Earlier this year I was determined to skip the holidays and go hang out with my friend in Arizona until my inner storm blew over.
I couldn’t afford it, but I think I should have anyway. I should have gone the American way and put it on a credit card I’ll pay off for the next decade, but it would have been worth it.
Instead, I psyched myself up to make all these dishes I’ve never made before, and cook a turkey, and be with my partner and his parents. I charged in doing the holiday thing, full steam ahead, and made biscuits and a cranberry orange relish, and stuffing ,and cleaned up after myself, and then I broke down.
I glanced at the TV while I worked and saw an advertisement with some blue water in the background – maybe it was for beer, or maybe some tropical get away place – and I suddenly saw how fake everything is. Just stupid and pointless and it’s all made up. Life is just a big lie.
I should have gone to Arizona.
I told my partner we’re done – and not because of us, but because it’s all pointless, and I hate being here, and then I remembered last year.
My mom had been staying with one of my sisters, recuperating from a shoulder surgery in September, and we all met at my other sister’s house in Vermont for Thanksgiving.
I just wanted to be near my mom. So much so that I pulled up a stool to sit in front of her, and she sort of balked at me doing that.
It was a bit odd, but she had just been away for about two months, and I was glad to see her – but the subtext was an urgency to get whatever time I could with her.
Look, I know my mom was older, and didn’t take the best care of herself, but she fucking said she was going to live to 103 to beat her father’s lifespan by a year. All my life that is what she said. All my life.
So I can be forgiven for being crushed that she died at 89, alright?
I am grateful she lived that long, and things were far from perfect for most of my growing up, but we worked through so much shit when I became a mom. She really stepped up for me. Selfish, self-centered, lost, clueless, traumatized me who needed a mom more than my son needed a grandmother, and she did both.
She showed up, and she stayed for months. She taught me how to be a mother in some ways – in the better ways. She loved being grandma.
I really miss her, and I fucking hate Thanksgiving, and I don’t think I care to be in the world either.
I should have saved her somehow, but really, I should have gone to Arizona.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh), Debts To Pay, and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current