No words. Just tears.
Help Please!
August 5, 2014 — Pat BertramI am driving my brother to Colorado. We left just after midnight (too long a story to tell pecking out on my phone) and I am driving straight through. Am in Colorado now and need to drive across the state. This has been a horrifying and heartbreaking trip. To make things worse, I’m not sure he’ll let me leave him here since he’s afraid of being on the streets again.
If you are prayerful, please say a prayer for both of us. If not, please send good thoughts and wishes for . . . I don’t know. Maybe for courage.
Sequoia National Forest
August 4, 2014 — Pat BertramI accidentally ended up at the Sequoia National Forest over the weekend. I was headed . . . well, nowhere in particular, to tell the truth. I was driving on a winding road, unable to see where I’d been, unable to see where I was going. The road seemed never ending. I’d started out with a full tank of gas, and by the time I got down to a quarter of a tank, I began to wonder if I’d ever find a gas station, or any sign of civilization for that matter.
I took a turn around a corner, and there, in a tiny settlement of three or four houses, I saw a run-down market. I stopped to ask if there was a gas station up ahead. The woman asked me where I was going. I said I didn’t know. She gave me a strange look when I admitted I didn’t even know where I was. Finally she said I’d find a gas station at the end of the road to Lake Isobel.
Ah! I knew Lake Isobel from a brief perusal of an online map the night before, and I mentioned that I might be going to the lake. The woman shook her head and said the lake wasn’t that attractive. It was just desert. Then she suggested I turn left instead of right at Lake Isobel and go to Ponderosa.
I thanked her, and since I really didn’t have a destination in mind, I headed for Ponderosa.
Gorgeous scenery!
Fantastic road.
As if that weren’t enough, I stopped at sign for the “Trail of a 100 Giants and found myself among the giant sequoias. Wooo. What a treat. It seemed like a natural cathedral to me, though most people acted as if they were at a carnival.
At the end of a trail was a plaque:
As I stared into the pool at the reflection of the sequoias, I reflected on . . . not much of anything. I was still in awe at what I’d seen and felt.
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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
Have You Hugged a Tree Lately?
August 3, 2014 — Pat BertramI did!
At Sequoia National Forest.
What an amazing trunk!
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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
My Chariot Awaits!
August 1, 2014 — Pat BertramI rented a car to take my brother back to Colorado, but he is not here, and a rental car is a terrible thing to waste. So I am taking off for the weekend. Will be going . . . anywhere. North perhaps.
I’m leaving in just a few minutes, but I know many of you are concerned about this situation with my brother, and I didn’t want you to think anything bad happened.
I’ll try to keep in touch, but if not, know that I am free for a few days.
Thank you all for your support during these traumatic years. I hope your weekend will be as wonderful as mine.
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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
A House of Ghosts
July 31, 2014 — Pat BertramAn online friend, someone who only knows me through my blog posts, emails, and projects we have worked on together, made an astute remark.
She said, in response to my blog about the double rainbow, “I do think you are more perceptible to the outside world and that life is moving forward when you get out of the house. You won’t find any possibilities in the house — you have to be able to get out when you can.” I found that comment interesting because I hadn’t noticed the deadness of this the house until the last few days. It’s always been a place of dying and grief, paranoia and imprisonment. I first visited this house to help with my dying mother. I came to stay after the death of my life mate/soul mate to help my elderly father and to get through my shockingly painful grief. For the first three years I was here, my father would set the burglar alarm around 7:00pm and he didn’t give me the alarm code, so I was basically a prisoner of his paranoia, and now my brother is making me a prisoner of his paranoia and psychoses.
Thi
s deadness was especially apparent to me this morning. I went to pick up a rental vehicle to take my brother back to Colorado (a foolish waste of money, since he insists he doesn’t have time to get ready) and while I was sitting in that sparse office, I could feel my spirits rise. Since my brother refuses to go tomorrow, that means I have the vehicle for my own use, and I could go . . . wherever. During the long ride back here, I felt that optimism, and even after a confrontation with my brother, who claimed the SUV was too small, he couldn’t be ready, and various other ranting objections, I kept that feeling of optimism. But now that I’ve been back in the house a couple of hours, I feel the cement hardening around my feet and my heart, and I can barely muster the energy to . . . well, to do anything.
I never had much belief in ghosts, but this place does seem haunted, if only by my own unhappiness.
I don’t really have anywhere I want to go, but I think I’ll head out on the highway for a couple of hours, and see what I can see — maybe some stars. It’s supposed to be a good night for stargazing.
***
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
Crazy?
July 30, 2014 — Pat BertramI wonder if it’s possible to be crazy and not know it. I think I am a caring person, but considering all the arguments I’ve been getting in lately with my siblings, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the one who isn’t tracking on all synapses.
I don’t, of course, really think I’m crazy, evil, manipulative, contrary, witchy, or any of the other things people have accused me of being recently, but I have to concede the possibility. My theory has always been that people project their own characteristics onto others, and so whatever people tell me I am, it gives me an idea of who they are. And yet . . . how well do we really know ourselves?
I’ve been polling people to see if they think I could be certifiable, and of course, my friends think I’m wonderful. But family is something else again.
I’ve been trying to get my problem brother back to Colorado because the sister who has come to help with my father insists that he goes or she goes. I cannot take care of the elderly man by myself, and so I am conceding to her wishes that my brother leaves. Most of my family want him gone, not just out of this house but out of their lives. Some think he is the source of all the contention in the family, and perhaps it’s true. It’s also possible my brother holds us together because he is the universal scapegoat.
None of my siblings care that he is being forced back onto the street in this hellishly hot place. But I do. I know there will never be a good place for him, not here, not anywhere, but he should at least be with his things that are stored in Colorado. But he is resisting my efforts — he thinks I am manipulative and only want to see him dead.
I am under a deadline (not the lethal kind) to get him out of here before my sister puts a restraining order in place with the help of a social worker, and yet she claims I want him out of here for me, not her. I don’t get how she thinks, and so I wonder if I’m crazy. I suppose getting him back to Colorado is for me in a way — I cannot bear to simply throw him out like so much garbage. Despite his nastiness, schizophrenia, alcoholism, he is a person. Are we only to try to help those who are worthy of our help? I am tired of his abuse, but after fourteen months, I can wait another week or two or three. But she can’t.
And so tomorrow I pick up a rental car big enough for him and his stuff, though I have no real hope of his ever making the effort to finish packing and letting me take him to the cooler (yet no more comforting) streets of northern Colorado. It will be wasted money, and I will find no comfort in the thought that at least I tried.
***
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
Trying to Believe in My Mythical and Mystical Future
July 29, 2014 — Pat BertramI just finished watching Joe vs. the Volcano for about the sixth time. The first time I watched it, I didn’t particularly care for the film but I watched it again and again because I could not get one image out of my mind — the scene where Tom Hanks is in the middle of the ocean, floating on his makeshift raft, and dancing.
A similar scene in Talent for the Game has Lorraine Bracco and Edward James Olmos running out of gas in the middle of nowhere, turning on the radio, and dancing.
I always wished I were like that — able to live to the fullest even when things were at their worst, but I usually cry. Crying is how I relieve stress, though dancing would probably be a better choice. At least in these two movies, after dancing, the characters find what they want even if it’s not exactly what they are looking for.
Joe vs. the Volcano has since become my favorite movie. It’s beautifully written, stylish, philosophical, and fun (though I still find the island folk a bit over the top and ridiculous). The story’s basic premise seems to be: live, take a chance, see what happens. (Come to think of it, that’s more or less the same theme of Talent for the Game.)
I’ve been having a crisis of faith lately. During all these years since the death of Jeff, my life mate/soul mate, I’ve clung to the idea that great wonders are in store for me if I can just embrace life, but now that my transitional life is winding down midst conflicts and drama, I’m beginning to feel the first stirrings of worry.
When I have to leave here, I don’t want to settle down in any sort of rental somewhere, don’t want to live on the road, just don’t want to deal with any of it. I’ve known from the beginning of my stay here that the second half of my grief’s journey is still to come. The first half is away from pain and sorrow, the second half is toward . . . joy, perhaps. I am very aware that I will not be going home to Jeff. Very aware I will not even have a home base as I did here. Aware that the emptiness I have held at bay may once again take hold of me. Aware of my limited financial resources.
When I expressed such a sentiment to a friend who lost her soul mate around the same time I did, she reminded me that life works itself out in unforeseen ways — when things seem most dire, opportunity can fall out of the sky and land in our lap.
Despite my momentary lack of courage, I am trying not to worry, trying to take each conflict/trauma/drama as it comes, trying to do the best I can for everyone involved even though my best so often falls short of wisdom.
Most of all, I am trying to believe in my mythical and mystical future. If dancing can make it so, as in the movies, well . . . I am dancing.
***
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
First the Rainbow, then the Rain
July 28, 2014 — Pat BertramThis place where I landed all unwittingly (I came to look after my elderly father) is a strange upside-down and backwards place. The Mojave River, which runs through the town is upside down because the water flows below ground under the sand. (When we walk along the river, all we see is a dry riverbed unless there has been a rare heavy rain.) The river is also backward because instead of flowing to toward the ocean, the river flows inland, terminating in the middle of the desert.
Last night I experienced another example of this backwardness. Usually, rain comes first, and then the rainbow to show. . . whatever it is that rainbows are supposed to show besides a lovely atmospheric condition. But last night, the rainbow came first, a perfect arc that spanned the sky, with a shadow rainbow off to one side.
Hours after the double rainbow had faded, the rains came, soft and refreshing.
A new beginning, perhaps.
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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
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