Post hoc ergo propter hoc

"Where's her head."

That was the first thing the Elder Boy asked upon my return from Houston. He was in the bathtub, naked. His brown eyes, a testament to Mom, were wide with anticipation.

"With her body. At the morgue, er' funeral home..." I shuddered at that reality. Mom's physical body in some refrigerated drawer like I had seen on television. "She might already be cremated at this point. I'm not sure, to be honest."

Those brown eyes, a mirror of mine, still wide with wonder, "How?"

"How what?"

"How they cream aid her?"

"No. C - R - E - M - A - T - E. Granny wanted to be cremated."

To which, Wy Wy, in the same tub, with the same brown eyes added, "Granny died."

To write that this year has been life altering for Team Tinsley is a gross understatement. I think back to when it all started, which for me was on my throne of impotence with a bag of doritos in my lap and Entourage on HBO. As the clock struck midnight, and 2005 became 2006, I clearly remember wiping my nacho cheese crusted fingers off as I got up and went back to look in on the Boy(s), asleep in their beds.

I'm not sure if it is because I've seen The Mexican or that I'm naturally disquiet, but on December 31st I often worry about stray bullets coming through the roof and harming those I love. Reassured by their peaceful slumber, somewhat, I licked the cheese off of my thumbs as I walked back to my throne. That is when I was struck with a palpable sense of dread - when I thought to myself, will Mom live to see 2007. Dear Readers, as well as regular readers of this here BLOG know that sad answer. No. Mom died on October 18.

Looking back, as I look forward, I'm disheartened with myself. My Lovely Bride says that I'm being hard. She is probably correct. Still, it doesn't change how I feel, which to be honest, is like shit. The past two weeks have been especially hard. Starting with our trip to Houston to go through Mom's things, and then her Memorial. Followed by Christmas. Christmas was tough. I've always had mixed feelings about Christmas. I actual spent Christmas Eve in Church this year, which resolved a lot of my past demons. Still, I hurt, so much that I had self medicated at our annual white elephant family gathering earlier in the day and was border line drunk. That sucks. Not so much in a moral sense. If you know anything about Jesus, you know he was all about the sinners and loving everyone. I think it sucks because two months and some change since Mom died I'm still not right in the head. To quote Paul Gleason's Principal Vernon from The Breakfast Club (who, ironically enough died of a rare form of lung cancer in May 2006), "I expected a little more from a varsity letterman!" Funnily enough my high school letterman jacket is one of the things I found when we went through all of my Mom's stuff. Something she had saved.

I recently read a BLOG of a guy who is from my hometown. A fellow Sandite. His BLOG entry commemorated the 10 year anniversary of his father's death. His father was my bus driver for many years. But that isn't the point. In his BLOG entry he said:

"To those of you who like to cling to the old Nietzsche grind that "that which does not kill me makes me stronger", I tell you that's a load of horseshit. In that month, on that day, I was not made stronger by the things that happened to me. What I learned was to mistrust that the universe holds me any goodwill. The legacy of that day was to destroy all my certainties, and replace them with constant worries about everything."

Thinking about this year, and Mom's death, I agree with most of that. However, for me, personally, Brother Nietzsche's grind is somewhat correct. Not to say that all of this has made me stronger. I don't think that is true. I think of the experience more like a callus. Hardness has set in, and I need some protection, the thinner my skin

My Near Year's Resolution, if you can call it that, is to simply open up my heart, and live my life in a way that is befitting Mom's memory. I need to take something good from all the bad. I don't want to be be angry, or bitter. Not waste time. That all sounds like such a cliche. Unless of course you are me, faced with such a profound loss.

So, Merry New Year to all those that come to this here BLOG, whether I know you or not. While you are here, please join me in crossing your fingers in the hope that I don't fuck it up, and end up walking in my old footsteps once again.

Until I BLOG again... after this, therefore because of this.