Things Unsaid Today
“I was so happy to see your Mom at Alex’s concert the other day. Saw she’s using a cane now, so’s mine. She’s been falling a lot – I’ve had to go over and help her off the floor more times than I care to count. She needs a second total knee replacement now; she told me that your mom does, too. Sucks watching our parents get older, doesn’t it? Fuck, it sucks getting older – period.”
“You’ve been on your own Medical Mystery Tour – forgot to tell you: I finally had that MRI. I guess I got tired of people making the whole, “a migraine for a month is called a ‘brain tumor'” joke and figured that if I was actually dying, I should probably be aware – I’d have to plan my own funeral, after all. The test wasn’t too bad, but it was the first time I’d had to sign one of those “emergency contact” forms. I no longer had anyone to list and it felt weird. I’d actually started to fill out your information when it dawned on me – you’re no longer my person. You lose people in small ways for a long time, I guess.”
“Got the results back the other day – “bright spots and structural changes consistent with chronic migraines.” Beats the balls a brain tumor – guess Mimi and I have more in common than erms, well, everything. She’d probably agree that the only time you want to hear the term “bright spot” is when you’re talking about diamonds, not your brain – she’s my daughter, after all. The neuro seems unperturbed by this – the bright spots, not the diamonds; never talked to him about those – so I guess it’s just one of those things that happens. Still kinda scary. I try not to think on it.”
“Hope work is going great for you; I know how you love your job. My job’s going well – just got a promotion. So weird to think that all of those years ago when you told me I should “start a blog,” it would change my life. Not only did I start spewing verbal diarrhea across the Internet on Mommy Wants Vodka, I founded Band Back Together; landed a job as a writer in downtown Chicago. Thanks for the suggestion – never really did think it’d go anywhere. It’s funny – I regularly take the very same train you’d tried to unsuccessfully catch all those years. Reminds me of college: I still bitch about the “lifers” and commuters on the train – they’re still the same pricks I remember. Never did love the bustle of the city like you did, but it fills my days, and that’s what matters.”
“Glad to see you’re still using the “Good Dog” bowls I bought for the cats years ago, remember how I’d laughed at my cleverness? Miss those days. Happens, I s’pose. That reminds me, the wisteria needs a good pruning. Sorry to see that the trellis I’d put up didn’t withstand the harsh winters a bit better. It was a good experiment. Saw that you’ve got an old wasp nest on the porch, right by the nickel address sign I’d proudly picked out – the kids are so scared of bees, you may want to take care of that before it’s a problem. I can do it if you want – wait, that’d be weird. Forget I offered. The flower beds I’d planted in the front are overgrown with weeds – I’ll teach the kids how to take care of them. Bet they love the magnolia I’d planted to replace those overgrown horrifying bushes I ripped out when I realized they made us look like those creepy people who probably made lamps out of the boobs of dead hookers. Always wanted a magnolia bush. Never did get to see it bloom.”
“Feels so weird to be in an apartment after living in a home for so long. Forgotten how transient apartment living makes life feel. Always did like the idea of putting down roots somewhere – I know it wasn’t your style, but it was – still is – mine. I’ll plant another magnolia, more roses, have another orchid collection. Someday.”
“Did I tell you? I’m Marching for Babies again this year! Still looking for more people to join our team – so far it’s a couple of my work buddies. Remember the last time we did it? Mimi was barely walking, Alex was too young to go, and Ben, well, it was a long hike for him. Just a few of us walked right along the river. I remember happily pointing out my (old) apartment complex to you. Sure never thought I’d move back there. Man, that feels a lifetime ago. This year, I’m walking along the Lakefront downtown – both Alex and Mimi want to walk, but I’m torn. One hand says, Mimi is one of the reasons I walk for babies, the other reminds me that, 3 miles is particularly long for a five-year old, even if she is a miracle. Hm. Yeah. Maybe I’ll get a stroller.”
“Saw the new car in the driveway, glad you got that CR-V off your hands. I know it was a good idea to get it at the time, but it turned out to be an albatross of a thing. Alex told me that your parents got it for you – that’s really nice of them. I’m sure the new car is more gas efficient – total plus. You must be so happy about that.”
But I don’t say any of these things.
I can’t.
My mouth’ll form the words, but the words won’t come out.
What tumbles out is, “See you later,” as I bundle the kids out the door I once tripped through spilling my diet Coke down the hallway as laughter rang freely. I hear you say, “Yeah, whatever. She’s here. She’s just taking them for a couple hours.” Tears I can’t explain sting my eyes as I walk out the door of the house I once called home.
oh, aunt becky.
i can understand those tears. even though you can’t explain them, they’re yours. let yourself feel.
i’m sorry that it’s not what you wanted. not that divorce is really what anyone wants. i guess i’m sorry the post-divorce isn’t what you want. i’m not sure what consolation it is, but years after the divorce, after the new spouses settled down, my parents were friends. my mom always said she loved my dad, she just couldn’t be married to him. i hope one day that you have that. i hope that instead of trying to be married to your best friend, maybe you guys can just be friends again.
Heart. Broken.
I had tears in my eyes after reading #2. I remember having to go in because of some medical problems myself, right after my ex and I had split after being together for 9 years. Not putting his name as my emergency on the form was difficult because as you put it he “wasn’t my person anymore”. By the end of this list I had to stop myself from full out crying in my office. I too couldn’t say words like that to him .. “How’s your parents? You know I really fucking miss them”; etc. While I have no idea how to make it better or even easier, I can relate too and it sucks. The things unsaid will never be easy, I guess because if they were, we’d be able to. Lots of hugs and diet coke with vodka to you.
Oh, Aunt Becky. That’s hard. Really fucking hard. I can’t tell you it gets easier….because nobody has ever stuck around long enough to build memories like that with me. So I don’t honestly know if it does. But you have so many people who love you. I know that “so many people” isn’t the same, and it isn’t what you wanted, and maybe hearing that doesn’t help right now. But find one of those people and go get a milkshake or a pizza or whatever. It always helps me, even if I don’t think it will.
His loss. Truly. XXOO
That last sentence.
I am so, so sorry, Aunt Becky. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I wholeheartedly agree with No Good: it truly is his loss.
Hello there — this is my first visit here and I can see that I waded into the thick of it. All I can say is Time. Time, time, time. This too shall pass. All the best.
I used to read your blog eons ago. I’m glad I stopped by today as this is one of the most beautiful and real – if not difficult – posts I’ve read in a very long time. My heart broke at the last part and I just shared a few tears with you. I may not be going through this but I am chock-full of empathy and right now I can honestly say I feel your pain.
(Why the fuck Gallup sees Empathy as a ‘strength’ is still baffling to me – I walk around heartbroken and sad for at least a moment each day.)
Becky,
I have no words to take away your pain, but please know that I love you.
You ARE a Bright Spot! And I’m glad to hear that you are brain tumor free.
I agree with “his loss” and “heart. broken.”
I love you big time.
<3 U
Oh honey. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard all of that is. The last paragraph just killed me.
xo
Thinking of you and hoping that it gets better. X
Time heals all wounds. Except the ones it creates.
Booze doesn’t work, either; but, it’ll stop the bleeding for a bit. I raise one to you.
Balling my eyes out right now…so sorry for your pain. Can’t even imagine and definitely never want to. I hope it gets better. On an up note, glad you don’t have a brain tumor.
Life is so short and precious. The only good think is that usually the people we never say these things to know them in their hearts because while the words fail us our actions speak for us. The calls and the visits. The late night texts and the coffee talks about trivial things. The sympathetic shoulder shrug and the secret smiles.
Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try and find the words, just means we should feel a little less guilty about failing to.
Hugs beck, hugs…
<3
Hang in there. The only way through it is through it, but it WILL get better.
Perfectly articulated. I remember our pre-divorce counseling and the guy looked at me and said, “You think you’re over this. Just wait. There will be little reminders throughout your life about how devastating this is.” I was pissed, but he was right. It doesn’t matter how DONE you both are, you *were* a family and that doesn’t just go away into some ether somewhere. Every stupid emergency contact form, every holiday, every unsaid concern… even though time makes it better, it still fucking sucks.
Oh Becky… I can’t even imagine how you feel. {hugs}
Hugs to you. You. Are. Awesome. Please don’t lose sight of that. You’ll have a wonderful person to write into that emergency field on your forms again. For reals. Hang in there, doll.
Just stopped in to catch up with what you were doing and found this. : ( Hugs. I was truly hoping you had the happy divorce.
Super big hugs Aunt Becky:) You can put my name on your contact form.
Much love to you.
(((HUGS)))