AM, I said... IC, I cried

Today is Wednesday, Feb 8. Amidst flight plans and work, I had a scheduled Anger Management meeting (Individual Counsel). Mr. L---- was 15 minutes late, he arrived at 9:15. I had waited and read all the reading material on AIDS, Hep-C and the evils of nicotine and smoking. If you arrange all the reading material properly you can say that smoking as a teen can lead to sex and drug use. Later on in life you might turn to meth or maybe ride the white horse (white, dark, which one is it?) and possbly get a fatal blood-born disease if you don't get pregnant first. All this can happen if you are trapped in a world of Domestic Violence. But there is hope: intervention and treatment.

I am Carl, third-level Cleric. My story has no real begining, but I'll try my best to explain where I am now. My phone rang again at 8:45 am on Tuesday. It was my brother Larry, he was very upset, I could hear him struggle with the words that were stuck in his throat. "Dad's finally gone, you gotta fly home as soon as you can." He sobbed uncontrollably. I was stunned. Neither of us had slept much from the day before. Maybe an hour or two here and there. We both spent most of yesterday e-mailing and calling family, taking care of business, making travel arrangements.

My father went quickly, the family decision was to relieve him from machine assistance at 8:20 pm Middle Earth Standard Time (MEST), and by 11:40 in the evening he was gone. He didn't suffer. My brother Ralph said he just faded into the Big Darkness with a smile. I was told that was actually due to rigor mortise and gas, but I'd like to think my father just felt better on his way out. He had been struggling with the ravages of cancer and all the collateral damage caused by non-chemo treatment and surgery. He dealt with a lot of bodily stress in these past few years, he would have been 187 this month. That's pretty damn good, one should be so lucky to live so long. Larry said his organs were already dying before he got to the Middle Earth ER. My father walked around with his cane on Super Bowl Sunday not knowing he was already dying. My sister-in-law, Roxy, said he argued with the medics that he didn't need to go despite his heavy, wet breathing. He collapsed upon arrival at the ER.

I wonder how much time I have on my own clock. We're all just long term renters.

I finally cashed in my flight miles to go home. It actually took me a few hours between credit card redemption and compassion fare to make formal flight plans. I leave Friday, Feb. 10 EST and arrive Feb. 12 MEST. I've never used my miles before this, in a wise yet morose way I've saved them all these years for this very instance. Home is just so far away. Larry, Mara and I are all going home. As we get older I hear this is referred to as a "family reunion": funerals. I have no idea where I will be staying when I arrive.

I am in a legal situation or as they say in Anger Mangement wolrd, "a sichu-ayshun". I made an appointment with my PO Mr. L---- yesterday at 4:00 pm to complete a report day and confirm that I can, in fact, leave New York for my father's funeral. It will take about a week to get formal court approval, but I will be attending my father's wake on Middle Earth by then. Doesn't that sound silly? Technically, I'm breakin' the law. Yesterday, PO L---, got on the phone with AM Councelor L---- for further clearance. I'll see PO L--- later today for a make-up home visit. Community Service Officer, Mr. B----- never returned my calls.

So what would happen if one person in the Criminal Court chain said "no" to my request? Well, Oola said she'd bake me a "file" cake. Oola sent me flowers on Friday because I lost another client to the sagging economy. Consolation: at least it wasn't my service or skill. I was graciously thanked for services renderred over lunch. The clay pot of Petite Jonquille make me happy. I put them in my window. I like yellow flowers. The flowers add a sweet fragrance to my apartment, which otherwise smells like cigarettes, coffee and peanut butter.

Epilogue
After the morning IC session with Councelor L----, I walked down the familiar Supreme Court plaza. I felt my knees get weak so I sat down. And then out of the blue, I started to cry. This was not a gentle "boo hoo", it was a mucus-laden, sloppy, ugly-face, "Alien 3", huge wet cry. Oddly, I wasn't sad, or regertful or drowning in self pity, etc... I think I just I reached that point of exhaustion that people talk about after making their first long distance run. I broke out my Yoko Ono size sun glasses and sat on a long bench as heavy tears ran down into my hands. I felt the puddle in my hand grow cold. It's was 22 degrees outside according to the bank clock. My scarf was soaked, but I didn't care if I looked like the crazy homeless guy sitting across from me. Though I'm not fond of public dispalys of emotion I felt a sense of satisfaction in crying.

Scores on the board:
6 - 2 = 4 IC sessions
12 - 3 = 9 AM sessions
70 - 24 = 46 Community Service hours

I've never told my family about getting arrested, getting dragged into a bar scuffle, having to take a misdemeanor plea, the whole bag of crap. I still believe that this news would have killed my father earlier if I had said any of the above. Instead he died of plain ole' death. Each of his organs quit talking to the other one. I promised my father that I would come home in the fall. I was happy that we made plans. But life has its own way of changing your dinner reservations.