in 3rd grade, the teacher asked us what we wanted to be.

I of course, still wanted to be a mommy. I drew a picture of me with my favorite dolly at the time.

But I wanted to grow up and write books.

it stayed like that for the rest of my life. Motherhood and books.

Strange. Well, motherhood is out of the question unless when and if I ever meet my soulmate and he is patient and wants to go for medical assistance and en vitro and things like that. Or adopt, or has children of his own already.

My mother was the perfect 60's-70's mother. A combination of June Cleaver, and Mrs. Brady. And she was the hottest mother in the PTA. I admire her so damn much.

It is from her I have nothing but respect for anyone who is a mother. Juggling work, a house, children (or child) and hubby is hard work.

I'm crying now. Bare with me.

I realize I, as someone who has not been blessed yet with children should or should not make the next comment.

It's true I don't know what it is like to be a mother. It is true while some part of my brain can only imagine what it must be like to do the 3 am feedings and diaper changes, I've never done it. I've changed diapers in my life, yeah, and I have been "christened" by several friend's baby boys.

I know I would honestly die for my friends' son who will be 2 in September.

But I do know in the animal kingdom, baby birds are kicked out of the nest by their momma and they have to fly or they go ker plunk on the ground. That is nature.

Human beings usually don't experience this until they are about 17 or 18, graduate high school, and then it's either work or college.

I imagine cutting the cord is a hard thing to do.

I know that parents never stop loving their children, no matter how old they get,, and how many mistakes they might make.

By making mistakes only can we grow.

But some day love is... love is.... I always found this to be what I wanted love to be.

From "The Fountainhead"

I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breath air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way you can wish to be loved. This is the only way I can want you to love me. If you married me now, I would become your whole existence. But I would not want you then. You would not want yourself-and so you would not love me long. To say 'I love you' one must first know how to say the 'I'. The kind of surrender I could have from you now would give me nothing but an empty hulk. If I demanded it, I'd destroy you. That's why I won't stop you. I'll let you go to your husband. I don't know how I'll live through tonight, but I will. I want you whole, as I am, as you'll remain in the battle you've chosen. A battle is never selfless. [...] You must learn not to be afraid of the world. Not to be held by it as you are now. Never to be hurt by it as you were in that courtroom. I must let you learn it. I can't help you. You must find your own way. When you have, you'll come back to me. They won't destroy me, Dominique. And they won't destroy you. You'll win, because you've chosen the hardest way of fighting for your freedom from the world. I'll wait for you. I love you. I'm saying this now for all the years we'll have to wait. I love you, Dominique." [Howard Roark]

I need to find my I. I need to be incharge of my life again, captain of my destiny.

If I fail it was not from something you did. You gave me the bike,and the training wheels. It's time to take the training wheels off. I realize you did that once before, before my diagnosis, and even during my diagnosis until it became abundantly clear in my 30s I was and always will be bipolar.

But it's time to take the training wheels off now. And like the momma bird, baby will be fine and soar beautifully.

See, mom and dad gave me beautiful wings to soar with.

And I love them with every breath I take and am grateful to have been blessed by them.

Hoppy Holidays

Wishing everyone a very happy Easter and Passover holiday. May your families be happy and healthy, and everyone gets a chocolate bunny.

Please keep in mind, should the stresses of being around your family be too great, remember these CBT techniques, stay in the moment, don't let people empower you, and of course, what always works for me- when all else fails, hug your pet, or eat chocolate.

Where I'm Calling From

My father is dying. It could be weeks, months, or days or hours. We don't know.

I have to admit, I am cringing every time the phone rings and I see their number on caller ID.

Since September he has been going downhill. A year ago he was strong. He was the one who wheeled me in the hospital. He helped the nurses turn me over to change my bed. That man is gone. Since then he has dropped four inches in height and lost over 40 lbs from not wanting to eat. He's wasting away in front of all of us.

This is changing the whole family dynamic. With my dad unable to be the patriarch, my mother has slipped into that role, with my sister not far behind. I don't have a say in anything. Which is Ok with me- both my mother and sister have very dominate personalities, and I have always been more introverted then them.

What isn't good is the medication issue keeps coming up, raring it's ugly head. My mother and sister want me on medication. I just want to be left alone with that, I'm still trying to detox from being on psych meds for over half my life. I'm still having problems urinating, and sleeping. I really want to try to see what will happen if I go med free.

I've never felt so alone. I talk to the cat, I talk to my best friend on the phone. I dread seeng my dad- it's so heartbreaking to see him the way he is, so fragile, but on the other hand, if I don't see him, I don't want to have any regrets. But I'm scared. I've lost grandparents. I've lost friends. I even had to put down a beloved cat, which was a hard thing. But I never thought- really thought my parents were going to die. I always thought they would just be there.

My dad is the one who taught me how to ride a bike. He was a very big man, and it wasn't beneath him to play tea party with my sister and I- his big hands could barely hold the delicate cups of invisible tea. My father taught us how to throw a ball, and at the same time, to introduce his girls to opera, took us to the Met to see a production of the Student Prince. My father was the one who read me bed time stories, and as I would find out later, was the tooth fairy. My father taught me so much about living, and now he is showing me how to die with dignity.

I don't know if I will continue to blog every day- I find my writing goes in spurts. Some days it's like diarrhea of the pen, other days I am as sterile as the Waste Land. I suppose this is the way it will be for the next little bit. My moods keep fluctuating like the tides. And I hang on, trying to get out of bed every day and visit my father. Because I never know now whether the phone will ring in the middle of the night, it will be the call we all dread to get. And because I am my father's daughter, I will survive it.