Friday, December 14, 2012

Silent night.

(I'm not cheating on you, but I posted this on Facebook today because I wanted to send love as far as it would reach.)

Friends and family, I love you. Those I don’t know well enough to love like that (because it’d be weird)---I love you as fellow human beings and as my sisters and brothers on the planet.

I had a fall to my knees, “Why, God? Why?” moment when I heard the news today---full on Sally Field. I thought of those parents and the mammoth agony tearing through them now and how it will inhabit them always. I thought of the presents they might have in their closets and how much it will hurt to look at them in these next days when they reach for a sweater. How they may beat themselves up for not giving their child some special sled or stuffed animal the moment s/he asked for it, waiting instead for a Christmas morning that never came. I thought of how much sorrow this time of year will bring them from now on.

My thoughts shifted then to what to do? What to do for those people and also what to do with my own pain.

And there’s nothing really to be done...except to tell everyone I love them.

It’s all I can think of. I don’t feel like being angry with anyone this particular moment. I understand the anger---we’re grieving and anger is a part of it. But while I’m sure I will feel angry tomorrow or in 10 minutes or in a few months or for a few months, right now I am not angry, nor do I judge those who are. There is no sense to be made of any of it, so I am closing my eyes and trying to picture a current of love flowing from my own tight chest southwest to Connecticut. I’m picturing my love and prayers meeting yours there and holding those families tonight. I know I sound like a smelly hippie---I know. But maybe prayer does something. Maybe energy helps with healing. And as it’s the only way I can figure to help, I’m putting love out there in the hope that it contributes to some greater collective love that reaches those families and all who are hurting tonight.

So, all of you---even you, person whose status updates sometimes bug me---I love you.

I also wanted to share this from Brene Brown's latest book, Daring Greatly.

“When I asked people who had survived tragedy how we can cultivate and show more compassion for people who are suffering, the answer was always the same. Don’t shrink away from the joy of your child because I’ve lost mine. Don’t take what you have for granted – celebrate it. Don’t apologize for what you have. Be grateful for it and share your gratitude with others. Are your parents healthy? Be thrilled. Let them know how much they mean to you. When you honor what you have, you’re honoring what I’ve lost.”

I’m opting for a night of quiet and gratitude tonight. I have a warm home, a pretty tree in the living room, and all the kids I love made it through the day safely today. I am grateful for this and to be alive and for the capacity for gratitude. Love you all...even you FarmVille weirdos.

Peace to all your hearts.

Friday, December 7, 2012

'Cause no matter how far away you roam

I'll be thinking of them...

So, the battery story ended like this: It wasn’t the battery that was the problem.

I didn’t get out to get a new one so Dan brought one home. It’s a good thing because imagine my frustration had I made a mission of it and then realized it wasn’t the battery at all. Goddamn Motherfucking Frustrated, that’s what I would’ve been. GMFed.

Turns out there is something wrong with the opener’s receiver or something...I don’t know, I lost interest. Dan called our landlord and the situation is pending. (I will miss the magic of the landlord bat phone should ever we buy a house). When I first started writing the Goddamn Motherfucking Battery entry it was titled, “The Psychology of a Monday Morning” because there was more to it than my simply verbally swatting at Dan for being a Goddamned Motherfucking Mosquito buzzing in my ear with his barrage of questions. (Words must be chosen carefully when spoken before I’ve had my coffee. This was in our vows.) Mostly it was the stuff of two people who could’ve used one more day in the weekend. (It was also a little bit the stuff of, Are we still having this conversation? Just write it the fuck down. And also the stuff of, Didn’t I say months ago that we really ought to figure out how to work the code in case we lose the opener? And, if I’m being fair to Dan, it was also the stuff of, My Darling Lola, it must be hard being so right all the time.)

Bottom line is we’ve been able to get into the garage because my brain somehow retained the four-digit code the woman who had the garage before us assigned it (It is hard, my oft-wrong Danny) and for some reason it's working now. I don’t know why I’m even still talking about the goddamn motherfucking garage opener. Maybe so you’ll finally rest easy tonight knowing that Dan and I are no longer separated from our crap.

And we're getting our extra day this weekend.

Remember this little trip from last year ?

Well, Dan really liked the whole Christmas card/shopping getaway so this time we’re heading up to North Conway which is just about two hours north of where we live. My family rented a place up there every February vacation when I was a kid and those trips were a lot of what got me to pick New Hampshire when I decided to move from RI all those years ago. It’s funny though---I went there every year as a kid but have maybe been there three times in the last twelve years of living here. Not sure why. I’m looking forward to the getaway, though I know there will be some sad turns down Memory Lane.

It’s just how it goes. The first Christmas without both my parents on the planet. The shock surrounding my dad's death is fading, leaving only the throb of loss. I miss my mom every single day, that never fades. It's even more pronounced during this season. I was so the kid who packed all my dirty laundry into the car and blasted “Home for the Holidays” as I set out for my parents’ house every December. Home for the Holidays was my mom. It was her huge greeting---”My Laura is home!”---from the table when I walked into her kitchen. It was my Dad coming in because he heard my mom’s excitement and asking if I wanted him to put on a fire. Home for the Holidays is the saddest thought to me now because there is no such thing anymore. I was lucky to have had it, I know. And I am lucky for Dan, my home now, but Home for the Holidays is another loss in all of this. So I can’t pretend this season doesn’t have a sadness to it now for me. It’s a constant chest ache even during moments of joy.

So, I know there will be some of that this weekend especially as I see the old spots where my family went cross-country skiing or where I can remember my dad breaking out the video camera and my mom doing head counts of all us kids and our friends. And Dan knows that---I think he wants it for me even. He’s the one who booked the place and then got on me to make an appointment for a massage while we are there. He just gets it---all seven hundred emotions I feel at once. How the good days are ones where I cry because it means there’s release and a break from fighting all of it back.

He’s my Home For The Holidays now. No Goddamn Motherfucking pressure, Boo.

(Pretty snow pictures to come if there is pretty snow up there! If not, pictures of dirty side-of-the-road snow to come!)

Monday, December 3, 2012

What kind of battery was that again?



We need to replace the battery in our garage door opener. Because the code for the garage keypad has never worked, the remote opener is our only means of access. Fortunately we don’t keep a car in there and it’s only a spot for storage---but still, we need to be able to get in there.

This morning, as Dan got ready for work and I sat trying to get an early writing start, he said he would pick said battery up at the store today.

I, unsure if perhaps I would want to get into the garage before his approximate 7pm return home, suggested he write the battery size down for me just in case I wanted to tend to the task myself before then.

Apparently, “before” is a complicated concept to digest because it seemed to confound Dan. Why, he wondered, would he write the size of the battery down on the off-chance that I make it to the store when he would definitely be making it to the store and purchasing said battery today.

I had not yet realized the extent of the communication impasse we had reached and didn’t look up from my work---nor elaborate on the concept of before---and suggested he write it down just in case.

But “just in case” was not enough to squelch the fire of incomprehension that roared inside Dan, who again questioned the necessity of his writing the battery size down.

“I might want to get in there, so can you just write it down in case I---”

“But I am telling you I am going to pick it up today, so why would you also pick it up?”

“CAN YOU JUST WRITE THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING SIZE OF THE BATTERY DOWN SO THAT I CAN GET IN THERE BEFORE YOU GET HOME IF I WANT?”

Seems an entirely appropriate response even now, hours later.

After he left for work, I found this on the counter:



It is in these moments that I love Dan the very most.