Extremely Normal
I've had the opportunity of late for a lot of conversations with my cognitively challenged mother. She's 70 and she was diagnosed with M.S. over 30 years ago. It has affected her more cognitively than physically, although her balance is bad, and she can't walk very well. Talking to her is like talking to a precocious grade schooler. Anything she thinks, she says. She has favorite stories that she likes to hear over and over, and tell over and over. She gets very excited about her favorite food and likes to have her things around her all the time. Environments and changes are bad for her.
Anyway, we were at a gas station and while filling up the car, she mentioned to me that as a child she used to love the smell of gas. And she observed aloud that that probably meant she was a very strange child. I told her I wasn't so sure that's true. She sat back for a second and then she said, yeah, maybe I was just extremely normal.
That made me laugh a lot at the time, but I can't stop thinking about it now. Did I mention that the reason we've been in the car together so much is because my dad died suddenly? That happened last week. He drowned on our family beach vacation after falling off our little sailboat in a strong current. He got pulled under and he drowned. I didn't even say goodbye. One morning he was making his ridiculous yogurt concoction with pecans and granola and blueberries and chocolate chips, so much stuff in there you could barely tell there was any yogurt. And then he was lying, grey and with seaweed flecks on his upper lip, dead on a hospital bed, all the life gone from him.
I took a walk with Marjorie today. We finished our normal Rosemont loop and sat in these adirondack chairs near the outdoor rec area with the joggle boards at N. Fayette and Wythe St. We were sitting there and I had finished telling her the story about my dad dying and talking through a bunch of strange things and reactions and things I've been thinking about. And then towards the end she said, can I tell you some exciting news? Marjorie and Tom had their first appointment and they could see the baby and it had a heartbeat and was very healthy. And I was so happy! And Marjorie cried because she said she felt bad having joy when I'm so sad about losing my dad. She knew I wouldn't begrudge her that joy, but she begrudges herself for having it. But that reminder of life being created, in the midst of death, I so needed that. It was one of the most helpful things that's been said to me since dad died, actually. It was such a beautiful affirmation of life, thinking about my best friend's new little life, that she will shepherd and care for. And thinking about how much my dad loved being a dad.
I do feel like there is a veil I have stepped behind, a knowledge I have been beckoned into with this grief. I feel like there is a way that people look at me, and when I look back at them I can tell if they have known loss like this, or if they haven't yet. This is the way it is supposed to be, a child is supposed to outlive her parents. There has been talk of dad's being taken too soon, or before his time, or jokes about it being a miracle that he lived this long for all his crazy stunts, or that this is God's timing. He died. I don't know about timing. It feels like everything I've experienced this summer is a result of poor timing. Things just aren't coming together or they do but not at the right time. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that.
Anyway, we were at a gas station and while filling up the car, she mentioned to me that as a child she used to love the smell of gas. And she observed aloud that that probably meant she was a very strange child. I told her I wasn't so sure that's true. She sat back for a second and then she said, yeah, maybe I was just extremely normal.
That made me laugh a lot at the time, but I can't stop thinking about it now. Did I mention that the reason we've been in the car together so much is because my dad died suddenly? That happened last week. He drowned on our family beach vacation after falling off our little sailboat in a strong current. He got pulled under and he drowned. I didn't even say goodbye. One morning he was making his ridiculous yogurt concoction with pecans and granola and blueberries and chocolate chips, so much stuff in there you could barely tell there was any yogurt. And then he was lying, grey and with seaweed flecks on his upper lip, dead on a hospital bed, all the life gone from him.
I took a walk with Marjorie today. We finished our normal Rosemont loop and sat in these adirondack chairs near the outdoor rec area with the joggle boards at N. Fayette and Wythe St. We were sitting there and I had finished telling her the story about my dad dying and talking through a bunch of strange things and reactions and things I've been thinking about. And then towards the end she said, can I tell you some exciting news? Marjorie and Tom had their first appointment and they could see the baby and it had a heartbeat and was very healthy. And I was so happy! And Marjorie cried because she said she felt bad having joy when I'm so sad about losing my dad. She knew I wouldn't begrudge her that joy, but she begrudges herself for having it. But that reminder of life being created, in the midst of death, I so needed that. It was one of the most helpful things that's been said to me since dad died, actually. It was such a beautiful affirmation of life, thinking about my best friend's new little life, that she will shepherd and care for. And thinking about how much my dad loved being a dad.
I do feel like there is a veil I have stepped behind, a knowledge I have been beckoned into with this grief. I feel like there is a way that people look at me, and when I look back at them I can tell if they have known loss like this, or if they haven't yet. This is the way it is supposed to be, a child is supposed to outlive her parents. There has been talk of dad's being taken too soon, or before his time, or jokes about it being a miracle that he lived this long for all his crazy stunts, or that this is God's timing. He died. I don't know about timing. It feels like everything I've experienced this summer is a result of poor timing. Things just aren't coming together or they do but not at the right time. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that.
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