This one hit me like a battering ram, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s cumulative. I’ve always said it’s the pile-up that’ll get you: too many ordeals, too close together. I’ve been putting off the Big Meltdown, though, because I’ve had to turn my attention to things I’d put off or that have needed tending since Mom died – Dad’s illness, our kids and grandkids, Mom’s arrangements and final wishes for the distribution of things that were important to her, Polly Hester’s sudden death, the memorial service for a dear friend, sleep, pets, laundry, etc. Add to that my utter disbelief, sorrow, and rage over the January 6 hearings, the Supreme Court’s hypocritical Roe debacle, and SD Atty Gen Ravensborg’s impeachment trial (he drove in a ditch and struck and killed an old friend of mine). I’ve been too busy/stunned/paralyzed to mourn.
Fortunately, we were staying at the home of friends when I got the news about Dad. Their beautiful home sits on a lake, so I spent the day on a deck down by the water, crying, phoning people about Dad’s arrangements, crying, watching pelicans soar past over the water, crying. At one point, one of our gracious hosts came down to the deck with water, coffee, lunch, and tissues. That night was a happy reunion of friends, the band in fine form, and plenty of wine. And, I got to sit in and sing a few songs – always healing medicine for me.
I’ve never been shy about saying that I’ve been at odds with my parents over the years. There were many years when my dad and I didn’t have anything to do with each other. There were times when I was so angry about or hurt by my relationship (or non-relationship) with one parent or the other that I needed counseling just to stay afloat. But I realized something on the drive home: Although they died only two months apart – an almost unbearable double blow – they both waited until we’d made peace with one another, until I could admit (without gritting my teeth or saying ‘bless his/her heart’), how much I love them both. I had to take a deeeeep breath and thank the Universe for that grace.
I’m not done, I know. I feel an eruption coming. Little fissures release some tears here and there, but the pressure’s building. For now, though, I need to tend to two separate upcoming “celebrations of life.” And I know how incredibly lucky I am to be safe, well fed, housed, and not living in the middle of a bomb target or climbing a fence at a border in the desert.
But I also know that one of these days, I’ll suddenly curl up in a ball and wail, then hole up until the splotches and puffiness and pain are gone and I can smile again (and mean it). And if ANYONE says, “God never gives you more than you can handle,” they’d better be at least 10 fecking feet away when they say it.
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