My dad never thought he would live a long life. That could just be coincidence. Or maybe somehow he knew he’d die around the time that he did, or maybe he didn’t pull through because his subconscious believed that he wouldn’t. there’s no way to establish the correlation, much less any kind of causation, so i see no reason to obsess over which case is the truth. and i don’t.
However…
I always thought I would either die quite young or live to be quite old, and it would be nothing in between. This week, I had a dream wherein I ran into myself in a hospital as an old woman. I knew it was myself because I was holding onto my tan scarf, understandably frayed after 60 years of my fidgeting with it. I wasn’t even in a bed or obviously ill. I was standing in a hallway, waiting nervously for news about someone else. So if one’s subconscious really does have some bearing on her longevity, this i suppose bodes well.
I left more of a gap than usual between my last two posts, and I plan to be writing more again, but I’ve been too busy to spend much time thinking about myself. The past two weeks have been really rough on me. There have been good times—seeing family, Annie surprising me with sake glasses and a copy of Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys (a tribute to my apparently infamous fag haggery), new years with Richard, some really meaningful and possibly life-changing discussions with Manny. But for the most part, I’ve been very overwhelmed.
Being home for Christmas, I confirmed something I’d suspected for a while now, which is that in my grief I tend to shut down emotionally around my relatives, who are really wonderful and supportive but also hurting, each person in his/her individual ways which are not the same as each others’ and not the same as mine. I don’t know if I feel misunderstood or just that the stakes are too high, but this reaction is not something I feel any control over.
I mean, I do think it’s important for groups of mourning people to reach outside the group instead of trading the same sorrow back and forth. Maybe I’m trying to be strong for other people, and in some ways I can see that being true, but for the most part it doesn’t feel as valiant as that. I don’t see utility in seeing consolation from people who may need it more than I do. Something just shuts off and I feel totally dead inside. And then I go back to North Carolina and cry for a week, which is what happened again. I feel better about crying, though—feeling anything is better than feeling nothing.
new year’s eve was harder this year than christmas (the surprises just don’t stop, do they?). thinking about what a year means, all the things i did in the last year, how many things i’ll do in the next. alone. making life decisions has been so much harder without Dad around. i don’t want to refuse to make these decisions and get dragged away by the current, so i make them and try to feign conviction. but today, i’m back to feeling sorry for myself. i think this is my step back in the two-steps-foward sequence…here’s hoping for a happier next post.
Is it possible you aren’t shutting down as much as that when all those people who either shared your Dad’s dreams, genes or experiences are together it feels like he is kind of there as well…and when you are in a place that without those people and in a place that has little history with him the void is so obvious…....I also can see what you are saying that it’s almost too much to deal with everyone’s feelings…I feel that way often as well….It was good seeing you while you were here….Please feel free to call me at any time…and if you have the same cell number I have it and I’ll try to call over the weekdedn..if you have a new one…please send it to me…I love you.
— Anne Mckee Jan 3, 10:12 PM [link]