Reflections: A cathartic process VI...
“In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien
Reader beware! This is a cathartic process. It rambles. It's nonsensical at times. It's venting my feelings, somewhat. It's dull if you are anyone but me. LOLZ 💀
Memories are hard to deal with, regardless of whether happy or sad, when the world around you seems intent on overloading you with shit. "I don't have the bandwidth to make those kinds of decisions" comes to mind. A bit dated, but brought back to the present by one of my favorite shows.
Washing a jacket set me off tonight. It was my dad's. I slipped it on and looked at the cuffs. I saw his hands there. I have the slightly feminine version. I'm thinking that I share that trait with my aunt, but it's been a long time since I've seen her hands.
SO... I opted to wash the jacket. It fits me. It stinks of basement grime. And I went through pockets before dumping it into the washer.
I found his old pill bottle. That was what finally broke the floodgates this year. Already pressed down by negativity in this world, and having no means to release my frustrations and pains, I sat there and sobbed as the washer filled.
My childhood taught me that crying would only draw anger and spankings. It takes a lot for me to make a sound. Physical pain is probably the only way to draw a sound from me, but it has to put me over my pain threshold to make that happen.
Grief is another matter. When our beautiful Pomeranian, Truffle, passed away at the emergency clinic, I went out to the car and let the grief tear my throat. I don't remember much of that moment, sitting in the dark and shattering Jeff's eardrums. He probably thought I was insane.
BUT... grieving for the people I love most is a private and inward affair.
My mother and I flew from California to Ohio when my Nonna was dying. I was just a child. I was finally able to see her as she lay in the hospital bed, and I told her that her face was still beautiful. It was.
Then I wanted to sing the song we shared all my life, "You are my sunshine". But my Aunt Helen came in, even though only two people were allowed in the room, and I was overwhelmed by shyness as well as both sisters talking loudly. My Nonna never heard me sing that song.
She died that same day. My mother and a priest hugged each other. My Nonna wasn't in pain anymore. She had passed peacefully. Celebrate this good fortune! Yay!
I sat in my cousin's spare bedroom and took it all in. Up until that point, I never had anyone I love die. My Nonna was gone forever. Never coming back. Never singing our song with me.
I remember breaking into a rising scream like a teakettle. My cousin, an adult, ran into the room and wrapped her arms around me. Wholly consumed by my Nonna's death, I continued to wail. She lifted me from the depths of my despair. I fell asleep while she held me.
And then I was pulled aside by my mom the next day. She told me not to grieve. Nonna was in Heaven. I tucked my grief down deep. How can I possibly get through to her that her approach hurt me even more?
That pain occasionally burbled out over the next two weeks. I stuffed my face into a pillow to muffle the sound.
Friends and acquaintances have passed away over the years. I couldn't cry at the news, nor did I cry the two times I was pulled in to identify a body. I didn't cry at their funerals. When all was said and done, I shoved my face into a pillow and rage cried.
The anniversary of Dad's death is next week. I was there when he died. I didn't have time to figure out my feelings. My mother came into the room, heard that he passed, and then... My dad wasn't in pain anymore. He had passed peacefully. Celebrate this good fortune! Yay!
Stifling my quickly swelling ire was probably the hardest thing I'd ever done. I raged late that night:
Fuck that shit. Fuck it hard until it rips in two. I'm so fucking tired of people telling me how I should react to a death. I'm so fucking tired of people being chipper and celebratory when someone's death is mentioned.
The post was deleted before dawn, and for good reason.
I wiped the tears and snot off the washer and then brought the pill bottle upstairs. It was empty. Dad always remembered to take his meds.
I put the thing on my key chain...
...and showed it to my mother. Typical reaction. I'm told how wonderful it was that he passed peacefully. We should thank God that he went before COVID hit.
These points are valid but I was hurting at the moment. I mutely nodded; I knew I couldn't grieve in front of her. I don't want to thank God or think it's wonderful. I needed to let my grief out. Her ebullience was a nail to my heart.
I also didn't want to bring her down, emotionally. I know she grieves in her own manner, often when she's alone and behind a closed door.
My inward response is always, "I don't want this person to stress, so I'll bottle everything up inside". I need a wine cellar after all these decades of bottling.
I went upstairs and Jeff was reiterating that he needed to stay home because I said I was in physical pain. Yes, I was and still am in pain. But I wanted him to go, to leave me before my manic side tore him a new asshole. I know he mourns Dad's death, and both his parents' passing away. I didn't want to tip him towards grief.
I walked away and sat down in the office. I figured that I would stuff my face into the pillow after he went to the shop. Pathetically, I broke down moments later. Hershey's hound ears picked up on the silent whining. He kept poking me with his nose.
I had achieved full Blorft Mode by time Jeff was ready to leave.
Yes, I was still waiting to express my sorrow. And cry, I did. Absolutely cathartic and not a bit of despair involved.The 'possum's tonic immobility is a good metaphor regarding the paralyzed emotions and thoughts cemented in my brain.
AND... then I messed around with code, and found images for this post. And wrote off and on for the last two hours. I scrounged around for the heating pad and made a warm bed for the dogs to use.
(Plus, bonus!, I can turned the pad off and on with my toe. Piper is the only one smart enough to use the thing.)
I washed the rest of the jackets. I sat at the table with my Mom and we laughed over stupid stuff. Life has returned to normal. No despair.