Been counting down my year, y’know.
I cried a lot. Really didn’t drink much. Took a lot of pills. A lot.
Sometimes I think I know what love’s all about.
I’ve seen a lot of love, this year. Felt a lot of it. Saw some things I’ve never seen before.
That still happens, at 50.
I worked for two years with some mentally challenged adults, and found out I’m not so removed.
Learned a lot about myself, as it happened.
There was a guy named Raymond, a big high school football
star who got his head broken in a game.
_
He’s like a child now, but he taught me some things, ’bout every day.
Once he was looking at the ground, thinking, I suppose,
and I held his hand and kissed him on the side of the head.
Coulda been fired for that I reckon, but I didn’t think about that much.
He showed me his New Mexico I.D. card once.
He was pretty proud of it.
Good looking boy.
Sometimes his old self would come through the haze,
and we would laugh about things like cheerleaders and
bongs and stuff, and I would try to read his face, you know…
I could tell he wanted out of his head, I could sense the
frustration. Man it was rough.
I wasn’t made for that kind of thing, and didn’t belong there.
Now, understand, I’m not some nurse or an educated type-
I’m a rocker, all my life, and my work was play for 30 years.
I took the job when I moved to New Mexico to take care of
my mom, not because I’m a saint,
but because I wasn’t willing to put her on a shelf, like she was
done. She was a person, still thought shit was funny, liked songs,
got upset about politics, all that.
The job was available, I said “I’ll do itâ€, and they said ok.
Fuck me, I’ll never be the same.
One time Raymond looked at me and said,
“I wish I’d never played that gameâ€, and when I got home I cried.
I don’t know why I thought I could help him, but I did, and the only
way I could think of was to tell him I know he’s still in there, even if his parents,
and the old ladies I worked with, and his over-worked
therapists, and my boss, and the guy at Burger King who rolled his
eyes over the fool at the counter didn’t.
I did. And I knew he was frustrated, and I was so, so sorry.
He kind of looked around, and as always, changed the subject.
I hope he heard me. I like to think he did.
I got this cat in New Mexico, solid white. Called her Berkeley
(I like that town).
She got out one night, and suddenly I had lots of cats.
Saw them being born. Nursed them and loved them and wrote
about them and photographed them-
it was a gas.
I’d never experienced that kind of thing.
Never had any kids of my own. Never been around any,
since I quit being one.
It was hard to say goodbye to them, strangely one of the
hardest things I ever did. I cried a lot. (Lots of crying,
these days. Cried tonight, even.)
A few times, the way things were truly blew my mind.
I was like this daddy type, a total role reversal with a
parent, and wiping little black and white faces of gunk
without thinking twice.
All that stuff about instinct, I found,
was bigger than it reads in school. I didn’t know I had it in me.
Looking back, I’m inclined to doubt it still. Of course I know better,
but old habits die hard.
One day, I met Wendy on My Space.
This really beautiful girl who seemed to care about what I had
to say.
It was a trip.
A few clumsy conversations and we both realized it was way bigger
than either of us. She got me through the weirdest time of my life with
her gentle wisdom and open heart. I didn’t deserve her,
but she insisted.
Hard to believe that was two years ago.
Making love to her is better than pretty much anything-
you know things are right when you can burst out laughing,
at yourself or at your partner, in life’s most uncompromising
position, without fucking it up at all.
My mother got very sick at the beginning of this year,
and it got worse every day.
The medical care was crap in New Mexico,
and having been in North Carolina before
I knew this is where the medicine is.
Oddly, and perfectly, it was where Wendy lived,
and with her invaluable help, I moved here three months ago.
Mom was sick, I was in love, it made sense.
Now I’m starting over, again, and the things that are working
are stupifying. The world is making sense again, mostly.
Tonight, I visited my mother in the hospital and found a person
I hadn’t seen in more than a year.
I have no idea what I thought I would tell you here, but if you
made it this far, I wish you a merry Christmas.
My new year is looking like a mystery, but it has this weird feeling of invitation.
Bet yours does too, somehow.
I hope we both make some choices worthy of love,
which I’ve decided is the measuring stick we need to be using.
Everything else just seems like stuff, for the most part.
Love, I’m pretty sure, is where it’s at.
Sorry about all this. I ought never drink at 50.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
_e
