I am home now.

I left New Jersey this afternoon....left Dad sitting on the front steps, the weather warm, the trees in bloom, my sister's husband cutting the lawn...Dad looked tired, and gray, tomato sauce on his chin in his gray whiskers, wearing a flannel shirt in 70 degree weather. He is tired and afraid to be alone.

"I'll miss you guys," he said to myself and Steady Eddie as we said goodbye.

But I can't stay. There's no life for me in that house.

Last night, I was very homesick. I realized that I have things to take care of: three blogbabies to keep up with; stories to write; a career to work on; a "chat" with Lucky Bastard; a call from Bob the Cop that needs to be returned.

There's too much here to leave behind. And my Father isn't an invalid. Right now, he's just depressed and in mourning.

Yesterday, he buried his wife.

The funeral at times flew by, and, at other times, it dragged. We all met at the funeral home first, then drove to the church for a funeral mass. I went for communioin--haven't done that in years and was quite surprised that the stained glass windows didn't shatter.

But I'm not the only one who needs to do heavy penance--and certainly not the only one who will sin again.

Sometime during the final goodbyes at the funeral home, I started to get a headache. I didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. I'd had enough the previous day at the 2-4pm viewing, and couldn't deal with smiling and small-talking and sympathizing.

My godmother stayed by my side most of the time--not necessarily to support me, but to be supported. She's lost too many people in the past four years, and it is beginning to weigh heavily on her.

Like it is on my father.

The mass was nice though, and Father John's an interesting dude. I would have liked to have sat down with him and had a nice theological chat.

I miss the company of priests and ministers.

I miss studying theology.

My godmother spoke at the mass...about my mother teaching her to draw, and how they were like sisters, and the night my mother came home and said she'd met someone at a USO dance (that was my father)....and I realized that there was a side of my mother that I'd never known. There was a woman before I was born, and after I'd left home, that other people knew as kind and encouraging and funny.

This was someone I'd never known. This is what makes me sad.

We drove to the cemetary, and I sat by my sister, who sat by my father, at my mother's graveside. I didn't want to get up after the final words were said. My head hurt and I was tired.

We went for lunch, and I made some small talk--compaired notes about chronic fatigue with one of my cousins, but didn't really say much else. There wasn't much to say.

My sister took the mass cards. I wanted to see them, but she didn't go right home with the cards after lunch.

I tried to nap to get rid of the headache, but it didn't work. The day was too pretty and the breeze too soft for me to just let go of it.

So I talked Steady Eddie into going for a drive "down the shore." He likes when I say that phrase with my Jersey accent. Same way I like the way he says "padaydah"--the Hilltown version of "potato."

We ended up at Belmar--took a nice walk on the boardwalk. I was surprised to see mostly adults walking. But, it *is* off-season.

We drove back along Rt. 35, through Asbury Park, where I saw a sign that Billy Idol would be there on May 28. I saw Billy Idol at the Fast Lane in Asbury Park about 20 years ago. Even then, Asbury Park had lost the patina painted on it by all those Bruce Springsteen songs. It is a sad place. More like Hungry Heart than Born to Run.

Up past Lawrence Harbor, we hit the old "strip" section of Route 35, where there are several night clubs. I was surprised that one, Club Abyss, was still there, and looked as if it still functioned. Most of the others had new names and new music. Life moves forward, even in clubland.

Back at the house, Dad told me that my sister called and was willing to go over the cards with me. But it was too late, and I didn't bother to call her.

The mass cards, and mom's stuff, would have to wait for me. I am in no rush to go thru any of that. I have to put some things in order for myself in the now before I can deal with mementos of the past.

Steady Eddie went back to his hotel. And I started to panic. I didn't want to be in that house, didn't want to be around my Father, who was getting far more clingy than I can tolerate (I have a problem with anyone asking me who I'm on the phone with, or where I'm going or where I've been--and why. I felt too much like a teenager who's not entitled to a personal life.) I didn't like being alone, in my Father's house, sleeping in a twin bed, like a kid, when I'm not a kid and really don't want to be *his* kid any more. I don't want to be anybody's kid. I'm not a kid.

So I called him and asked if he'd come pick me up. I was homesick and wanted to be with him.

We stayed together. I needed that.

This morning over coffee and donuts, we got to talking a bit about things with my family, and Steady Eddie pointed out that it seemed that my parents never had a plan for me or my sister's future. This is true. They never thought what might happen to us after they died. It was always about staying around them, not about either of us having a life.

Again, I missed my very imperfect, strangely complicated, underachieving, childless life.

Before I left today, and after my goodbyes to dad, I went to say goodbye to my godmother. I realized that I am the daughter she never had. I am sad that my mother was jealous of her, and of my friendship with her, and did what she could to disrupt it. Yet my godmother loved her just the same. They'd been through alot together well before I was there, and she could forgive my mother for her troubling and trifling nature.

In some ways, I forgive my mother too. But, in other ways, I don't.

I worry about my Dad. I've seen aspects of him that I haven't before. He has ticks. Times where he shouts out for no reason. He fights the ticks and the shouts. I feel bad for him that he is alone. But I can't change him nor can I save him, nor can I cure his loneliness by sacrificing myself.

His lonliness goes so deep that it can't be cured.

And I am not a god nor a saint.

I am just...me...