Small

 

 

I’m struggling to find some level of inner peace. I have these all too brief moments where I experience just a taste of it and know that life would be so much better and easier if only I could maintain it. Do you know what I’m talking about? Those moments where life itself isn’t okay but you are. In those times, I can take a deep breath and see the world in a kind of slow motion and I realize that it’s senseless to rush and worry, that it’s more important and valuable to take it one step at a time. 

—

My grandfather died on Sunday, May 27th. Three weeks to the hour after my grandmother died. I went through the same thing all over again: airline tickets, calling work, repacking the suitcase, finding a dress. The events were so similar that my memory of the two trips blur into each other. Dad was with him when he went. Dad’s twin, Teddy, was with Mamaw when she did.

I flew through the same airports, stayed at the same relative’s house (my uncle Mike), my step mother and dad both wore either the same outfit or the same style in a different color. My step mother and sister didn’t speak to me this time. I said "bye" to them and got a response.

He had a military funeral which was performed by the American Legion. They meant well but it felt hollow. The man reading from the sheet of paper that had obviously been printed originally in the early 90’s said the wrong name. Some younger guys folded the flag and gave it to my aunt Dana.

My papaw’s nephew (son of his oldest brother) took us all out to a buffet place after the funeral. Not everyone went but a lot of us did. That couldn’t have been cheap. The food was awful but I appreciated the thought.

While we were finishing up, the waitress offered us all coffee (a southern tradition I miss here in Utah). Some took it, some didn’t. My dad declined. We were all quite for a minute and he turned to me and asked, "Do you like it?"

"Like what? Coffee?"

"Yeah."

I explained that I do, that I love it actually but that I can’t drink it anymore after the dizziness and headaches last year.

"Do you?" I asked.

"Might have had one cup in my life. I like the smell of it, just never cared to drink it."

 

I don’t know, something about it struck me as odd. I don’t know why. Maybe it was his tone or the randomness of the question. It was valid to the moment but it was unusual. It took me till I was on my last flight and almost home before something sparked my memory. Last November I drunkenly emailed Dad and went on a bit about what a shame it was that we didn’t really know each other. In it I said that I was looking at these neat coffee mugs for Christmas then realized that I didn’t even know whether or not he liked coffee.

I had forgotten about it but Dad didn’t. That small inquiry meant a lot to me after I realized its significance. In some ways I feel closer to Dad now and in others I feel so much more aware of the distance between  us. I had these fleeting hopes that things would change now, that he’d see how important it is for us to try to be closer while we can. It’s not that we have any fundamental differences that keep us apart, it’s just a reluctance to make time. And my step-mother…she’s in the way, I think. But that isn’t insurmountable.

Sometimes I think it’s better that we’re not closer. At this distance I can love and admire him without the disappointment that comes from realizing the people you admire are really just people too: fallible and selfish.

 

—

I’m having a rough time of it if I’m honest. There’s a lot of emotion all swirling around, nameless and unacknowledged. My inability to deal culminated in a spectacular meltdown the day before yesterday. Zac still seems to be handling me with kid gloves.

It all started with a fish, a dead one. Not to let go of my humbleness, but I do most of the housework here. If it sucks or if it’s gross it somehow becomes my responsibility to deal with it. The primary source of this grossness is the animals. I take care of everything that goes into or comes out of them for the most part.

Wednesday we had a fish die. Not that cleaning up dog puke doesn’t make me want to hurl but I find something especially disgusting about cleaning dead fish out of the tank. It’s more than it just being gross, it’s that it’s a dead body – even if it’s a very tiny one. I’m sure you could understand why this would be more difficult for me now than it usually is.

So the fish died and I made this observation to Zac right after supper, hoping that he would take care of it so that I wouldn’t have to. But he didn’t. Hours passed and we did other things and still the fish sat there continuing to foul up our already less than harmonious tank. Around nine, Zac ran out to meet a friend for a minute to make some trade. When he came back I asked him to please take care of the fish. It takes a monumental effort for me to ask for something to be done but I couldn’t stand the thought of either looking at the thing long enough to take care of it myself or to allow it to sit in the tank any longer. He did it but grudgingly, jokingly asking what he’d get in return. I didn’t care. I was just glad it was gone.

The next night I noticed another dead fish just after supper. Again, I made this observation hoping that Zac would take care of it. He told me it was my turn. I just said simply, "No". After we ate he went downstairs to work on hobbies, leaving the fish in the water.

I don’t know. It wasn’t a huge deal but it broke me. It was the last straw. I felt so suddenly alone in the world and had this crashing realization that I was the only person left to ever deal with the dead fish. Not just the one in the tank but all the other issues in life that we all desperately want help with, the ones we turn to our parents and our grandparents to answer. But I don’t have any of those, or the ones that I have left are so useless to me in that capacity that I may not have them at all. All I have left for sharing the responsibility that comes with life is my husband and he won’t take care of a dead fish for me.

First I cried, then crying gave way to anger and then I fell back into crying again. I felt like I was going to explode. I took care of the fish first because it’s poor, little rotting corpse was only increasing the likelihood that we would lose more fish in the coming days, then I cleaned up the dinner mess and cleared off the dining room table which had accumulated a few week’s worth of misc. objects. When I got down to this cracked glass that I had been planning on using for rinsing paint brushes, I picked it up to take it downstairs. Except I was suddenly flooded with this overwhelming desire to throw it, to see it shatter all over the kitchen. All that stopped me was the thought that I’d have to clean that up, too. So I sat it down, calmly, and walked upstairs where I laid down on the bed and fell to crying again. 

Zac eventually noticed that all was not well and came to investigate. I’d dried my face by that point and tried to hide myself in putting away laundry. He kept asking what was wrong but I wouldn’t really answer

. He asked for a kiss, his way of making me looking at him so he can see if I’ve been crying. He was worried and kept asking. I was afraid of answering. I don’t think I could have anyway but I was so angry and it wasn’t really about the fish. I was angry that my grandparents are gone and that my parents are useless. I was angry at feeling alone and so far away from the few people I do have left in the world. Venting all that at him would have been unfair because I couldn’t say those things. It was easier to be angry about a fish and feel lonely in housework.

—

Things still haven’t recovered and I still haven’t explained myself to him. I can’t blurt it out and he hasn’t asked. Or has asked at the wrong time. Not that he could possibly know what the right time might be.

It’s unfair.

I made an appointment with a psychiatrist. I don’t know what will come of it but I’m to a point of realizing that there are things going on with me that I can’t solve alone and Zac feels as helpless as I do, maybe moreso.

It’s all a big mess and all I want in the world is to regain that sweet sense of peace that I feel fleetingly, where I know I can handle it all and I could do it without help if only I could remember how small I am in the grand scheme of things and that the world won’t roll away if I set it down for awhile.