No use crying over frozen peas

I almost started crying in the freezer section at Safeway today.  I was trying to find a reasonably sized package of frozen peas.  I finally found one I liked and when I grabbed it out of the freezer I was brought back to all the other times I had pulled frozen veggies out of the case.  You would think that would be pretty common but I don’t often eat frozen vegetables. My grandparents, however, did and I did most of their grocery shopping for the last year or so of their lives.

So there I am standing in the middle of the freezer section when I get one of those slams to the heart.  I took a couple breaths and it passed, but, man, it hurt.

Losing my grandparents has been a lot harder than I expected.  I had lost my mom, their daughter, three years before my grandparents and that was pretty awful.  The year before I lost one of my cousins who was only in her early forties and left a seven year old daughter.  That was fucking rough.  I had been preparing myself to lose my grandparents for at least ten years.  They were in their nineties for Pete’s sake.  But it was so hard at the time and it continues to be hard.

I don’t know if it is because it was another loss in a line of loss and heartache and hardship for me.  Maybe I thought I was due for a break and instead lost two of my favorite people within six weeks.  It might have hit me hard because I knew they missed my mom as much as I do.  Having people who understand what you’re going through makes it easier.

I typed that last sentence and was reminded how alone I felt through the whole time my grandparents were in hospice.  My mom and I were always very close with her parents but not necessarily her brothers and their families.  My dad was close with my grandparents but it was different.  My brother was as lackadaisical with his relationship with Grammy and Grampa as he is about everything in his life.

The night my Grampa died my dad wasn’t there.  He was at work.  To be honest, I’ve blocked it a bit because I was so frustrated with everyone, but work is the only reason he wouldn’t have been there so I have to assume that’s where he was.   He came later but I remember one of my aunts hugging me and I just wanted to shove her off of me.  Why was she touching me?  This person I saw maybe once a year.  I tolerated her hug because I was aware it might not have been me she was trying to comfort but rather herself.

Gram was in hospice for almost two months but when she took a turn it was about thirty six hours till she passed.  I again found myself in a room full of people who despite being family didn’t know me and who I was sick of.  At one point, I could feel myself starting to lose it so I got up and left the room to be alone.  I went into a private room in the hospice and closed the door behind myself.  I decided to call my dad, who again was at work, when someone knocked on the door and opened it.  I was hysterically crying at this point so it was obvious there was someone in the room.  I hurried to the door to get rid of whoever it was.  My uncle opened the door and started to ask if I was ok.  I don’t really remember exactly what he said as I shoved the door closed in his face telling him I was on the phone with my dad.

I know he was just trying to check on me.  I know he was being nice.  But I don’t know you.  I left the room to get away from you people and now you put me in a situation where I feel even worse for being rude to you.  That moment was literally the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.  I don’t remember what I said on the phone to my dad, besides telling him I didn’t feel like I could talk in case my uncle was still right outside the door.

It’s only right that I admit that many of my people had offered to come sit with me.  My friends and members of my dad’s side of the family had all said they would come up whenever I needed them.  All of them would have come at the drop of a hat had I asked.  But I told everyone no because in those moments I was speaking to them I was ok and surrounded by people.  The problem is I was not surrounded by my people.   I later told my dad that it really sucked that my favorite aunt, his sister, had been in Florida at the time.  I had told her not to come home even though she had offered.  I am in no way mad at her or disappointed, it just would have been easier with her.  My father promptly informed me to never tell her that as she had expressed some distress over the issue.

Death is hard no matter the circumstances.  I don’t know why some hit me harder than others.  Like everything in life I just try to learn from it.  So next time I really need someone, I’m going to ask.  And I’m going to keep reminding myself that intentions count and you have to give people credit for trying.  Sadly, there are only going to be more and more of these occasions as I get older.

As I was just getting ready for bed I noticed that my glass of wine had turned my mouth blue and was reminded of a visit to Grammy in hospice.  I went to see her every day after work but one day I met a friend for drinks first and ended up having a couple of glasses of red wine.  When I got to the hospice I passed a mirror and realized my lips and tongue were very blue.  So before I went to see my Gram I used a cup of coffee like mouthwash to hopefully de-blue.  It made me laugh tonight as it did at the time, especially since my gram didn’t drink and might not even have known why my mouth was blue.

I’m going to keep trying to remember the funny things and the good times.  And maybe this year I’ll be ready to make her stuffing for Thanksgiving.

Uncomfortable

Having not written anything in much too long I’m feeling overwhelmed trying to find a place to start and one topic to focus on.  My mind was concocting a post that managed to include emotional eating, exercising, feminism and clothes all in one go.  And really that’s just too much.

So here is an attempt to rein it in a bit.  Notice I say attempt.

For a long time, but with varying degrees of passion, I’ve dreamed of being a writer.  As in a professional writer.  Someone who gets paid to put pen to paper.  I think I’m pretty good sometimes.   And as someone whose self esteem generally peaks at “I’m ok,” this is a pretty big deal.  Obviously, even if you have a talent for something, you only get great at it with practice, and I definitely do not practice writing enough.  It kills me whenever I read something about how to be a good writer or how to be a better writer and the tips are usually so simple.  Most often it will just say: Write.

I read something recently, though I don’t recall where, that talked about writing better and what you should write about.  It said to write about the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff.  I don’t do this.  I never have.  My old diaries and journals are full of entries that make no sense anymore because I didn’t actually talk about what happened, just how I felt in vague terms.  Not surprisingly, I’m not going to talk about anything uncomfortable right now either.  But, I’m hoping to.  I want to.

If you knew me in person, you’d know that I talk a lot.  All the time.  About everything.  And when I’m upset about something, I talk about it to everyone, constantly.  But, when I am really upset about something, I do not talk about it at all.  I will tell no one.  It’s a weird trait I discovered about myself in high school when I found out I didn’t get into my top choice college.  Now, I try to force myself to talk about things when they bother me that much.  The uncomfortable stuff.  In the last couple of years, I’ve had more uncomfortable stuff in my life than I would have liked.  And I’ve been ok about talking about it.  Actually, ok may be a bit strong.

The idea of writing about the uncomfortable stuff makes my skin crawl a bit.  It makes me recoil from the keyboard.  But what better way to improve my writing than writing about the stuff I don’t want to tell you about.  And this has to be good for me emotionally.  It’s certainly never good to keep it bottled up.

So that’s the plan for next time.  Something uncomfortable on the page.

Here’s hoping I can do it, and I can do it justice.