So…I’m back. God help me find the discipline to do this regularly, as directed by my therapist (Go figure!) in an effort to find the joy and the hope. Apparently, me bottling things up, feeling angry, helpless and hopeless, is not good for me.
I want to say that I hate The Former Guy (if you don’t know who I am referring to you either disagree with me a lot or you’re young and not at all caught up in politics and the future of our nation) – but I have been warned about using the H word since I can remember. I am an optimist at heart – and always believe that everyone has a chance to redeem themselves in the eyes of “GOTU” (God of Their Understanding) and society at large.
Today is the anniversary of my mother’s birth. It’s not her birthday, really, because she’s no longer alive. It’s tough to know how to handle not the first birthday after the death of a loved one. I can tell you I wasn’t looking forward to it – and I didn’t want to address it if I didn’t have to. Consequently, I was caught off guard when others did address.
It never occurred to me that the blog name or website would be looked at as Ingratitude. HA! Silly redhead.
…but do I do anything about it? Rarely!
Regularly something pops into my head that I think you’d like to talk about. Whether it’s political, art-borne or stupid people things, constantly popping up like whack-a-mole.
And I think, I will remember this one or let me send myself a text… But then I am called to do something, answer a phone, care for a dog and the thought is suddenly, as one of my favorite writers once said, “blotted out by worldly clamors, mostly those within myself.”*
As we’re nearing the end of this fucking year…I already know that Jan 1 is going to feel oddly just like Dec 31. I know that man-made constructs do not hold sway over organic processes like grief, marriage, and healing.
I also know my deepest pools of anger are easily stirred when someone tells me, it’s going to take time. OH MY GOD, I KNOW…I KNOW…I KNOW. I’m the one counting the days and watching the clock. I’m the one dodging the memories and habits of conversation, phone calls and expectations. I am fully aware that Time is the boss of us all!!
There was a time when I had a vision about what I was planning or preparing to do – and I worked toward that to the best of my ability.
Today my life is fairly stayed…caring for family members, challenging part-time job, a handful of friends and a lovely network of good folks who serve one another. However, when nothing much changes…nothing much happens. I realized I am not so much boring as predictable.
I’m unclear how to process this awareness…but I am feeling like I should be making room for more – and preparing to handle it simultaneously. Pretty sure change is coming.
Gonna need to think this through.
Spring wasn’t spring this year. It wasn’t about new life – it was about watching my mother die. It was about helping my mom to fight, literally to the death. On the last Saturday of February, she wasn’t up for going out to dinner with us. By March 4 she was in the hospital for the first time; and just before dawn on May 8, 2022, Mother’s Day – she was gone.
Recently I was trying to calculate the ideal life span. I remember saying to my father earlier this year, “I think 80 years is enough.” He laughed and said, “I did too, until I was about to turn 80!”
A few months later, my father had a massive stroke and left the earth 3 days later, on August 6, 2021. I think my father looked forward to the sleep, a deep slumber that lovingly beckons the weary traveler.
“Come over for coffee” you said. “I have some news” you said. “Everybody’s health is good” you said.
I knew what it was, I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t understand the details, but boy, I knew this was going to be hard.
I’ll never forget taking the bus from Port Authority that September…as it rounded that first curve on Kennedy the view was breathtaking. This is the view of Manhattan from TV…The Hudson in your backyard?! COME ON!
You introduced us to your man, your cat and strawberry lemonade. We laughed and laughed and laughed. Then you gave us tickets to LVC – and drove us back into the city to the theatre for a life changing experience. That day we promised to come back with all our belongings and Spike – to join the neighborhood. You shook your head and said, “That’s what they all say.”
We shared that “backyard” for 2 years before staking our claim on another 1 block long street 20 minutes from Weehawken, 3 bedrooms, 4 baths and every Thanksgiving for the next 15 years. In the meantime, you found your own paradise 20 minutes from us on a creek somewhere between Maplewood/Union/Irvington. We carried on…
I stood at your wedding. You stood at mine. I came to the hospital as your husband got some bad news, you came to the hospital as mine was in surgery. We cared for each others pets, mail, driveways. We shared our dreams and losses – and recipes.
We have held each other up and let each other down over and over again since 1987 – partners in crime, tragedy and joy. So I knew that coffee would not be tasty; I knew it would not be accompanied by something special from your oven, or even a bakery. I parked, walked to the back door, because…”backdoor friends are best” and asked, “Are you moving?”
I think you handed me a tissue just after you told me it was Indiana. INDIANA?! A state we have had in common since you met Jeff, a Hoosier by birth. Jesus H. Christ…seriously? Indiana? For God’s sake, why?
Of course, it’s clearly Divine intervention to find THE job in THE city that puts you closer to family – just as your family needs you both.
And here we are months later…Sold your house. Living with your in-laws. I broke my ribs, popped my lung, found out my mom is dying. Here we are.
and just like that we are far away. I get it – I just hate it.