My mother is a different story. I haven’t yet come to terms with her in the same way, and don’t know if or when I will. And my sister? Ugh. Not going there. For today, my dad is a big enough accomplishment, especially since I had to pray a zillion times and take a nap even to get up the courage to show up at the graduation-party-in-a-bar this afternoon. Tim and his wife and I will be leaving soon to see Iron Man, and I’m going to call it a relatively early evening tonight, calling The Green-Eyed Boy for a bedtime chat and then meditating more, so I can take care of myself in the ways I know how — which, as it turns out, are pretty darn significant, given that I’ve been able to get through this day (so far) without completely losing all serenity and sanity. Namaste.
So I talked to my dad a little while ago, and I had a chance to make what I suppose amounts to some sort of amends over our falling-out in 2001. He’s going to be in Chicago until Wednesday morning, and so I offered to bring the boys by my grandmother’s house for a little while on Tuesday. He’s never met Rebel, and Renegade was only four the last time they saw each other. It’s going to be weird, but certainly no weirder than going up to him, telling him I was sorry, and saying I loved him and understood he’d only ever done the best he could.