« Depression Blindness | Main | Crazy-Making »
June 16, 2006
Friday Shuffle - The Get This Shitty Week Over Already Edition
I don't know why I make lists of people who've done good things for me, or people I adore. As I make such lists, it's with the knowledge that I'm going to leave someone out. On Wednesday, I did just that. My good pal Stace is equipped with radar similar to Mary's. We can go weeks without talking, but if I send up even the slightest distress signal, she's the first to arrive. I think she even has a fireman's pole in her house, she's so fast. On Monday, despite working a full day then hauling across town for a night class, she tried to take me out for a drink and a break. Since I lacked the energy to tackle such big tasks as brushing my teeth, I wasn't able to join her.
For my oversight in mentioning Stace, I want to publically proclaim that I will be taking her for a drink or two at the recently-opened Bar Louie at her earliest convenience. It'll be much more fun than watching me sob into my margarita.
Things have been better. Clara Jane returned to daycare yesterday after a two-week hiatus. I'm not sure which one of us was happiest about this. She greeted her arrival at daycare in a manner that made me wonder if she'd heard rumors that they'd lined the walls with M&Ms in her absence. I've never seen her so gung-ho to be there, nor have I ever skipped out of the building, untethered, with such wild and happy abandon.
With all the stress of the past two weeks, I decided that no work would be done yesterday. Normally Clara Jane's in daycare so I can work on my growing pile of book-related projects. Not yesterday. I headed to the mall. Who knew I would miss the mall so much? I'm not much of a shopper, but I do miss the ability to do something as wasteful as wandering around the mall. It's not so much the act of shopping as the ability to do so that I miss. I had two destinations: Torrid, where I decimated several clearance racks, and Teavana, where I decimated a lovely pear white tea on the rocks.
Because I'm undisciplined, I then went to the library headquarters to do some research for one of the book projects. The only way to get me to work is for me to forbid it. But I also leisurely browsed the stacks for awhile. So leisurely, in fact, that I caught myself nodding off while standing up at one point.
But today ... things are worse again. I was awake before 7 AM, and Clara Jane followed shortly. We're both exhausted, whiny, and have had just about enough of each other even though it's not even 9 AM. It's going to be a long day.
This morning's email brought sad news. One of B.'s aunts died this week. Despite my issues with B.'s parents and brothers, I adore most of his aunts and uncles. Aunt A. was one of my favorites. She had a pretty wicked drinking problem that she resolved before I entered the family. By then the damage was done; she'd lost a portion of her liver and had severe bone damage from years of alcohol leeching her body's calcium. Her digestive system was so wrecked that for a time, she could only digest sweets. That Christmas I made homemade candy for everyone. When she opened her tin of homemade caramels, she tore into it right then and there, proclaiming them to be the best thing she'd eaten in ages.
Everyone elses perception of A. was colored by the years when she was drunk. There was a lot of resentment and just-under-the-surface anger, which I had a hard time grasping. I didn't know her drunk. Sober, she was great. Smart, kind, generous, funny, and one of the first people in the family to make me feel welcome. I'm sure the A. I knew was much different than the one B.'s family knew, and I felt closer to her than any of B.'s other relatives. She was a retired English professor, which gave us much to discuss. Often, I would catch my mother-in-law glaring at us when we'd be engrossed in a literary discussion. I don't know if it was because she didn't like A., or because she was jealous that A. and I enjoyed talking to each other.
We haven't visited B.'s family in Michigan since Thanksgiving, 2002. I can't even remember if we saw A. then. She lived three hours away from B.'s parents. The last time I clearly recall spending time with her was during a visit in August, 2001. We went to lunch with B.'s parents, A., Aunt B., and her husband. For the record, I adore Aunt B., too. B. has wonderful aunts.
Anyway, we were sitting in a diner and A. and I had jumped right into the book talk. I was enrolled to take some English classes, including a black lit. class. She was so excited for me, and we got into a discussion about Langston Hughes. She asked me to send her my papers and keep her updated on what we were reading and writing in my classes. It was obvious that she missed being in the classroom.
I intended to send her my papers, but, of course, didn't. At the end of the semester I thought I'd send her a big box with all my papers, so she wouldn't feel like I was looking for writing assistance. But I never got around to it.
When I read the news today, my first thought was that I wish I'd sent her those papers and been better about keeping in touch. But then I thought, I'm glad I didn't. Had I fostered more of a relationship with her, I'd be hurting so much today. And that's just about the most selfish thought that's ever crossed my mind.
The email from my mother-in-law set my teeth on edge. For one thing, she got the news yesterday afternoon. I think A. at least merited a phone call instead of an email sent the next day, almost an afterthought.
She sent the email to both B. and me, but used an email address that B. doesn't check very often. She's been told repeatedly that he tends to not check that address. So, my second order of the day, after reading the sad email, was to call B. and break the news to him. Doing his mom's dirty work.
But the worst of it, the real kicker, was the last paragraph: I wouldn't be too concerned about coming to the funeral if I were you. It would cost too much to travel that far and there really isn't anything you could do to help.
Well. It's good to know we're just that useful and needed.
"You know what she means," B. said when I complained. This is the way she operates - it could be that she's looking out for our best interests. Or it could be a not-so-thinly veiled insult. I think it's a little of both.
B.'s family operates differently from mine. Someone in my family dies, and every single person who ever met the deceased converges from all corners to mourn and eat fried chicken. With B.'s family, we didn't even attend his grandparents' funerals, assured by his mom that there was nothing we could do to help.
I'm not sure why this pisses me off as much as it does. I know it's probably just an artifact of her complete inability to communicate effectively.
Aunt B. was the one who found A. Apparently, she had been dead several days. There's something unspeakably tragic about living an entire life and nobody noticing when it ends.
It's almost as tragic as working to make positive changes in life, only to have those closest to you not recognize them because they're mired in who you used to be, instead of getting to know who you are now.
We're not distraught and grief-stricken. Sad, yes. I'm going to miss my ally during the future Michigan visits. I'm going to miss talking about books while everyone else talks about fishing. I'm going to miss getting the gossip about Jim Harrison. I'm going to miss A.
But I'm still going to shuffle.
1. Like Spinning Plates - Radiohead
2. My Favorite Mistake - Sheryl Crow
3. Gracie - Ben Folds (I've been thinking about this song all week. With all the stress, Clara Jane's been requesting my presence on the couch. We've done a lot of potatoeing together with her resting on my arm. Ben wrote the song for his daughter, and there's a verse in the song about his little girl sleeping on his arm while watching TV. That images destroys me.)
4. So Like a Rose - Garbage
5. Getting Better - The Beatles
6. Run for Your Life - Robert Randolph & the Family Band
7. Corner Soul - The Clash
8. Time - Tori Amos
9. After the Goldrush - Neil Young
10. Battle of Who Could Care Less - Ben Folds Five
Wow. Good shuffle for a shitty week.
Posted by Robin at June 16, 2006 08:39 AM
Comments
Jesus, are B. and I related? My mom waited a few days to tell me Pop-Pop died, and it was a MONTH after Mom-Mom died that she "remembered" to tell me. They also were both heavy drinkers, which didn't bother me cause I was a kid and they both filled me with candy at any opportunity.
Sad to hear about the loss of a cool person. There're so many jerks and boring people in this world, we need better folks to stick around.
Posted by: allison at June 16, 2006 04:17 PM
I'm so sorry to hear about Aunt A, and I hate that the news was broken so callously. That's so awful.
P.S. And not to be unsensitive, but that is a fantastic shuffle.
Posted by: Exena at June 16, 2006 04:37 PM
"There's something unspeakably tragic about living an entire life and nobody noticing when it ends."
This is so sad. Bless her heart.
I tilt my head to the side with sheer wonder when I read about your inlaws and their communication style. I guess there is a lit for every pot, isn't there?
Posted by: pkb at June 16, 2006 05:12 PM
I'm sorry about Aunt A. I hope her passing was peaceful.
And I'm sorry about the twisted way y'all were informed about it. Don't you wonder sometimes how B could have come from those parents? I hate to speak ill of people I don't even know but really! Email to tell of a death in the family?
"Someone in my family dies, and every single person who ever met the deceased converges from all corners to mourn and eat fried chicken." Robin, you could slip right into my family in Mississippi and miss nary a beat. You'd be right at home.
I want to marry that shuffle.
Posted by: Dixie at June 16, 2006 05:38 PM
I'm sorry that you were notified about A's death in such a crappy way. My husband's family tends not to tell him when someone is sick because they think he's too delicate to handle that information but they will tell him if someone dies.
Love your shuffle, btw.
Posted by: Katya at June 18, 2006 04:15 PM
"It's almost as tragic as working to make positive changes in life, only to have those closest to you not recognize them because they're mired in who you used to be, instead of getting to know who you are now."
This one resonates way deep down. I'm sending renewing vibes your way, Robin. And hugs. Invisible hugs.
Posted by: Summer at June 20, 2006 10:40 AM
