For my sister, in the style of McSweeney's Internet Tendency

February 1st, 2015

To the friends who were "too tired' to make it to my birthday party,

First of all, I want to say that I realize how hard the past few months have been on you. My parents being ill, then dying, then the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without them - well, now that we've made it to January, I have to say, I don't know how you made it at all! The exhaustion of being aware of your friend losing her parents at a young age, then awareness of your friend's struggle to deal with their disorganized estates, their medical bills, shit even their vehicles...well now that I've written all this out, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. You clearly have earned a long nap. 

And this cold winter weather doesn't help at all. At the end of a long week of work and being aware of your friend's dead parents, you really deserve a nice hot toddy and a lie-in. Self-care is incredibly important for friends of the bereaved, especially during flu season. Wearing yourself out with awareness of your friend's dead parents and upcoming birthday can only lead to sniffling, sore throat, headache, and ultimately questioning the futility of maintaining these fragile bodies we've been stuck with. Existential exhaustion can really mess with your sleep, and certainly doesn't put you in a celebratory mood! 

So in closing, I want to say how much it means to me for you to struggle with all this, and to in the end choose a good rest over showing up to my birthday party. You really took my mind off my parents being dead and all the shit I've been dealing with since my LAST birthday a year ago. I'm sure by next year, I'll have reconciled this whole dead parents/celebrating the annual creep of my own mortality dilemma. Keep in touch and I'll let you know how that's going! Unless, of course, that would uncomfortably remind you of the uncertainty of your own existence.

Love,
Claire, age 30 (!)

Saturday

Two years ago Stanley began playing organized sports for the first time. He started with soccer, on cold winter Saturday mornings, and we drove out to the fields off SW Archer Road. I missed his first game because Graham and I were still in the hospital after he was born, but all of Stanley's grandparents came out to cheer him on.

I am driving out Archer Road on a cold winter Saturday, and I realize that two years ago nothing was wrong.

"How's that bricklaying comin',
How's your engine runnin'?
Is that bridge getting built,
Are your hands getting filled?
...I am lost in my mind,
I am lost in my mind."

Alone with all your letters

I have been home sick with the flu for three days now. Really sick, so dizzy I can barely stand and coughing and headachy when I move around too much. Which is why it's taken me three days to get to this box.It's a box of cards Mom sent me when I was away at college. I sorted through the trunk they were in 2 years ago, before her cancer came back, and forgot all about them. But all the thoughtful cards that have come in the mail, day after day (thank you friends!), reminded me that I had these. I remembered exactly where they were, and why I had decided to keep them.

I went a long way off for college on purpose, to try something new and make a fresh start. I struggled with depression and anxiety all through high school, and while my parents tried to get me help, I don't think they ever really understood the extent of my depression. So I had very little desire to move a few miles down the road to Athens with most of my graduating class and be reminded of my academic and social failures.

Now I can better imagine the terror of sending your child off to a strange city. And I suspect my mom was really worried about how well I would 

cope. But she encouraged me and gave me my space and always let me know, on the phone or in writing, how much she loved me and believed in me. I keep these cards for so many reasons - her words, her handwriting - but right now what I need them for is to remember the person who believed in me even though I created many of my own problems. The person who had a front row seat to my biggest flaws and never failed to cheer me on. 

How I know that she loved me

I keep trying to hold on to the things Mom surrounded herself, and us, with. Things I remember from my childhood, or remember her buying for herself. 

But then I found an envelope of pictures from when I was born. I've seen some of them separately in other albums, but some I'd never seen before.

And when I see the look on her face as she held newborn me, I realize this is all I need to hold onto, for the rest of my days, to know that she loved me. This was the message I was holding out hope for.

Hummingbird Tattoo

In The Hospital

Being in the hospital with a victim is very different than with my parents. I usually don't arrive until after the patient has been admitted, when called by hospital staff or law enforcement. There's no mystery, even if what happened is unclear, because all I need to go on is that the victim believes they experienced a sexual assault. Anything mysterious or unclear is the responsibility of law enforcement or medical staff. I usually have to make a stand on at least one issue with medical staff on behalf of the victim. Take your pick: reporting vs. non reporting, HIV risk and prophylaxis, discharge from the ER. And once the call is done, I leave, go home and rest. I try to follow up, but sometimes the victim only sees me as a reminder of the assault. I know I did the best and most that I could. I sleep at night.

I spent more time with my dad in the hospital than I did with my mom. We waited to find out what was going on, what symptoms were cancer, or treatment side effects, or just the hazards of living. Medical staff are more deferential to cancer than rape. 

But ultimately you go to the hospital for things that were done to you (unless it's a "Darwin Awards"-style accident). I can now joke that my one personal trip to the ER was for a rogue appendix, but at the time I definitely cursed my body for what it was doing to me. Rape is a betrayal of trust (you are more likely to be assaulted by someone you know). 

I realized, on my most recent work trip to the hospital, that cancer is a betrayal of trust too. It was the stupid hospital socks that got me thinking, about feet in beds and the grips on the bottoms of those socks in case you get up. Cancer betrays without the malice of the rapist, but  forever mars the ability to hope or trust the body's cells. Your body makes cells, using energy, for the purpose of maintaining the body's life. And when that cell is done it should have the good sense to die, to make way for new cells for the good of the body. But cancer cells refuse to die, and then they populate.

Then doctors treat the cancer. They talk in terms of numbers, of years left and percentages in studies and lab test results. My mom's doctors have her amazing news in May and she died in August. I can't decide if I wish I was never told that May news, because I'm so far from the hope they gave me. Cancer and its medicine yanked my hope like a rubber band. And at some point it snaps.

The Exhaustion of Never

These are some of the things I will never do with my mom again:

Wake up on a Saturday morning knowing she's there to have breakfast with Stanley and take him to the park.

Marvel at her Goodwill/garage sale/consignment sale finds.

Ask her about my childhood.

Call her for the answer to some question about my childhood or parenting.

Worry about her, how she's feeling, whether she's telling me everything or trying not to worry me.

Pick out some books from my shelves to recommend to her.

Call her about my day, or to wish her good morning, or set up a video call with the kids. 

Giver her a birthday present or receive the perfect one from her.

Take Stanley to a coffee shop.

I'm exhausted thinking about all the things I'll never do again with her. Sometimes, looking forward towards a future without her, I don't know if I can do this. I'll never struggle through a week towards the joy of her arrival on a Friday night with the promise of a weekend of fun. I just want to lay my head down and wake up when it's not so hard.