MY DIARY archive
02 September 2012
Fathers Day 2012
Not a cloud in the sky, wind blowing caressing the leaves in the trees, gently bending the limbs of branches as they reach for the blue sky as if trying to pull it down around them, to console their hearts.
Empty bottle of alcohol lies next to my keyboard while the last dregs of alcohol run down the inside of the glass bottle, pure, crystal clear, muddling my thoughts, the curtain draws naturally, blocking out the sun's rays and once more sends my world, my prison into darkness, sweet bitter darkness, that allows you to dwell in your own safety.
It is Fathers Day. What does that mean? There was a time when I would be asked to write a positive piece on Fathers Day by various people, brothers in arms, brothers fighting for the rights of fathers everywhere. We would send messages to each other on the day, consoling messages, uplifting messages, hold on messages, things will pick up messages, life is not that bad messages, you will get to see your kids messages or I will remember you on this day and I will share the time I have my kids with you messages.
What we forgot to tell them was beware brothers, it may never happen, if it is not your misses, and I know they hate that word, it's the law of this land or it's the venom unleashed on your children, or it's the solicitors or it's the courts, or it's just this far off life. It is never you brothers...
Recently I met an old volunteer from Dads in Distress who was totally shattered by his life experience. He had pulled himself out of a deep dark hole he had been hiding in for years after a very very bitter divorce. He had remarried, pulled his life together and was a completely refurbished MAN, in the true sense of FEMO NaZism. Everything was going well. Then suddenly it dropped off. His new found love dumped him. At first he couldn't or wouldn't accept it. Sending her loving tex messages everyday wanting and wishing for the love to recompose into his dream of what was. Then suddenly he found his love had mysteriously moved on or at least to him it was mysterious, when in reality she had moved on the day she asked him to piss off...
The next time I had coffee with him a matter of weeks from the first encounter, so had he moved on. No longer this poor soul who couldn't contend with the fact of being the dumped, he was wanting to move to China. CHINA, I said mystified??? Yes, met her on the internet, she is a doctor or something, I was too gobsmacked to ask more. I told him to be careful and as he walked away I looked into my cappuccino wondering what mystifying drug they were putting in my morning coffee that sends brothers to China, so early in their relationship blunderings, looking for love...
But it's not a drug, its life, and all my brothers want is love, it's the golden haired girl of the John Eldredge book 'Wild At Heart', discovering the secret of a man's soul. It's the words of the 'Secret Garden' by Bruce Springsteen, Greatest Hits 1995, It's a lie. It's deceitful and it is life as we know it.
So this is Fathers Day 2012, I don't know that I will hear from my children this coming day, my lovely wife and her children will try to console me, love her darling heart, but mostly consoling comes from an empty bottle, living in remorse, wondering of what should have been rather then what was or what is. Bruised and battered and unrecognisable to oneself.
Fathers Day 2012 just leaves you wondering of men and women and children and if or when we will ever learn to get along with one another again. Will we ever understand each other or will we even bother to try and understand. I doubt it, we are too consumed by our own needs to take the time to understand, we are too consumed by survival, by our own needs to worry about who we might drag with us into our own mysterious adventure called life, our life...
HAPPY FATHERS DAY 2012!
Tony Miller OAM
18 August 2012
The sunlight creeps under my door and then sneaks through the crevices of my curtains endeavouring to awake me to a new day. Go away I say to myself; leave me alone, this is my cave, my sanctuary, my prison. I don't want another day. It arrives just the same, relentless, disregarding my pleas and continues to shed its light forcing me to arise to a new beginning.
Every day is a new beginning. Promises to oneself of tomorrows. Tomorrow I will do this. Tomorrow I will do that. I promise, tomorrow things will change. I will get it done tomorrow. I will ring them tomorrow. I will email them tomorrow. I will write tomorrow. Tomorrow things will change. And then a new day, a new beginning and tomorrow is tomorrow, not today, its tomorrow and another day of promises. Tomorrow never comes.
I have never looked up the word tomorrow in a dictionary but if you divide to-mor-row, I think of a man in a row boat rowing across a huge sea against the tide and saying to himself, just two-more-rows but he never gets there, the tide, the sea, just keeps him there, in limbo. He can see the shore and it is just two more rows away but he just cannot get there because it is always two more rows away.
In my life everything is just two more rows away. I seem to forever be rowing the boat, never getting there, being pulled back by the tide of life. Yesterday's defeats or victories mix with tomorrow's dreams and aspirations, combined, they tend to keep me in one place neither moving forward or backward. I can see the destination but I can't reach it, I'm stuck, but my resolve is to keep trying to move forward, to keep rowing against the tide.
Tomorrow's dreams and aspirations need to be acted on today not tomorrow. Tomorrow will come and your dreams and aspirations will be just that, dreams and aspirations, in some sort of void that never happens only in thought and while thought is fine, thought doesn't fulfil your dreams and aspirations it only thinks them. You have to act on them, you have to decide to move, you have to make today yesterday and tomorrow today with no remorse and with no regrets. You need to use them as oars to row the boat
My father is ill, in fact he is dying, he is 92 years old. I visited him recently, not having the fare mum payed for my train ticket. To see my father lying on a bed in the corner of a room on the floor, because he may fall out of it, delirious, ravaged by dementia, his body wasting, eyes shrunken and glazed, was more than I could take without bursting into tears. Dad is in hospital, mum is at the nursing home where they both live in separate rooms. Separate rooms, only because they couldn't get one big enough for the both of them to share. So now mum, blind and confined to a wheelchair has the nurses wheel her up to dad's room where she sits in her chair, surrounded by family photos and mementos she can no longer see, holding her hands, praying for his safe return day after day. After 71 years of marriage that is her wish for tomorrow, his safe return.
The last time I spoke to dad coherently, I promised him I would ring him tomorrow. The last time he spoke to me coherently, he promised me he would ring me, tomorrow. Now our tomorrows are gone. Tomorrow he could die and now I wish tomorrow would never come, only yesterday we promised to connect tomorrow... such is life...
Tony Miller OAM
The "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I will try again tomorrow."
Mary Anne Radmacher
"The future is right around the corner from a bar called,'Yesterdays'. I know, I work there every tomorrow."
"People were always getting ready for tomorrow. I didn't believe in that. Tomorrow wasn't getting ready for them. It didn't even know they were there."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"On the mountains of truth you can never climb in vain: either you will reach a point higher up today, or you will be training your powers so that you will be able to climb higher tomorrow."
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