Tag: relationship (Page 3 of 7)

grief is messy

December 2, 2010 / jeanne / 45 Comments

ten years ago today, my daddy died. if you have a minute, read about it here. it’s a pretty amazing story, if i do say so myself. (hint: scroll down and start at the 10th paragraph. i spent the first 8 paragraphs linking the post to that day’s prompt (a year later, i don’t bother), and the 9th paragraph, well, we’ll call it a segue cause honestly, i have no idea how that made it to print.)

i shed tears as prayers of remembrance and gratitude
i chide myself for wallowing.

i crave darkness
i turn all the lights on.

i spew words and send emails to people who rock as my rocks
i scold myself for letting people see me like this.

i long to crawl back in bed and sleep the day away
i choose to honor daddy and my self by leaning into this tender bruise.

i am tempted to stay in my floppy flannel pajamas all day long
i hear the ole familiar “boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses”
and know that
only pretty girls can get away with such indulgences.

i forego today’s walk
and eat cookies
and do little
besides reading
the occasional blog.

i ask myself:
did i do all that i could do?
was it wrong to give him permission
to go?
should i have knocked on
door after door after door
until some physician eventually healed?

one thing i do not do
is make my daddy more in death
than he was in life.
he was not perfect.
i wouldn’t ache for him so
if he had been.

~~~
This post is (loosely) (or maybe creatively sounds better) written in response to today’s #reverb10 prompt:
Q: What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
A: Lately everything contributes to my writing. And nothing – nothing at all – was gonna’ come between me and my writing on this day.

currently in progress

November 21, 2010 / jeanne / 24 Comments

i am living the story i want to tell you. yesterday afternoon, my husband got a call from his brother: his oldest daughter – my first niece – walked in from work the night before to find that her partner had shot and killed himself. it’s sunday morning as i write this, the 21st of november 2010, and i’m flying to colorado in just a few hours to see my niece.

sounds so simple when i write it like that.

i married into a small family of doctors and engineers. linear thinkers who are quite sure about the way things are and should be. they have degrees from highly-regarded institutes of higher learning. their practicality, clarity, and confidence intimidates a writer and slow cloth storyteller gal like me. their consistency eludes a constantly changing creative like me who also has a graduate-level degree, but finds it hard to focus on one thing long enough to develop a reputation as anything even approaching an expert.

[i struggle to type the word “creative” in the sentence above. it takes several minutes before i finally mash the “c” key. same goes for the word “expert”, but the hesitation is for different reasons.]

i begin looking for flights right after we hang up. even though we don’t know the funeral arrangements yet. even though there’s nothing, no specific assignment of something we can do. even though, even though, even though.

about an hour later, i call my brother-in-law to check in, to see if he wants me to call their aunt. they are a small family, my in-laws, my family dwarfs them in sheer numbers, which is to say, i’ve buried way more loved ones than they have. i think about things like the distraction of notification, about the salve of collective love.

[i am having trouble writing this. the censors chirp and caution me against being too uppity, getting too big for my britches. they remind me i’m not the only one who is empathetic and caring. they ask if i’m really, seriously trying to say that i’m good at being there in times of death, dying, and grief. they point out that i have no degree, no letters after my name signifying that i’m qualified and competent enough to do this kind of thing.]

“that would be great if you’d call aunt ginny,” he says. “i didn’t even think about that, and i don’t have her number.”

“happy to,” i tell him. “we’re looking at flights now,” then i hurriedly add that my son kipp who also lives in denver, will pick shuttle us to and from the airport, my way of assuring donn that we will be no trouble.

“you don’t need to come,” he says.

“we want to come.”

“but there’s nothing you can do. we’re her nuclear family. we have friends, and she has a lot of friends here.” he rattles off all sorts of reasons to defend his position that we should not come, then he delivers the sucker punch: “you’ll just be in the way.”

you’ll just be in the way.

let me be really, really clear here: there was no malicious intent in those words. he did not stop and think before he said them, they just tumbled out. which, to an armchair jungian psychologist like myself, gives them added impact. without knowing it, donn has just ripped open my tender place and poured a barrel of salt into the ever-gaping wound.

i think of myself as a committee, and now the dissident, snarky committee members go into full volume yell, starting with “i told you so.” his words, their words form a chorus that sets me back and the questioning of self begins:

Q: what will you do out there, anyway?
A: i don’t know.
Q: then he’s right: you’ll just be in the way.
A: maaayyybbbeee.
Q: don’t you have other things to do?
A: yes, but nothing better.
Q: it’s thanksgiving week. have you considered that?
A: yes, but that doesn’t seem the point.
Q: donn says she’s coming home this week and that maybe you can see her then, right? doesn’t that make sense?
A: it makes sense to that particular part of my brain, but my heart . . .
Q: oh, pshaw. why don’t you think about somebody besides yourself for a change?
A: i thought i was. i only wanted to fly to colorado and give betsey a hug.
Q: what will you say when you get there?
A: probably nothing. words haven’t been invented.

so in just a few hours, my daughter and i will climb into that big chair in the sky that will deliver us to denver. we’ll rent a car, meet up with my son, and tonight or maybe tomorrow, i’ll walk into a room and see betsey. i will try not to get in anybody’s way, try not to take up too much space as i make my way to her to deliver the only thing i have to offer: a hug with all the love i have coursing through me, seeping from my arms into her gentle, bruised, grieving spirit.

i’ll let you know how it goes.

~~~

many thanks to karen for putting these support stories. i am honored to be asked to participate and to be the company of such compassionate writer people.

too tired to filter

November 10, 2010 / jeanne / 17 Comments

okay, here’s the thing . . .

you know how they say that when somebody just annoys the everloving stuffing out of you that you oughta’ take a good, long look at yourself cause they’re really just holding a mirror up for you? that whatever it is in them that rubs your fur the wrong way is actually something you need to work on in yourself?

well, i say: bunk.

maybe that’s true sometimes, but hey people, let’s face it: sometimes you’re just dealing with (and probably trying hard not to) a jerk. a not-so-nice person. someone who pollutes your space.

or, if this’ll make you feel better, let’s put it this way: it’s not always about you. sometimes it’s about them.

and sometimes they’re a pure, unadulterated jerk.

that is all.

carry on.

my phoemiliar

November 5, 2010 / jeanne / 5 Comments

as phoebe is to walking, i am to writing . . .

sometimes she skips
sometimes she gallops
sometimes she ambles.

sometimes she sticks to the prescribed path
sometimes
she veers to the right
or to the left
chasing something
that captures her attention or imagination.

sometimes
she is so totally captivated
that she just stops
and sits for a spell
to reflect and
take it all in.

sometimes
she ventures so far out into
the ten acre wood
to investigate
that she’s a mere
butterscotch dot.

sometimes it’s good enough
to celebrate;

other times, it’s best
to nap and dream of a better tomorrow.

but always, always, always
it’s better
with somebody riding shotgun.

early out

October 30, 2010 / jeanne / 0 Comments

we came home 4 days early – probably because i’m just not that much fun.
or maybe she’d had all the fun she could stand.
nah, i’m going with what’s behind door number one.
anyway, i’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

sign of the times

October 29, 2010 / jeanne / 4 Comments

with no men around,
the girls are in charge of the scepter tonight,
and we’re watching legally blonde 1
followed immediately by legally blonde 2.

i love these movies.

love the messages they send – the very important messages they send.

and i wonder how my mother’s life would’ve been different
if she’d had someone who believed in her
and kept telling her to listen to her self,
to use her own voice,
to do it her way.

she wanted to go to college,
and the high school guidance counselor
once asked her about going to college,
but she’d always been told that
there was only enough money to send
her little brother to college,
so she told him no, she wasn’t going
and he (the guidance counselor) didn’t pursue it further.

she did run for office once,
but my dad,
who’d held many political offices,
didn’t support her,
so she was the only candidate
with a teenage campaign manager.

i wonder what else she would like to have done
in her life.
last time i asked, she said
it was more than enough being
mother to her three j’s.

and i don’t doubt that she’s telling the truth.
but i still can’t help but wonder
how her life
would be different
had she been born
in a decade
when it was okay
for women to start sentences with
“i want,”
when women had a voice
to call their own.

pretty

October 28, 2010 / jeanne / 6 Comments

personal appearance is important to mother and alison.
both know how to throw an outfit together.
both know what looks good on them.
both know how to talk to hair dressers
and know their way around a makeup counter.
both are beautiful, beautiful women.

did it skip a generation?
that would be the easiest explanation.

but actually, there was a time when
i was pretty
when i threw together
strikingly novel
and interesting outfits
effortlessly.

but then responsibilities grew
while finances shrunk,
so i learned to
focus
on things other than my appearance.

i told myself
that being pretty was
superficial
and unimportant.

and that’s true

but

i still want to
lose weight
and feel
comfortable in the
beauty parlor
instead of feeling like
i should apologize
and explain my presence
and be grateful that the
hair dresser doesn’t
see my name on the book
and put a bag over her head.

i want to feel
pretty.

but there’s an important difference:

before,
i cared most
about what other people
thought about me,
felt like my appearance
defined me
and was the sum total
of what i had to offer.

now, though,
it’s, well,
it’s all about me.
i want to feel comfortable.
and confident.
i want to feel pretty –
not because of what others think,
but because i want to smile
when i see me.

and i’m finding that as i
make time to write,
as i dare to speak what’s
true to me,
the weight slowly
slides away
and regardless
of how my hair looks
or what i’m wearing
or whether i’m wearing makeup or not,
i begin to feel pretty
again.

how can i love you better? (day 22)

October 26, 2010 / jeanne / 16 Comments

despite my loud and plentiful protestations,
she held my hand
tightly
and dragged me into
in the moon-lit ocean
at the bewitching hour
of 3 a.m.
standing knee-deep
in the frothy waters,
the red flag
warning us of riptides
that just might
pull us under
and tumble us into a
place we’ve never been before.

we talked in
mirrored likeness
of the waves
that broke on top of each other
and crossed at angles to each other
until
i was no longer her mother
and
she was no longer my daughter,
until we were, instead, simply
two women
who cherish,
cheer,
and console
each other,
alone on the beach,
holding hands while
standing knee-deep in the ocean
basking in the moonlight
and
magic of this
wondrously beautiful moment.

(this is what my daughter and i did last night while my mother/her grandmother slept.)

sands through the our glass (day 21)

October 25, 2010 / jeanne / 4 Comments

years ago, an acquaintance told me of having to bring sand in to a job he was doing in the middle east. not that there wasn’t sand there, of course, but because the on-site sand wouldn’t do what he needed done. you see, each individual grain of imported sand had rough, sharp, pointy edges as compared to the grains of sand there that had lost their edges as winds repeatedly blew them against each other. he needed grains of sand with edges sharp enough, defined enough to peel back the layers of accumulated paint he was removing.

i think of that several times today as we settle into a routine, a rhythm. as we find a way to be together as a lineage of women without losing our individual selves and falling back into being a creation that pleases. eventually we’ll delight in the discovery of individual and shared differences, desires, and dreams, but the first few days can be a bit on the scratchy side as the edges come in contact.