Wednesday, January 23, 2013

the confessional



Again with the Grand Oak Bluegrass Gospel Hall.






I roll over, start with my feet and feel the pressure in my legs. For just one moment I leave the rest of my body on the bed. It is noon. When I talked to Mom at 6:00am she told me what I needed to do and what Dad would do and she would be at Aunt Wanda's.



Any requests? Do you need anything?

Nothing more than you said and I am just fine.


What kind of juice do you like?

I stumble since I am not what you would call a drinker of juice, not big into it. Um.    Grape. I guess.

Anything else?


I'm okay.

None of the rest of us need this, Shea. 

I know, Mom. I'm quarantined. 




I walk to the door. Turn the knob. Peek outside at two grocery sacks. Provisions are nice. Dad has not only picked up my medicine, he has also brought me two gallons of grape juice and one of some super amped crangrape with pomegranate and blueberry and I'm scared it's going to make me glow.

I look up and out into the yard. Dad has moved some limbs, thrown them over the fence. If there was a reason I got the flu it would be 'cause I needed to say thank you to Dad. And maybe something else.


Confession no. Sometimes we need to count.

That officer that stopped me, he had stopped my Dad a few weeks back when Mom had made Dad go get ice for the Christmas party. I may have mentioned to that officer, it could possibly be presented in a court of law, that



I was nothing like my Dad.




I may have, yes I did, told my Dad I said that. Then I laughed and said, Now that's funny, in't it?
He did a smirk before he shook his head and backed out the door. In the Dad and me world this is called Game On.




Sometimes I think I want to be just like my Dad, like how he puts himself into the service of his family and his community. If anyone asks him for something he usually says yes though he has suggested maybe once or twice that I may need to take him off my mailing list.




Those worried that maybe he didn't get me back, please know he did.

When the pharmacist asked questions about my condition. Dad told her, Heck. What I think is the truth is she don't have the flu. She was probably out all night partying and getting drunk.









Dad stops by later to tell me the story and I laugh. Did she laugh? I ask between bouts of losing my breath to talk.

Dad shakes his head, Well I told her what you said about not being like me.


We smile and laugh at and with each other and he puts deer meat in my freezer and tells stories on my porch and I thank him for the provisions and the help with the limbs and tell him I am going to drink every bit of that juice though I may start glowing. I ask him if I need to write him a check or give him cash tomorrow. Cash'll be fine he tells me.





Today I am grateful for family and what it means to live amongst mine.




3 comments:

Nan said...

Shea, I love it. I am so sorry you are sick aand hope you feel better fast. There will never be another Bobby Miller and Shea!!!I could just see this all happening!

Chantel said...

Ah love, if I was closer--I would make you soup.

Feel better soon.

xo

Ps. Your dad sounds awesome. :)

Shea Goff said...

Oh Nan and Chantel, I am feeling better. Thank you. I'm pretty sure Dad will smile like I did when he reads your comments.