is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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grief in its smaller parts.
I�ve written a lot lately about the large ways that loss affects a life. But there are small things, too. When someone has had a huge impact on your life, and then that person is no longer there, all kinds of tiny things that would have been happy or neutral also become tinged with sadness, sometimes to the point of parody, like when I was sad about how my dad wouldn�t be able to taste the new Pepsi Next beverage (given that he and I were/are both lifelong cola fanatics), or when my sister was sad shopping for a new television�because my dad always either bought us new televisions or told us which ones to buy (the man truly enjoyed reading about and shopping for technology items). Little things like that happen, all the time. Before he was gone, noticing his influence in my life wasn�t part of my daily experience. I guess that�s what they call taking something for granted�in all its positive and negative registers.
The other day Gus and I decided to take a break from the work routine, drive to Manayunk (if this were a standardized test, Manayunk would be to Philadelphia as Berkeley is to San Francisco, in terms of shops, restaurants and ethos, but minus a bit of hippy), and have some lunch, then maybe get some reading done in a cafe. It was a nice afternoon. At one point, as we were walking down Main Street, I saw two really nice chairs in the window of a Pottery Barn (I wish it were a better store than that, but that�s what happened). Both of them would look great in our living room, a room that is in dire need of some help. Both of them were in the $800 - $1200 range, AKA nothing we�re going to spend right now, given other priorities. Gus jokingly said we should put them on our wedding registry list�and he did mean it as a joke, because of course we would not put something that expensive on a list of things that friends and family might buy for us. It�s just one of the running jokes we have about all of the rituals and expectations that attend weddings in the U.S. (Did I mention that Gus and I are getting married? We are. Some time next summer. Dates and details not yet determined. Many�but not all�rituals and expectations will remain unfulfilled.)
Anyway, then, as we continued walking, I started talking in that way that one talks when one hasn�t figured out what one is saying but is simply working out what one is thinking as one talks. I said something like: well, if my dad were still alive, I�m sure we�d get some sort of ridiculously generous wedding gift from him. But he�s not alive, and no one else is going to do that. I guess that�s sad? But it�s also not sad, since it�s not like we need many things and it�s not like we are unloved or uncared for. And anyway I guess I can�t complain about having had 45 years of my life be accompanied by ridiculously generous and thoughtful gifts. That�s a lot more than many people get!
However, I didn�t actually feel sad when I said that. It�s funny how Pepsi Next made me sadder than the �loss� of an expensive wedding gift. But it makes sense. The first one is about shared experience one can no longer have; the second one is just a fact about loss.
Also, I knew, for at least 20 of those 45 years, that I was lucky with regard to the epic giving of gifts. None of the mindless �taking for granted� there. The man loved gifts and giving, especially at Christmas time. Even when he was just a few days away from death (we didn�t know it for certain at the time, but that�s what it ended up being), he made sure, while he was in the ICU unit at the hospital, that he was able to give my sister and I some of the gifts he had ordered us for Christmas (in this case: a pair of Fluevog boots and a porcelain mug from Tiffany celebrating my love of NYC). I also brought gifts for him to the ICU, but he wasn�t all that interested in that; though he appreciated the crazy box of M&Ms in three shades of green festooned with photos of my sister and I, he never even saw the other things I bought him last Christmas. We also ended up opening lots of gifts from him after he was no longer around to watch us do it. At moments like that, loss is, at the same time, real and unreal. Not having someone around anymore is palpable, disorienting, strange and sad. But anyone who has had that power over your life (to produce results palpable, disorienting and strange) is also never entirely gone.
11:29 a.m. - September 03, 2012
puhmeow - 2012-09-03 18:09:41
word.
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