Whenever I am troubled
And lost in deep despair
I bundle up my worries
And go to God in prayer
I tell him I am heartsick
And lost and lonely too
My mind is deeply burdened
I don’t know what to do
I know he stilled the tempest
And calmed the angry sea
I humbly ask if in his love
He’ll do the same for me
~ Gemini Joe ~
W
hen I got back to New York, I stayed in a one-room apartment above my friend’s bar. It was hard to sleep through the loud music blasting downstairs, but Bridget and me settled in until I could find a permanent place to live.
After checking out many apartments, I drove to the trailer park to look at my old trailer. Someone else lived there now, but I couldn’t afford to buy it back anyway. I sank most of my money into materials to build the basement apartment. Before I left, I went to see Slim, the guy who ran the park.
“Joe,” he said. “I thought you moved to Georgia. What are you doing back here?”
I was embarrassed to tell him what really happened, so I laughed and said, “There’s no place like New York.”
“I knew you wouldn’t last long down south!” Slim said.
“Actually, I’d like to move back into the park,” I said. “Do you have any handyman specials I could get cheap?”
“I only thing one, but it’s in bad shape.”
“Can I see it?”
“I know you’re talented, Joe, but I’m not sure even you can revive it. I’ll show it to you.”
Slim took me across the park to a dilapidated trailer. As soon as he pushed open the door, I understood what he meant. Paint peeled from the walls and the florescent lights flickered on and off in the kitchen, giving it an eerie glow inside. It smelled like water damage and I noticed a stain on the ceiling.
“Like I said, it’s a mess. There are leaks in the roof and the plumbing is bad.”
I had the skills to fix the buckling floor panels in the living room, but wondered if I had the energy.
“I could let you have it for nine hundred dollars,” Slim said.
I looked through the side window. The next trailer sat two feet away.
“You can put up a curtain there,” he said.
“It’ll take a lot of work to fix this place,” I said. “Will you take eight hundred?”
“You never change, Joe.” Slim laughed, but he accepted my offer.
It was raining when I moved in and the puddle of water in the kitchen reminded me that the roof needed to be fixed. I used an old towel to sop up the water then placed a container under the leak. There was only one dry corner for me to lay out my blanket and pillow.
All night, I listened to the drip, drip, drip in the bucket, making mental notes of the supplies I needed. Bridget was restless, too. The constant crack of thunder made her shiver. I held her close to soothe her, and myself.
The next morning, I began to work on the place. Little by little, I furnished the trailer with stuff I found at garage sales.
I’m so happy in my new mobile home. I love New York I love Long Island.
It’s like, God is rewarding me for whatever I missed, and I’m getting it.
In spite of my aches, pains and breathing problems, I found the strength to work, but I had a hard time catching my breath. It hurt when I tried to cough and made me feel light-headed.
“I’d better schedule an appointment with the Doc,” I said to Bridget.
She wagged her tail. She was the only one who seemed to love me.
My little dog is having trouble. Nine and a half, she has arthritis in her left leg. I feel terrible because she has a hard time getting up and she limps, you know. I’m limping too.
My biggest fear was that I might die and she would end up in an animal shelter again. It never dawned on me that she might go first. I had hoped she would get old with me. “You’re my best girl, Bridget.”
The time came when I had to put her out of her misery. I cried like a baby and I didn’t want to let her go, but I loved her too much to see her suffer.
My heart was broken. I left Bridget’s bed in the corner of the room. I missed her so much. I wanted to give up. I was running out of steam, but I continued to work on my boat.
Sometimes, I imagined that God was looking over my shoulder. Not now, I prayed, hoping God might let me stay a little longer.
It turned out I had prostate cancer. They gave me radiation and put it into remission, but then I found out I had tumors on my bladder. I thought about my mom. She struggled with cancer too. I guess I’ll be seeing her again soon. That helps me not to be scared.
After all those years of abusing my body, I finally got sober and stopped smoking. Now, it doesn’t seem to matter. I guess it all caught up with me. I’ve come to accept that I am going to die from the same disease that killed my father.
It’s funny. I spent a lifetime trying not to be like him, but in the end, I have more in common with him than I wanted. Almost sixty years has gone by since my Dad died and I’m remembering him a lot lately. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I can still hear him crying as he tried to take in breath, then I realize… it’s me. I’m depending on my oxygen tank more and more and I can’t go anywhere without my nebulizer.
The doctor said he could give me a surgical airway to make it easy to breathe, but I refused. My father had that and it always disturbed me. I just cough up the mucus from my lungs, but I’m afraid that soon, coughing won’t do me any good. It puts a lot of strain on my heart. Now more than ever, I’m tempted to drink, but that is what caused all my problems in the first place. I try to accept my fate.
This will probably be my last tape. It was enjoyable making the tapes for you. For whatever reason if it is going to do good for anybody. At least you can listen to these tapes when I’m gone and I will be with you always. I love all my children and I did the best I could for them. If it wasn’t good enough, I don’t have an excuse. My health is going as you could hear, always coughing, and breaking up, you know, silly me.
I don’t feel too good. Any way here I am. This emphysema is really getting to me. You know, breathing is getting harder. Sometimes I get good days, and sometimes not so good. The heat on Long Island is making my trailer unbearable.
Right now, on Long Island the humidity is like 98-100 percent. Humidity means no breathing so I have bought an air conditioner. I am locked into this trailer home, mobile home... excuse me. My neighbor said, “Don’t call it a trailer.”
I am going to stop and go on my nebulizer machine to get some more breath of life. This tape is longer than my breath. I wish my breath was longer than this tape.
Anyway, enough of this nonsense—I’m happy today. I find each day wonderful, until the good lord takes me away. Maybe some time in the future, if there is a heaven, we’ll all be there. That is probably where I am hoping to go if I was a good boy.
I love you all and with this, goodbye. Take care and love one another. Love Dad.
