Daddy

This last weekend my dad came to visit me for what will probably be the last time. Michael and I are leaving New York, and we haven't told our families yet, so my dad doesn't know that he might not get another chance to visit his baby girl in the big city. Maybe that's why I was trying to cram in as much as I could into his 3 short days. I had a hundred places I wanted to show him, a dozen restaurants to eat in, tours, activities, concerts... but unfortunately I hadn't counted on one thing. My dad is old. He is 63 years old actually, and while there are lots of older people out there that seem to still be embracing their youth, my dad is not one of them. In fact, he is the poster child of why it is important to take care of yourself during your youth. A life time of cigarettes, fatty foods, high stress, and no exercise really can take a toll on a man.
Example, ten minutes into our tour of Central Park (by a 70 year old female tour guide) he was huffing about how I really shouldn't try to kill him off just yet because my inheritance wasn't all that I thought it was. ha ha.
It's sad really, this man that I thought was invincible, that I thought was forever young, now has a grey mustache and furrowed lines in his cheeks. The man who fought his whole life trying to prove that he was in fact the legitimate son of my grandpa now could not be mistaken as anything but, he looks just like the papa of my youth who was already an old man to me then.
I'm not sure how to approach this new phase of life. At what point in time do I really need to step up and be the caregiver instead of the child. And what does being a parental caregiver entail? I haven't even mastered taking care of myself yet, I haven't had a chance to take care of children, and honestly, just look at my dogs and you can see just how poorly I take care of animals... and now I have parents to care for?! It's just too much. I want to be a child again. Dancing on my Daddy's feet as he sings 'The Tennessee Waltz,' in that twangy Alabama drawl, holding onto his knees as he twirled me around and around the kitchen. I never thought those knees would suffer from arthritis or that his singing would be impaired by chronic asthma. I never thought I would see this pot-bellied man who use to laugh so hard he cried try to stop a laugh for fear of suffering a coughing fit.
This recent trip just served to solidify my want, my need for children. I don't want my kids to have to grow up hearing about what a great man my dad was, I want them to know it first hand. I want them to be able to dance with him and curl into his belly and sleep the afternoon away. I want them to hear his stories from him, to be able to roll their eyes at his terrible jokes. I want them to experience his unfailing love and generosity and to be able to mourn him when he does pass away. But most of all, I want him to experience those things, I want him to know the joy of being a grandpa to his baby girl's babies. That's what I want.

So, what now?

Well, I am about to begin my last term of school. That's right, in December I will be the proud recipient of a hard-earned Master's of Science in Landscape Design from Columbia University in the City of New York. Yeah me. But then what?
What in the hell am I supposed to do with this badge of honor? Where do I go from here?
I have no idea what I want to do.
I know what I don't want to do, so let's start there.
1 - I don't want to stay in New York. This city has killed me. It has killed Michael. And it has severely wounded our marriage. I want out yesterday.
2 - I don't want to design roof-top gardens. Roof + plants in pots does not equal a garden, I want nothing to do with them.
3 - I don't want to run "home" to Tennessee. That is not home anymore and I can't fool myself into thinking it is. I love my mom, but I don't want to live with her.

So, where does that leave me? Well, I honestly don't know. Michael and I are dreaming right now. We are playing around with one exceptionally lovely idea... I'm just afraid to get my hopes up. The past year has really done a number on most of my hopes and dreams so I'm a little weary... I'm scared. And I'm more than a little scared of graduating. It means I have to prove myself, put all of my "knowledge" to good use. Actually work at paying off an Ivy League education (it ain't cheap), try to succeed. It's just all so overwhelming.

I need a nap

Some mornings I wake up and smell the coffee brewing and look over at Michael sleeping next to me and think, OK, this is going to be a good day. Other mornings I wake up just down right pissed off to be alive. Then, there are mornings like this morning. Mornings when I would honest to god eat a bowl of my own shit just to be able to turn off the alarm and go back to sleep. Then, wouldn't you know it, the day turns out to be exactly what I expected it to be.
Crazies screaming at me on the subway, six year old girls breaking bottles in hand ball courts and calling me a white witch, delayed trains because of a fire on the tracks, dogs off leash, pending school projects, absentee husbands...
All I want is a big bowl of ice cream and a Harlequin romance. But both of these items would involve leaving the safety of my little underground bunker apartment.
Meanwhile, at least I got to have a kick ass "pitcher(mug)" of really good German beer in a beer garden with some of the coolest people I have yet to meet in NYC. It's nice sitting with actual adults discussing issues that I have opinions on and being able to finish my thoughts and knowing that I am coming off as a semi intelligent girl and not just a dumb ditzy hick from Tennessee.