Finding Closure in a World without "Six Feet Under" - Part 1

Note: It would be an injustice to the dearly departed HBO series "Six Feet Under" to limit my thoughts to just one entry. Therefore, this is Part 1 of 2 (or 3, 4,....) entries.


In the early 2000's, my husband and I were newlyweds, and like a child begging for that Red Ryder BB Gun, my husband convinced me to add HBO to our cable subscription. With regular network television (aka "the big three") leaving us bored and feeling empty, we had to find another outlet for television viewing. And so, we decided to give HBO a try. Quickly we found ourselves enamored with "Sex and the City," "Curb Your Enthusiasm," and "The Sopranos." We were late to the game, but we finally realized what the rest of America already had, which was that HBO was producing some of the best television.

Yet all good things must come to an end (as this blog entry well acknowledges, albeit grudgingly), and over the past few years, we said goodbye to "Carrie Bradshaw" and friends, and were sad to bid farewell to that likable mob gangster known as "Tony." The departure of these programs left us with very little to still tune in to, as the polygamist show "Big Love" failed to reel us in and the latter seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" failed to charm us as the first five had so wittingly done. "Entourage" was a welcomed addition, and fully enjoyed, yet like 'Curb,' it left us disappointed with the most recent past two seasons. We were at a loss for an intelligent, thoughtful, and entertaining program. I tried watching the trendy vampire show "True Blood," but I'll be frank: I find no interest whatsoever in any medium about vampires. I even programmed my DVR to record "Flight of the Concords," and "Summer Heights," but regretted having committed any minutes of my life to these less-than-stellar efforts. What were we going to do? Could we live in a post-HBO series world?

Apparently, we would have to try. Last year, due to financial constraints, we decided to omit luxury items, and HBO had now fallen from the category of essential to luxury. Dismayed, disappointed, we were left relying solely on the lighter, less sophisticated shows such as "Bones," "The Closer," and "CSI: Las Vegas." In 2009, we were grateful to discover emerging hopefuls such as "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" and "Burn Notice," the latter which I found myself intrigued in, entertained with, and addicted to in an almost similar manner as those HBO shows of yesteryear. Yet, I was still wanting more.

My husband and I disagree over whose idea it was first, but since this is my blog, I will claim credit for having the idea to try one of the very few HBO series we never watched: "Six Feet Under." I don't know why we never watched the show when it aired on HBO. I remember seeing previews for the series. Why? Why did I not think to try it? Being that it ran concurrently with the "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City," was it overshadowed, or did I just not have enough time for more quality "must-see" television? So, in the late summer of 2009, I added "Six Feet Under" to our Netflix queue, hopeful for the chance to be drawn in again by HBO. Yes, I was hopeful, perhaps too hopeful, and worried that I would once again be let down.

What Greater Gift?

What greater gift than the love of a cat?

-- Charles Dickens

More and more as I grow older, I am coming to believe something: There are those people or creatures who come into our lives only briefly and whose presence offer us a gift or teach us a lesson which is priceless. If someone had predicted ten years ago that I would be a cat owner, I would have laughed and given an firm response: No! That was before a small abandoned little fellow came into my life one spring day in 2006. After that day, my life changed forever.

He was just about eight weeks old, thrown out of a moving car by humans too irresponsible to spay his mother and too immoral to consider the cruelty of their actions. As he sat in the middle of a busy highway, paralyzed with fear, a car ran over him, its tires just barely missing him.

All this was seen by our apartment maintenance personnel, who were thoughtful enough to stop and rescue the little kitten from such trauma.

I wasn't looking for a cat, you know. I didn't seek him out. He sought me. Us. The day I first saw those frightened big blue eyes looking at me, a maternal bond began. It was a bond that could not be broken, and only strengthened over the next three years. My heart strings still reach out for him, their tethering too painful to bear some days.

I volunteered to take him off the apartment office's hands and drive him to the local animal shelter. Yet the longer I stared into those big blue eyes and cradled the tiny furry body shivering in my hands, the more difficult it was to think of letting him go and him being abandoned once again. So instead of leaving the animal shelter with one less passenger, I found myself strolling the unfamiliar cat aisles of Petsmart, unsure of the benefits Scoop Away had over Fresh Step and Whiskas over 9 Lives.

My husband and Jorge, our dog, fell in love with him just as quickly as I did, and although the little fellow as still frightened, his new big brother gave him a tender lick on the his face. My husband asked, "How about Mr. Guppy?" We had just watched Charles Dickens' "Bleak House" on Masterpiece Theatre. "That's perfect!" I said.

Our family of three became a family of four. Oh, Mr. Guppy tried our patience at times. He climbed on top of the china cabinet, the television, the kitchen cabinets. He ventured into an open oven (not heated!), an empty dryer, and napped in any empty bag, box, or suitcase. He and his big brother chased lizards that crawled along the window outside; they wrestled and even drank water from the same bowl. He never failed to jump in his litter box just as I was trying to clean it. I could never lie down to read a book without him jumping up and plopping right down on top of

the book, flop his tail up and down, reach up ever so gently with his paw, and touch my face, begging to be petted.

He was a tiger yearning for the jungle, bored of the limited adventures an apartment could provide. Two years later, when we moved into our own home, we allowed him to venture outdoors, where he felt free and happy. He caught numerous moles and birds, climbed trees, and scaled fences. He was happy. We were all happy.

One month ago, late at night when my husband came home from work, Mr. Guppy darted out the door for his nightly adventures. Nothing was unusual in his behavior. Yet when Tuesday morning arrived, Mr. Guppy did not arrive begging for his morning breakfast. Afternoon and evening passed, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Friends and family tried to reassure us that this was typical of cats However, I knew it was not typical of Mr. Guppy. Days, one week, another week passed, and Mr. Guppy did not return. It has been one month now since he disappeared. We printed numerous flyers, walked and drove all over the neighborhood. I've checked the animal control and rescue websites multiple times everyday, wishing, hoping that I could will his photo to be there.

The lack of closure has been gut wrenching. I have found myself distraught over not knowing what tragedy fell on him, the possible pain and fear that enveloped him in those late evening/early morning hours. As his mother, I have shed many tears, with none of them able to bring him back. The thought of my Guppy, my baby, out there hurt, stranded, sick, or panicking, and without me to rescue and care for him, has left my insides churning, my heart heavy with inconsolable grief.

The void in our lives from the absence of such a small fellow is enormous. Each day I leave for work and return home is especially painful, for Mr. Guppy isn't there to greet me. I know he isn't coming back.

This past week it felt like for the first time I could almost hear Mr. Guppy speaking to me. His absence has been difficult enough, but I, the one who detested felines, now finds myself wanting another cat in our home. Yet the thought of getting another one so soon felt like a swift blow to Mr. Guppy's memory.

That's when I felt his spirit near me as if he was saying, "Mommy, do it.

I know you love me and miss me. But other kittens out there need you just like I did. Please help them. We need you."

Mr. Guppy found me. I did not find him. He came into my life when I needed the distraction of caring for another being. He taught me patience, he gave me laughter, and he taught me that cats can bring us joy. Somehow he made me feel needed and loved in a way that no human has been able to do. I was, in his mind, his mother. It is a privilege for which I will be eternally grateful.

Enough!

Maybe it's because I'm feeling depressed with summer coming to an end and this has left me more sad and volatile. Or maybe enough is enough and I just can't take the ignorance of Americans anymore. I love my country. I am proud to be American and am proud, for the most part, of our history. When my country had the sense to elect Barack Obama I had a renewed sense of hope that maybe many of my people had gained some sort of insight. We were making a turn and it was a turn for the better.

Apparently I'm wrong.

The health care debate is all the rage and it seem that the majority of Americans don't like the idea of government interfering. Words like "socialized medicine," "communism," and other catastrophic verbiage is being hurled. Last night while I was watching television a piece of right-wing propaganda came on the screen. Actually describing it as propaganda is probably too generous. It was 30 seconds of complete lies.

1. The commercial describes how Obama wants to "impose" "socialized medicine" on us. The word "impose" suggest that we will be forced to use this health care system. That we will have no choice. First of all, the public option that Obama is advocating is just that--an option. Second, are we all not currently being imposed? What choice do we really have now? With the costs of health care skyrocketing over the past few decades, the majority of Americans are "imposed" to use the health insurance provided by their employers which often isn't the best. They are also "imposed" to stay in careers they dislike or even jobs that are detrimental to their physical and mental health. Why? Because they need the job for the insurance. They can't afford to pay for better insurance on their own.

2. With "socialized medicine" there will be a greater demand for health care and then the government will have to ration health care. Wait--you think there isn't a great demand for health care now? Currently there is a huge demand. It's just that many folks can't afford to go and see about that broken arm, the persistent cough, or that growth on their neck because either they don't have coverage or the un-met deductible is too expensive. And God forbid if any of their ailments are considered a pre-existing condition.

3. The commercial states that under "socialized medicine" citizens will have to wait weeks, months, even years to receive treatment. Guess what? I have coverage under the great private health care system and you know what? I have tried making appointments with various specialists lately and you know what? None of them can see me for at least a month to six months out. Doesn't sound that different to "socialized medicine" to me.

4. Lastly, the worst thing about this plan is that (gasp) we will have to pay for "free healthcare" for millions of illegal immigrants.

Look, my husband is an "immigrant." We went through the proper channels. Paid the fees, signed the paperwork. Is it unfair that many get into this country without doing the same? Sure it is. But let's face some harsh realities, people. First of all, as long as there is poverty and oppression in the world people will leave their country in search of a better life in another country. If that country where there is much poverty and/or oppression borders with another country which has better opportunities, the chances of people attempting to cross the border rises. For decades our country turned a blind eye to the immigration "problem." As a result, we now have millions of illegals here. We created the problem because we did nothing to solve it.

But you know what else? Americans seem to hate having all of these illegals in our country. We claim that they are draining the economy and stealing jobs away from legal unemployed citizens. How many legal citizens do you know that are willing to clean toilets for a living? And you know the folks who do such a great job on your landscaped yard? Or the ones who keep your laundry perfectly folded and the carpet clean? A lot of 'em are illegal. Oh, and guess what? More than likely, even if your name is Smith or Johnson, somewhere in your family tree you had ancestors who illegally entered this country either by sneaking across borders or as a stowaway on a ship. So, you have those illegal aliens in your tree a thank you for allowing you to live in the greatest country in the world.

As for draining the economy, you are aware that us "legal' citizens often pay for illegals' to receive medical treatment when they end up going to an ER or urgent clinic, right? Think how much more revenue would be brought in if they were legal and could pay taxes. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. You think they'll try to sneak around paying taxes. Well, truth be told, the majority of illegals wish to become citizens and contribute to this country legally, through real paychecks, income tax, Social Security, and health insurance. With any group of people there are always those who don't wish to pay. You know, we even have some of them in our group of good hard-working legal citizens. Ever heard of Wesley Snipes, Judy Garland, Pete Rose, Leona Helmsley?

Enough!

((((E))))

It was not the news I expected to receive last Monday morning. Arriving to work, I read an e-mail notifying me that one of my dearest friends had died suddenly.

It's a weird feeling you get when you first learn news such as this. You get this sickening feeling in your stomach, followed by shortness of breath. You frown in sadness and shake your head in disbelief. At least that's what happens with me. And it isn't until the shock begins to fade slightly that utter pain and sorrow hits. It hits with a torrential downpour of sobs, tears, and runny nose. The pain and ugly reality follows you wherever you go. If forgotten for a few minutes or set aside during sleep, it's still there. No matter how hard you wish for it to all be a bad dream it isn't.

I want this writing to be about her and not me. At the same time, though, I feel that I need to write because of the catharsis my heart needs. Done is the viewing, meeting the family, the funeral. She has been buried. She is with the earth now. Now it is time to pick up and move forward. To move on without her feels so strange.

I wish I could remember what it was that made me single her out. What had she posted on the boards at heathbaby that prompted me to contact her? I can't remember. We exchanged many personal messages, e-mails. We discovered that we shared a lot in common. Aside from loving the hunky Heath Ledger, we had dreams. Unfulfilled dreams. She, too, dreamed of becoming somebody. She too loved movies, Hollywood, music, reading, and a plethora of other interests. We both believed in reincarnation. We were both lonely. We both wanted friends. That was nine years ago.

Friends is what we became. We shared things with each other that perhaps we didn't share with those in our everyday lives. Hopes, dreams, regrets, fears. Sure, there were some 500 miles separating us but we didn't let that stop us. Oh, the laughter! Sometimes there were even tears. Tears from laughing so hard, that is.

I never had a strong group of friends growing up. Either I never found people who really were enough like me or I severed the relationship when they let me down. With Elizabeth and heathbaby I had--for the first time in my life--a group of friends. They seemed to genuinely care about me and the feelings were mutual.

And E cared about me. That's what I came to call her. E. And Reb is how I was known to her. There were periods where I was so down and depressed and she was there for me. She sent me notes of encouragement. She would call and check on me. She never gave up on me.

Who was it that drove over 14 hours to come to my wedding? Even after getting lost in the Smoky Mountains and therefore missing the ceremony, she still showed up at the reception? E. I should've had her be my Maid of Honor. She should've been in my wedding. I remember her being the first person to support us as potential parents. When I mentioned how I wanted to become pregnant one of these days, she squealed and said, "Aww, you guys would make the best parents! You guys are so cute together!"

I let us grow apart a bit after that. I became preoccupied with married life and my emotional-drama-of-the-month. We chatted occasionally but not as regularly. I'm kicking myself now for this.

E was a stronger and braver person than I could ever hope to be. My husband and parents remind me of the things I've overcome but I can't imagine facing cancer. She faced that mean and merciless disease at only 13 and defeated it. She dug her heels in and moved forward in life. There were other obstacles, though. Obesity. Depression. Loneliness. Professional stagnation. Lymphedema. And most recently, one sprained ankle and another broken ankle requiring 2-4 weeks bed rest, from which blood clots formed and detached, moving to her heart.

There were many days that E called and I couldn't talk for long or I missed her call and we kept playing phone tag. I can still hear her voice mail message: "You know the game and now you're it. Leave me a message." It seems I was always too drawn up in my own frustrations and worries to stop and realize that maybe she needed more of an ear to listen than I provided. I took her for granted. I took our friendship for granted.

We had almost gotten together last summer, but plans fell through. We were hoping to see each other this year. She had talked of driving down to Georgia for a conference and I would meet her there. We would stay at my parents' house. Instead, the next time I saw her was the last time I'd see her. In a casket. The lifeless body resembled nothing of the vivacious, bubbly, smiling E I had known.

She had too much to offer. Too much love to share for her life to have ended so soon. Some of her journal writings indicated that she still had hopes of achieving some of her dreams. In true E fashion, she was not going to let obstacles impede her quest for a fulfilling life.

There has to be reincarnation. What E started in this life was not finished. She deserved better. She has to get that opportunity again in her next life. She just has to. Some believe that paths cross again in other lives. Maybe our paths had crossed in previous lives and thus our connection in this one. Oh, I hope to see her again. Whatever lies out there--a Heaven, a Summerland, another life, I hope to see you again. I wish to laugh and dance with you again.

We used to talk of the day that all of us heathbabies would get together as gray-haired, wrinkled old ladies. We would tell our sons and daughters of the fun their mommies had together. I don't see that happening now. Not without E.

If you can hear me, E....If you can hear my crying and my apologies, please know how much you meant to me. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more. I'm sorry I took our friendship for granted. Do you know? Do you? Do you know from wherever you are right now how much I grieve and miss you? Do you know how much you meant to me and so many others? Yes, you deserved so much more than the rotten deal you were dealt. But your time here was not in vain. Never think this. For, from your time here I can say I had one truly good friend in my life. One truly, fiercely loyal friend. Someone who is an example to remember. With all the darkness and meanness which surrounded you, you still shined your light brightly. With a smile. With love.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((E))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

One Year Later....

And so it is....One year since the world lost a shining spirit. An old soul. An artist whose brilliance at times could almost be blinding. A caring friend. A loving son and brother. A doting, devoted father. A source of inspiration to many, including me.

It was one year ago that I was still searching for a house, driving through a neighborhood on a cold, wet, dreary winter day when upon hearing the news that Heath Ledger had died, that I stopped my car right there in the middle of the street, my heart pounding, my mouth open in shock and disbelief. I hate to use this word, as it's so overused, but it was truly a surreal moment. There was a cloud of confusion, panic, denial, and the immediate need to not only get home to Nelson quickly, but to also reach out to my friends.

Upon arrival home, I found Nelson, who was not aware of the news. I stood there, just inside the apartment, and told him. "Heath's dead."

It would be the focus of television, newspapers, and tabloid fodder for weeks. Yet while many were fueling incorrect rumors and suggesting an abusive behavior, there were people hurting. Family, friends, and fans. Yes, fans. Fans who, like me, found inspiration and even friendship through the short life he had lived.

I do not know what I would've done without my friends. Just as they had pulled me through earlier dark periods of my life, so too did they do that again. We talked a lot about Heath, about what he meant to us, about the friendship he had given us. It was very much like a family all coming home for the brother's funeral. While Heath had all brought us together initially, we had drifted apart a bit, preoccupied with school, work, and family. But on that evening of January 22nd and for the next several days, we all came together again, providing comfort to our devastated selves.

During these past twelve months I've grown closer to many of these friends again. I think we realized how precious life is and the need to preserve the special bond we have. In July, when Heath's most acclaimed performance in a movie was released, I did not have to bear the pain of watching it alone. One of my friends met me at a theater, and we jointly sniffed and wiped away tears as the final credits rolled. I have reflected on the fragility of life, the importance of friendship, and the miracle of my true love, Nelson.

Ironically, Oscar nominations were announced today on this sad anniversary. And predictably, most deservingly, Heath received a posthumous nomination for his brilliant performance in Dark Knight.

The phrase indelible mark is so often used when describing someone who made on impact in this world while living. I feel there is no better phrase to use. His impact can never be erased, never forgotten. His brilliance on screen will be studied for decades. His memory lives on in my beautiful marriage and in the solid friendships I have, all of which provide me with smiles and laughter on a daily basis. His greatest footprint, though, is left in his daughter, Matilda, who at just three years old seems to already possesses the determined and passioned spirit which her father exhibited so often.

"It is strange to think, I haven't seen you since [a year].... I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. "

--From "A Knight's Tale" (2001)

TRadition

Sigh. It's happened again. Yes, another human life form with Sarah Palin's genes will soon be walking--or, crawling--on this earth. Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston, the illegitimately conceived lovechild of Palin's oldest daughter, Bristol, and her high school sweetheart, Levi, has popped out of the womb. While they may not hold traditional values such as marriage, intercourse after marriage, and staying in school in as high esteem as Bristol's mother claims she does, they are certainly keeping up the tradition of male Tr- names in the family. Little Tripp joins uncles Track and Trig.

I suppose we should be glad she chose this naming method as opposed to using the name her mother, Governor Palin, claims she always wanted to use, but didn't have enough kids to use: Zamboni.

I decided that with all the appearances at mass turkey killings, hockey games, births of grandchildren-out-of-wedlock, and occasional appearances doing gubernatorial things, Governor Palin and her family might want some other suggestions for future spawn names. We can only hope there will be no more but let's face it: the Palin women seem to enjoy poppin' 'em out as fast a batting machine during batting practice. So Palin Family, here you go. Here's a list to keep by the nightstand or on the fridge for whomever has a bun in the oven next. (Let's pray it ain't Willow or Piper!)

Tron. With the remake of the famous 1982 sci-fi movie currently in development, why not be ahead of the curve?

Trapper. Tell your kids your favorite piece of childhood was your trapper keeper, or that your great-great-grandfather was a famous trapper in the Yukon.

Trek. You know you're Trekkies. We all are underneath, but can't admit it.

Trump. Only if your baby comes out of the womb with a perfectly coiffed head of hair and tells Governor Palin, "You're fired!"

Tristan. Like your youngest son Trigg, it has deep seeded roots in lore.

Troy. An obvious one, but only if you think your son will look as cute as Brad Pitt did in the movie.

Travis. I hate this name, but it fits.

Tryst. Maybe this would be a good name to use for whoever gets preggers from an adulterous affair?

Trampas. I had a classmate in elementary school who was named this. It's better than tramp, don't you think, Bristol? (And better than trollop, don't you think, McCain Family?)

Trolley. You could be cute and spell it Traleigh. (Good choice if the baby was conceived in San Francisco.)

Maybe my mass of readers can make other suggestions. Gosh, and I haven't even thought yet of creative combinations which would be required if twins run in the family! Or even triplets. As for now, Palin Family, here you go. I will charge you nothing for this list. It's my gift to you. After all, you've got a new wardrobe to buy for little Tripp. That is, unless you think you can get the RNC to go on a shopping spree for you to Baby Gap?

Just Call Me 'Bargain Bekah'

As if the appearance of a bedding superhero wasn't enough excitement, I have achieved new bargain hunting status with my steals and deals from this past week! Therefore, I think it only fitting that I be referred to as "Bargain Bekah."


Following my acquisition of the Oscar de la Renta duvet cover and dust ruffle (at a whopping 96% discounted price!) I found a queen size sheet set by de la Renta in the same pattern for an amazing $17.00! And, instead of purchasing bolster pillows or other toss pillows in the lovely striped fabric to match the dust ruffle, I found a seller who has fabric remnants from this pattern and purchased a yard of the fabric for only $2.00!


In addition, on Saturday the hubby and I visited a low cost furniture store in Charlotte that carries high end furniture at a lower cost. We purchased a floor model dresser on clearance for only $289.00. This furniture, along with our new bedding and fresh coat of paint on the walls will make a wonderful calm and soothing botanical feel to our bedroom, which is just what I hoped to achieve!


Normal retail price for dresser: $700.00

Bargain Price: $289

Price of Cliveden Bedding Ensemble: $800.00

Bargain Price: $129.00

Being a sound shopper? Priceless.