thoughts

It happens, not infrequently, that my mind drifts to thoughts of the purpose of life. It starts broad, like to have a job, or to do things, then, not finding a satisfactory answers, swoops closer and closer until it lands on more specifics, like, having children, having nice things, but it's never right. I ultimately end up at the same place - realizing that the absolute only point of living and of life is to be with each other. It's not that I'm macabre or pessimistic or depressed, it's my truth. And it's not sad, it just is.

The drive to Bismarck was interesting. Lots of rain until right before Jamestown, when the sky became stunningly clear and blue. Ah, I thought, a clear shot to Bismarck. Then I overheard a man saying they were expecting some fierce weather. I got into my car and headed west. I saw a line of white clouds on the horizon, and thought they were just, well, clouds. As I got closer, the sky beneath the white clouds became darker, darker, until the solid block was a deep deep gray. Uh oh. The odd thing was that there was a slip of sky beneath the gray that was just lighter clouds, as if it was a huge box held over our heads. I could see lightning on either side of the road. Yup - you know I just LOVE lightning, especially when I'm in a metal car, but darn it, I started taking deep belly breaths, and drove on. As I passed directly under the system, I could feel the car rattling with the thunder, then the rain hit with such ferocity and determination that all of us cars had to slow down to 20 mph as we couldn't see past our windshields. But the line was brief, maybe 5 minutes, and as I looked at it in my rearview mirror, I was struck at how symbolic that storm is for how I'm feeling right now in my life.

Sometimes there are storms, sometimes it's clear for days on end, and sometimes it's soggy for weeks. When we're in one place, the storms seem to find US, but when we're on the move, as we are wont to do, WE encounter the storms, who are moving also, but we're faster, so we can see them coming, can plan a touch, but then are forced to just keep going, knowing that the best way is THROUGH.

Mom can't speak very well, getting out of breath fast. Her hair was all pushed forward in the back, so I smoothed it back, then kept petting her head. She used to do that to me when I was little, when she was putting me to bed. It made me feel calm. She wasn't hungry, but needed to eat, so Dad helped her figure it out, but she had to take these monster pills, and had a hard time. I moved down to her legs and rubbed them, up to her knees, and down to her ankles.

It doesn't look good. I know I've said that before, but Dad said they can't get the water out from around her heart, and if that's the case, well, she's about done. Mom said she wants to change the poem for the back of the memorial service program, and I said that's fine. She wants "Happy Trails," which is perfect as that's what she used to sing to me every night before I fell asleep. It goes something like this:

"Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you,
Until we meet again.
Happy trails to you,
Keep smilin' until then.

Who cares about the clouds when we'ere together?
Just sing a song, and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you,
Til we meet again."