Grandpa Hinkson

Today is my Grandpa Hinkson's 88th birthday. He died almost 12 years ago. I put together this note on Facebook over ten years ago. But I still think about it, about him. I miss him so much. Love him even more. I used to go have picnic lunches with him at the cemetery in Salem, Utah. I'd sit under the tree above his grave and just enjoy our time together. Happy Birthday, Grandpa! I love you.

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Lunch With Grandpa

We made sandwiches for lunch
Then went out on the porch
To sit on the swing
And talk about life.
You reach for my hand
And tell me about times
When you were my age.
You talk of war
And trials and friends.
I watch your eyes drift to some place
That I will never know.
You talk of simpler times
When neighbors were friends
And kindness meant more than debts owed.
You talk of a changing world
And remind me that families are forever.
Then you tell me you love me.
And I believe you.
You became my hero today
While we ate our sandwiches on the swing.

S.G.
September 18, 2001


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Life is so unpredictable.  One minute you're here- and the next you're gone, forever.  The next breath you take could be your last.  And you'll never know it.  You're just gone.  Death is a fascinating thing.  Going off into the unknown.  Ending?  Or starting over?  Empty?  Or full of. . . what?  Not life.  That's over.  Of love?  Do you feel love?  Of peace?  Is there peace in death?  Is the hard part over?  Do you have knowledge of a job well done?  Can you just. . .  sit?  And think?  How does time work?  Can you make it stop?  Can you just feel?  Feel for as long as you need to.  For something to make sense, before you have to pick back up and move on before you're ready?  Can you make time stop?  Is there understanding?  Nothing makes sense in living.  In life.  In human life.  What about in death?  Does your vision change?  Are you calm?  I'm calm here.  With you.  You?  I can't see you.  Or hear you.  And my soul hurts, but still. . .  calm.  You were a good man.  One of the best.  And now, you're here beneath me.  Never to take a breath again.  And I'll never hear your voice again.  But somehow, I think you still know.  Me.  You know me.  Probably better than anyone alive knows me.  Because you can see into my heart.  You can see what others can't.  What they won't.  You can see past what they say, the labels.  You know the genuine me.  At least that's what I like to think.  Think.  I wish I didn't think so much.  Or feel so deeply.  Or at all.  What is it like?  Death?  Are you happy Grandpa?  I miss you Grandpa.  I love you.

11-12-2008

Five Weeks And Three Days

Today is five weeks and three days since my last, and final, ECT. And, I feel good. I was nervous when four weeks passed, but every day since then I've said to myself "I feel good." I've smiled more, I've laughed more. I've been able to do more things that I used to enjoy. The other day I got out the watercolors. That was monumental for me. It felt good.

So, is the depression gone. No, I still feel it. I feel it in my lack of motivation to do nearly anything still. Just because I do, doesn't mean I want to. But I CAN, and there's the difference. I can feel a fight in my head still to think negative thoughts. I do not feel suicidal. I do not want to die. I feel worthwhile. But, death is just a thought that is always there. I can die, if needed. If things become difficult, it's always an option. It just is. This is how I feel. I hope though that it never comes to that. There are things I love that keep me around. I love Lord Midnight. He needs me. I love flowers. I have seven beautiful pots of flowers on my balcony. I love seeing them everyday. They bring me such happiness. I love watching M*A*S*H, and Star Trek, much to my families delight. Hahaha. I love being crafty. I love my family. I love my friends.

Speaking of friends. During my last visit with my ECT psychiatrist she asked me how my friendships have weathered the severe depression. I feel honored and blessed to have been able to say my friends have stood by me and cared for me and done everything they can for me during all this. They've loved me and that's healed me. I have the best friends and we've come through the depression probably stronger than before. Never have I been a burden. Dr. Allen just beamed and said how wonderful that is. I am truly, truly lucky.

I do want to ask for help. Help in watching and seeing how I am doing. Sometimes I can't see it myself when I start to slide. One thing my brother and I have come up with is a weekly cleaning schedule for me to follow. When I am having a hard time cleanliness slides to the bottom of the list. So this cleaning schedule is a really good way for me, and others, to measure how I am doing. Monday is the kitchen, my least favorite. Tuesday is the bathroom, my second least favorite. Hahaha. Wednesday is the living room. Thursday is the bedroom. And Friday is laundry. So far I've kept up with the schedule! It does feel really nice to be able to clean and have it feel good when I'm done. I feel accomplished and I want to keep that feeling.

So, as close as I can with Major Depressive Disorder, I'm enjoying my life. I take one day at a time. One moment at a time. My life is simple and that's exactly how I want it. And today, I am grateful.