THE WIND PHONE

I Don’t Want to Be an Orphan

It doesn’t matter how old we are; our parents are our anchor

The picture above is one of my favorite pictures of me with my mom. I had won the Tempe Writing Competition in poetry, and this was at the award ceremony. She was so excited she kept telling random people there that she was “Elle’s Mom” and that she was so proud. She drove an hour and a half to get there, and she hated to drive.

She knew what the recognition meant to me; besides that, it was my first time being published as a writer. We were best friends. I always called her Máthair. (Pronounced MAW-her). It means mother in Irish. I gave her a superhero name (Silver Arrow) and wrote many, many stories for her about Silver Arrow, Senior Superhero, and her adventures. I was halfway through her latest adventure story when I lost her.

I got lucky with my parents; I know not everyone has great relationships with their folks, and I haven’t always, either. It took hard work, therapy, and communication to get us to a place where we were so happy knowing each other. Our family has always been very close to my heart. I live for family.

On July 25, 2021, my beloved stepdad, my “Pops” (superhero name Goldenheart), died suddenly after a brief illness. A week later, my stepsister Angie died very suddenly of COVID-19 on August 1st. I had spinal surgery a week after that. My Dad called a day after that to let me know he was going to go through chemo and radiation because he had prostate cancer.

Then… my mom. No, no, no! Not my Mom.

Please? Someone? Can you hear me? Not. My. Mom.

Her cancer diagnosis came on November 11, 2021. That was after she fell and broke her back in four places. We called an ambulance, and the hospital ran scans and an MRI. That’s how they found the cancer. She was gone two months later, on January 13, 2022. The way she died was brutal and awful. She didn’t deserve the pain she suffered. She didn’t deserve to die at the age of 67. She should have had decades left, and I feel cheated out of having my best friend — my Mama — around. I was her caregiver and was honored to have the ‘round the clock duty. I was able to give a little back to what my Mom always and unconditionally gave me.

There is a Mom-shaped hole in the Universe. I want her back, gods fucking dammit.

My very dear, close friend Ricky died a few weeks after that. Then, another friend, Chad. Then, my aunt. A cousin after that. Finally, my best friend of three decades, “Ava”, and I had a falling out. I miss her.

Except for my Dad, I basically lost my whole family in under two years. I am all alone in this world except for my partner, and it feels like I am flying blind without a safety net. That’s what being unmoored without a parent feels like to me. I can’t imagine having no parents at all.

I don’t want to be an orphan. I need my Dad. Gods, please hear me, leave me my Dad. Hear my prayer. He’s only 72.

My Dad beat his cancer, but the radiation kicked his ass. He’s still dealing with complications from it.

You see, I’m double lucky. In addition to being Mom’s best friend, I am a Daddy’s girl through and through. He lives in Oregon, and I’m in Arizona, but we talk about three times a week and Zoom.

Yesterday, the second day of January 2024, a brand new year, felt like a new start. I would get over the grief hump, really concentrate on my writing, and get down to business.

This is my year!

My Dad called me last night to say that his cancer is back.

No, no, no. NO! Not my Daddy, too.

My sweet, gentle, wonderful hippie of a Dad. My artist Dad, who worked as a successful, genius electrical engineering scientist for over forty years, is now finding his feet as a fused glass artist of considerable talent. He deserves the Golden Years he dreamed of experiencing. That’s a story for another day, but here’s a peek at his talent:

He starts chemotherapy this week, but it looks like, for now, that radiation again isn’t necessary, thank the gods.

I haven’t been able to go visit in a couple of years. Between my shitty health and his, we’ve never been able to coordinate a good time. I’m grateful we talk, but I want my Dad’s hugs. I want to smell his smell. Patchouli, sandalwood, and sunshine.

My mom smelled like Nivea skin cream and her shampoo. I’d give anything to smell them again, and if you think that sounds weird, too bad. Smells are powerful memory triggers.

I don’t know how to process this bad news about my Dad yet. He says his chances are good, and that brings me considerable relief. He’s incredibly strong; he’s endured nineteen spinal surgeries and other traumas to his body. He’s resilient. I hope the resiliency holds. He can have some of mine if he needs it.

He can have whatever he needs.

He’s Keystone, the superhero, by the way. He and my stepmom (superhero name Scarlet Thimble) get stories, too. He’s Keystone because that’s what he does. He holds us up.

I don’t know how to even hold myself up at the moment. I’m listening to the sage words of Mathair, who got it from my Irish grandmother: “Don’t borrow trouble.”

So I won’t — I will expect only the best outcomes and the best prognoses. I will put out to the Universe what I want, no, what I demand. I want my Dad to be okay. If I can take his suffering, I will. I would… I would do it for anyone that I love.