i know what it means

My year-long Long Island half-life draws to a close. I'm leaving in ten days, just short of two weeks. My time here is done. It's time to move on.

I lost my job on December 31st. It was a fitting close to a lousy year, the year I've dubbed "The Year of the Living Dead."

2008 began with my mother's sudden and untimely death and my subsequent uprooting from my temporary digs in Oxford, MS. I never expected to stay there long but I thought it would be longer than seven months. I moved there with the prospect of "until..." but I signed the one-year lease on my little house in good faith and I remain grateful to my landlord for letting me exit earlier.

My return to Long Island was fraught with grief and the first few months were sodden with it. I lived with a cousin from February through October and while I'm grateful for the housing, it was not without drama. My cousin was (and still is) deep in divorce proceedings and struggling with various crises related to mid-life, child welfare, and new-found freedom, and all of that spiked by long-simmering familial discord.

The tension oozed through the walls, fueled by outside cell phone fights and inside chaos. It was, at times, more than I could ignore.

He did his best, my cousin, and he always did right by me. And he tries to do his best by his boys, but if there was ever a man who needed a woman to keep his life and home in order, my cousin is that man.

In November, I moved in with my Dad. Into the basement. Me and my cats. For me, it's been great (if quiet). The cats, however, have suffered. An infestation of fleas, followed by overall skin irritation and hair loss. Both cats have lost weight, getting skinny for the first time since they were kittens. I've moved them (for the first time) onto can food, in the hope of fattening them up. It is one small consolation for their unhappy living quarters. It's one way I try to make up for the dog.

Ah. The dog. Teddy. I wish I knew him as a pup. He's three years old now and a beast. Seventy or so pounds. Aggressive with other dogs and generally gentle around cats. The housecats here put up with him. Minky, the super fat one, hisses when he gets too close. Mo, the tough boy, boxes with him, bapping Teddy on the nose and putting him in his place. Ted chases and barks but mostly leaves alone. He is indeed a Teddy Bear and worships my father like a god.

(Since I lost my job, I spend a lot of time around the house. Ted, he mopes. Curled on the couch - ignoring me - waiting for my father to return home. And when he does, Teddy greets his arrival with an enthusiasm I recognize: "Daddy's Home! Daddy's Home!" As a child, during one rambunctious romp of my one-girl welcoming committee, I bounced backward off the couch and straight through the glass coffee table. No damage, fortunately, except for the table. Ted, thankfully, does considerably less damage in his excitement.)

I agree with the dog. My dad is a superhero. A true good man. Certainly, like all of us, he's got his parts to work on, but his heart is pure gold. My treasure this year, despite its loads of crap, is the deepened relationship with my father. We met again in grief - and he matched his with mine (his wife; my life) - and we found a friendship in between. This year was redeemed by his love.

A love that extends to my departure. He is very sad that I'm leaving. If he had his way, he'd keep me in the basement. But he understands, reluctantly, that a subterranean, suburban life is no life for me. He knows that I'm bored. He knows that I'm lonely. He knows I have to go. And he's given his blessing (and loaning his dollars) so that I can leave the place I was born and raised to return to the place I call home.

I toyed with Philadelphia, flirted with D.C. and fantasized about Berlin (all of which would have been more acceptable to my father than my eventual choice). He'd rather have me move halfway across the world than return to New Orleans, but that is where I'm going. I'm going back to New Orleans. I know what it means to miss New Orleans and there's no place I'd rather be.