The wurster, the better

Someone I know asked what I was going to get for Christmas. My wife and daughters have asked me for my list. What I really want is to be able to do all the things that I have to do and all the things I want to do. This has not been any easy task and is getting harder as I get older. Life just doesn’t cooperate.

I have also been thinking about the loved ones we have lost this year. I kind of dwell on my own feelings and not on others feelings. Although they have similar feelings about those who died. I guess I have taken this for granted and don’t appreciate what each one of us is going through. For example, with the recent loss of my Mom, I know that my brothers and I are feeling sad and empty especially at this time of year, but I haven’t taken the time to consider that our wives are also feeling the loss, maybe even more than us. Moms and daughters or daughter-in-laws seem to have a special bond. I know that they had this bond with my Mom. So, maybe they have much more to deal with that we, her sons.

If I haven’t told you or tried to comfort you, then I apologize. I will try to do better, although we Wursters are kind of non-emotional most of the time. Some would call us ornery or pains in the butt. That is just who we are. Sorry.

I had a chance to go to my Mom’s house over the weekend to do some cleaning and such. Every time I visit now it seems to get me really depressed. As I go through our stuff (our memories), I remember growing up. I also have found things that would only be sentimental to me (but I’m sure that each of my brothers has also found things personal to each of them). I found my birth certificate. I found a letter/card from my Dad to my Mom when I was born. I found photographs, many, many photographs.

I remembered back in 1964 when the Phillies collapsed and how my brothers and I were devastated and crying in the driveway. That was really painful. But now we can cheer because we won our division.

I looked through the home I grew up in. There was my bedroom and my brother’s bedrooms. There was our upstairs where we played as kids. And fought as kids. And practically drove my Mom crazy trying to take care of 5 boys. I remembered when I once bought a praying mantis egg case through the mail and when it hatched in my bedroom. And the hundreds of baby praying mantises jumping anf flying around. And my Mom freaking out for me to “get them out of the house”.

And there are many, many more memories that I hope to write down. But in the end, sometime next year, the house we all grew up in, will no longer be ours. An end will come and it will not be a happy occasion.

I have been feeling just blah these last couple of days. I feel limp and listless, not really wanting to do anything. I found myself saying “I’ll just call Mom and tell her what’s happening”. But that can never be anymore.

I guess it’s just a matter of time before things (life) goes back to normal, whatever that is.

I did feel somewhat better today after volunteering for the United Way and Grow Up Great at a local school. We revamped the DCIU Head Start Center’s old library into a real library. It was exhausting but gave me a feeling of good, using my hands to paint and move things from here to there. I was happy to have helped in the center where I have volunteered the last 2 years via a program my employer has set up.