I'm an "Orphan", and other thoughts . . .

I keep thinking about that period at the end of the sentence. It eats at me relentlessly. I think I'm okay, and there it is again. And the all-consuming questions . . .  Should I go, or should I stay? And where would I go? After one loses both parents, are you, or are you not, an orphan? And what about all of the life-accumulated "stuff"? Where does it belong? The more important "stuff" should be passed on, but to whom? Will anyone care in 100 more years?

My previous post regarding my dad, the dad of all Dad's, didn't even scratch the surface of the thoughts that go through my mind. I should have a little tape recorder to save those thoughts when they go zinging by.

I'm thankful every day for my need to write my thoughts, my kayak that gets me out on the water (my peaceful place), and for my camera that records what I appreciate in my surroundings. I need to treasure these while I can. I have the beginnings of my mother's macular degeneration, but I will deny it until it affects me. And it gets more and more difficult for me to want to lift my kayak because I'm afraid of awakening the sleeping giant in my lumbars called osteoporosis. But that, too, I will deny until it affects me . . . if indeed it ever does. I just don't want to tempt fate. 

Medical issues are something that will consume me if I allow it. I choose not to. My mind is in it's 30's, and that will override any physical failings. But I know that I'm not omnipotent. As my time trudges on, relationships become more precious and poignant. It's the rare person who is gifted with that early in life. I have tried to patch any leaks in my relationships. I've done what I can. But I know I'll find even more ways to stanch any flow of regrets.

I found the ultimate gift on my cell phone shortly after dad passed away. When I took him to his last flight out of Arizona in May 2013, he got onto the plane with my car keys in his pocket! Thankfully it came to me before his flight took off. I scurried to find a way to have the airline get them from him. In my utter focus on that duty, I missed a couple of calls dad made to me from the plane. When I replayed them is when I really lost it. HE was thanking ME for all I'd done for him. Before he passed, I thanked HIM for all he'd done. Were it not for he and mom, I wouldn't be here. That is the biggest gift. But he was the kind of dad that was always there for us . . . no problem, ever. And HE thanked ME? In a sad kind of way, I'm glad I didn't answer those calls or I wouldn't have his voice and the tender messages he left. And yes, I did get the keys.

Sometimes, when I sit on my deck bemoaning the fact that I feel all alone in the world, I remember that others are as well. Then I wonder if they're as lucky as I. I have a good job that gets me over the hump, a good vehicle that gets me where I need to go, two little cats I don't know what I'd do without, a good, solid roof over my head, and memories others can only dream of. There is nothing more that one can ask. But yes, I'll still have my moments, and will self-talk my way out of them.