December 2010
37 posts
Already feeling your absence in visceral ways: already feeling the oncoming shutdown, the inbound blankness. This time of year is challenging, with its dark skies and cold, empty spaces.
I mentioned that he and Em share a few characteristics (morbid discussions, new hampshire humor, that weird desire to obsess over the possibility of health problems like its fun) that just make me crazy sometime. He said, yup, that’s your mom in you - Emily got 80 percent me, you got 80 percent your mom.
What does it mean when something that makes up 80 percent of you is missing?
I wish I...
Chatting with my physician (of course, who doesn’t like chatting) and what happened to mom came up… and she asked “So, did you become a mom of sorts for your sister?” My instinct was to laugh. Absolutely not, though I’m not sure why so vehemently. She was old enough, we’re close enough in age, dad’s partly a mom too… certainly a housedaughter, when...
“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child...”
– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via liquidnight)
Differences (good ones?).
Bob called today. Bob, Mom’s boss, who drove her a little crazy in the year before she got sick, and then was the best non-family member support person out of everyone.
He called (from the hospital, where he just had his hip replaced, and is still on a walker to walk for another few days) to tell me that if I ever needed someone to talk to, for whatever, for...
“Well, what counts as having watched someone die? Does it count that I watched my dad die slowly?”
How do I say this? It’s not the same. It’s not that that wasn’t bad enough (fuck, no, I would never say that), but watching the process of dying is nothing but awful. It hurts, it sticks with you, and it never, ever gets easier to think of that last hour.
It hurts too...
“I’ll miss you, she says so simply it can’t be anything but true”
– TBWLOOW
Sisters.
In the category of one of the most important things ever; definitely one of the most important relationships, possibly after parental relationships, depending on how those are. It doesn’t matter a bit whether they’re genetic, or even related. Sisters have your back, no matter what, and back you up when you need it. Sisters call you out on your shit when you need to be called...
Silence.
Here, again, a vibrant dichotomy.
The uncomfortable silence of being alone. The mildly terrifying silence of being alone with your own thoughts run wild, surrounded by other people but not engaged with any: walking the dog first thing in the morning, pondering things lost, existential questions: passing neighbors, disconnected. The awkward silence of having just told someone...
Visceral.
What’s the easiest way to shut me down physically? Show me a trigger, and all I want to do is sit still in a dark place and stare at one spot. Hungry the minute before? Not after. If you want to sit by me, hold me quietly, that’s ok, but please don’t ask me to engage, respond, or be anything but still. When things get hard, my body shuts down, always has to one degree...
Christmas traditions?
Not sure how I feel about this one, it’s throwing me a little this year to watch Christmas creep up. The last three I threw down, baking and crafting like a fiend to ignore all the memories and the feeling of missing something vital, and, I mean, parts of that were fun and cookies are delicious. I’m not sure that I have the energy for it this year - and it...
Is/was.
This is always a hard one with new people. Apparently, thought, 3 years is long enough to get used to saying “my mom was a climbing instructor at HC” instead of “my mom is”. For a long time, though, using “was” instead of “is” was too hard, because it meant the possibility of having to explain what had happened, and that’s not exactly...
“Being there” for people.
I feel two ways about this, though I generally act one way.
If you have real shit going on - if life is, in fact, hard, and you don’t know what to do about it, it is too painful to deal with on your own, you just need someone - I will be there for you until the end of time. If this is the case, it really doesn’t even matter who “you”...
I am, unexpectedly, a terrible hypocrite. I have always believed in keeping your heart open for new people, for giving everyone a chance, thinking that everyone deserves to be included, loved, happy. Suddenly, now, when it actually matters, I’ve gone entirely the opposite direction: all I want is to slam doors on the new form of our family and shut everyone out.
The normal desires that will never be fulfilled are the hardest part. She should have seen me get my Master’s, or even just my Bachelor’s; she should have celebrated her last 4 birthdays at thanksgiving, surrounded by family; she should have gotten all of the Christmas presents that I’ve seen and immediately thought of how perfect they would be for her; she should have met Vera,...
I never bothered to think of my parents as sexual people (who does? how awkward) but they were certainly funny. My dad told a story once - after the hysterectomy, the doc told them that they could now resume sexual activity, and he nearly said “Right now? So, could you close the door behind you?”
This is a perfect compromise. A way to obsess, just enough to deal with things as they come up, and have it be pseudopublic but not annoy the hell out of whoever has to listen to my neverending stream of memories and realizations.
It wasn’t ok to run by myself for almost four years afterwards.
I tried, I really did. I didn’t understand why it wasn’t working. It still doesn’t work as stress relief, like it used to.
I ran for the feeling of not feeling anything that wasn’t physical. Since I wasn’t going to let anything in around my family (too much, too hard, better to keep it all out) it...
When I break down hard, I like it to be raw, violent. That isn’t normal, it’s not abnormal, it’s me. What I want from it is for what’s happening on the outside to overwhelm what’s happening on the inside – which means that when it happens it’s almost always completely solo with no chance of being discovered. That makes it sound like I throw things around, or...
THIS IS NOT MY FAMILY. I will make my own. I do not want this version. Torn between wanting family, and tradition, and being mad enough to shut him back out since it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I thought I was a better person than this. I guess not.
(Is this what every Christmas will be like?) I wish I had time to get used to anything before the next speedbump came along. I’m...
It’s always felt safer to talk about this with friends.
No, scratch that. It’s only ever felt safe to talk about it with friends. With the exception of what can’t be avoided with dad.
I don’t remember when this was, but it was within the first two weeks after she died. Aunt Nancy and I were in the kitchen, both crying, she more than I because it was family, and I...
Since I decided to move out here, I haven’t woken up in the middle of the night panicking that the dog or the person next to me has died, checking for that gentle shift of breathing. Gratitude for the renewed faith survival through the night.
“Fresh on your heart”. A perfect descriptive phrase.
