With Remote Firmly in Hand

[copied from dland]

**In 16 days I will be 50 years old**

I admit it: I am the keeper of the remote control in this house.

I know this is generally considered a male thing, but since my Husband likes to think of himself as anti-technology, he prides himself on never touching the remote. He doesn't like it when I keep flipping though the channels either, but since we rarely watch TV in the same room, it doesn't matter. I watch by myself and I keep a firm finger on the remote. I have no attention span anymore, and I can't stand to watch commercials.

So a few weeks ago, I was flipping around and I came across Touched By an Angel, a rerun. I rarely watch the show because I rarely watch hour long shows, but I have seen it from time to time. Here's the scene that caught my attention:

A young man (the young doctor on Dick Van Dyke's doctor show) seems to be clearing away the possessions of his deceased wealthy father, and he asks the butler, an older man, if he too has lost both his parents. The butler assures him that both his parents are long gone. And the young man asks "Do you get over it?" meaning the loss of one's parents. And the butler says, "Oh no, sir, you never get over it. But you get past it."

I was driving around yesterday morning, running last minute errands for Christmas eve, when I began to feel something I can only describe as a heavy heart. So what is it exactly about Shirl dying that I still need to get past?

The last 8 years, not to mince words, sucked. I felt miserable for her -- she was the one dying -- but she made life miserable for everyone around her. Not intentionally, I like to hope, but she was not above manipulation and guilt to get people to do things for her, not even before. Sister and I made a pact that, once she was gone, we would not glorify her in our memories in death. We would want to remember everything, bad along with the good, and not sugarcoat honest feelings.

Yet I miss her - what is it that I miss? She drove me crazy, no question.

Maybe I miss my childhood, not unlike the way my daughter at 18 is now confronting that her childhood is over. Maybe this is the struggle that never ends: growing up. Getting past all of it.

The adventure continues.

ENTRY #34