May 18. 2020
I'm thinking of a particular day when Claire and I visited Dad at the memory care place where he lived the last year of his beautiful life. It was always hard to go, I had to buck myself up. But I loved being with my Dad.
And then there was Carol.
Carol greeted me every single time like we'd been friends since the eighth grade, or like I was her daughter, or maybe we'd worked together in the office back in the day. It didn't really matter which story she was going with that day because I always went with her. If you met Carol, you'd never know she was losing her marbles. She always wore a vest. She acted like she worked there, helping to set the table, welcoming visitors, keeping an eye on the other lovely, loony people.
Where have you been + I'd say, You know, busy, working, kids, and she'd smile and hug me. I get it, she'd nod. Me too.
So, there was Carol.
That particular day, Claire came with me for the visit, as she often did. We'd gone into the outer room to sit with Dad. The three of us parked ourselves in front of a window looking out onto the green lawn and a large weeping willow tree. (Was there a willow tree?)
Dad asked about my car which he did pretty much every time I saw him. How's your car + I said the car was good and reminded him how he'd had a Subaru too, except his had been silver. We talked about how much we loved our cars and the clouds out the window. Claire told her Pop Pop a funny school story and he reached over to pat her hand.
Dad's hands were always warm.
We sat in a peaceful silence for a minute or so, then Dad chuckled, maybe a sigh, then ~
Well hon, what to say?
What to say is kind of how I've been feeling.
I want to write, to reach out, connect but I think:
What to say? And I know we're all kinda feeling like this. I mean, there are good days where you don't feel the weirdness of a global pandemic and try to blot out the very existence of Trump. Maybe you work, take a walk, talk to a friend, draw a picture of succulents because you're obsessed with them now. Count your multiple blessings 🌀
And then, you sink. And don't know what to say about anything. The best thing to do is curl up with your kid and watch The Great British Baking Show.
Totally soothing, trust me.
What to say?
Some days, I honestly don't know.
But, write anyway.
Call anyway.
ZOOM anyway.
Blog anyway.
Send love always.
Shake off the Covid/Trump-itis for a little while.
Hmmmm...
The fuss pot in me doesn't think I should post this. It's not quite right, not ready. It's not exactly what I want to say. It's too sad or lost sounding, with a little glimmer thrown in about succulents and baking shows. But the fussy one, I see, keeps me shut down, dis-connected, cut-off. How absurd to be fussy at a time like this. Fuck the fussiness.
Be like Carol.
Wear a vest if you want.
Make everyone a friend.
Hug (even virtually).
Love, always.
xo b
