November 28, 2020
2:18 p.m.
I'm not going to gild the lily, pull my punches, wax sentimental or any other of the bull I have been doing all my life. Today, I am going to just say what I'm really thinking, and let the chips fall where they may.
Thanksgiving came and went. This year, it was just a day like most other days, except that I prepared a fancier meal. Mom and I ate alone and waited to hear from our kids by phone or message. We didn't get to see anyone; not our children or grandchildren, not any friends. It was, like all our days, quiet.
By day's end, Mom did hear from all my siblings. Two of them live in the same town, but due to fear of exposing Mom to anything, they chose to stay home. No one is hurt or angry about the decision; Mom raised no dummies, and she's a smart cookie herself. We all know the risks and choose not to take chances.
I heard from three kids earlier in the day, one who was sick, one who was bitter, and one who had little to say. At the very last minute I heard from the last, who was rushed and harried. We exchanged the ritual "Happy Thanksgiving" greetings and "I love you" greetings, and left it at that. No one called; it was all text, all the time.
Thanksgiving is usually my favorite of all the holidays. I enjoy a large gathering of family and friends. I enjoy preparing a huge meal of all the favorites. I love the hustle and bustle of all of us working in my kitchen together. I love the smell of fresh rolls and pies baking on the day before, and the smells of roasting turkey and ham on the big day.
This year I did bake a pie. I roasted a turkey breast. The house did smell good. And the meal, if I may say so, was delicious.
What was missing? Family, friends and a feeling of thankfulness.
Now, I'm not saying we have nothing to be grateful for. We are grateful to have one another. We are grateful that we have enough to eat. We are grateful not to be living in cardboard boxes in some squalid alley.
What I am saying is that I didn't feel much like a celebration was in order this year. 2020 has been a shit show in so many ways.
There's a part of me that doesn't mind that the day was one of the same-old-thing days-- it was the first major holiday without my father, and for some reason, I think it would have been harder if we were all together. His absence--which is always deeply felt--would have been even more so in the crowd of family members. An empty space next to Mom would have been a stark reminder to us all that he's not here. Eventually, there will come time for a big gathering, and we will have to acknowledge that space, but...
I acknowledge that space every day on a smaller scale, and I wasn't ready for it in a bigger space with more witnesses, so there was was a bit of relief in that respect. I guess. I shed my tears in solitude, and for me, that is always the preference.
Ugh. What can I say? This was not a good year.
I have spent 2020 feeling inadequate. In my own estimation, I have not measured up as a daughter, a sister, a mother or a friend. I have wanted to be everywhere at once (I know, not possible) and have felt guilty about being one place while needed in another pretty much every day. It does no good to tell me that I can't do it, and neither can anyone else--I still feel the way I feel. It is what it is.
There are things I want to say, and I guess since I am currently feeling low and bitchy, I will say them.
Get it together. You're grown-ass people, and you don't have all the time in the world. Fighting and holding grudges is beneath you. You only get one chance, so for crying out loud, get together, duke it out and get on with your lives. Forgiveness is the only key to unlocking the love. I can't fight your battles for you, I can't make your apologies, I can't fix the things you've messed up and I can't put your pieces back together for you.
If you did it, own it, admit it and apologize. If you're unforgiving--knock it off! This is your only chance to get it right. Start over and do better next time.
You know who you are. If you don't know--think again. This probably goes for everybody. Everybody.
I am tired. I am sad. I want this stupid year to knock it the f*&! off. I have had enough of this shit.
And I doubt that anyone can dispute the fact that there has been more than enough shit to go around.
Even before the great toilet paper shortage, my mother was sick for over a month with a mysterious cough that we now suspect may have been COVID-19. Although it was a month before the failed joke in the White House ever admitted there was such a thing, it certainly fit the criteria for the virus, and she has since been afflicted with painful, stiff fingers, a reported long term side effect.
Dad and I waited for our turn with the illness, whatever it was, but we only suffered cold symptoms for a few days, and that was it.
I went to Denver for less than a week. When I flew in, things were relatively normal. When I flew out, the airport was nearly deserted. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the concourse for my flight to Wyoming. It was eerie.
My first trip to the store upon my return revealed an empty aisle where the paper products should have been. No toilet paper, facial tissues or paper towels. No Clorox wipes or hand sanitizer. No hand soap. The world had developed hoarding madness.
In the meantime, Dad was losing his grip on day-to-day reality. He tried, God bless him. He made plans to enclose and paint the deck when the weather got better. He talked about the upcoming family reunion and hometown reunion planned for the summer.
He resisted my efforts to get him out of the house, for any reason. He also resisted leaving the kitchen to go to the living room. That kitchen chair became his daytime home. He would sit there with a cup of coffee, listening to music, cleaning and recleaning his telephone screen. He cleaned it so aggressively that he eventually killed the poor thing, because he insisted that he had to use Windex on it. What the heck, though--it was so old it couldn't even be updated any more.
On those rare occasions when I could lure him into the living room, he still enjoyed the westerns and cheered on the horses. Molly was delighted to have him there and sat with him in his chair.
By May he was having delusions, mostly that Mom and I were in danger. He couldn't look at us, or his eyes might shoot something at us. Laser death rays, I suppose. Sometimes he refused to open his mouth to eat if we were nearby, in case his tooth fillings might poison us.
I'll give him this--he was always thinking about Mom and me. He believed he was keeping us safe, and it was his most important mission.
On the day he fell, the delusion was that the contents of a small tin of muscle pain relief ointment might explode and kill us all. Getting it out of the house at any cost was his heroic goal. Well, he got it out, but he was badly hurt when he fell doing it. He broke his leg, wrist and several ribs. He got a concussion.
(See how inadequate I was? I didn't save him from that fall. I wasn't fast enough to catch him.)
First he spent some time in the hospital. He was alone; no one could be with him because of COVID-19. Then he went into a nursing home to heal up--alone again.
We visited through a window, talking on our phones. He didn't understand, because he kept forgetting why he was there, and why we couldn't come inside and why he couldn't come home yet.
I don't blame the nursing home--they followed all the CDC guidelines and worked diligently to keep Dad safe. But they were not his family. He needed the loving touch of family. A hug. A hand to hold. Someone to share his meals.
Dad lost faith in going home, I believe. We worked hard to ready the house and planned his homecoming, but he quit eating and drinking and ended up back in the hospital. Then we brought him home on hospice care and lost him in less than two weeks.
Have you ever seen those "Never have I ever" lists? I crossed a lot of items off that list. I did things I never imagined having to do. I did not like them.
2020 was a year of firsts. That was the first time I ever saw someone take a last breath. The first time I arranged a funeral. The first time I visited a funeral home, for that matter. The first time I had to say goodbye to someone that close to me.
Days after the funeral, the basement flooded due to a leaking underground pipe that took several days to locate and repair. Down came one of the two trees Mom planted in the front yard in 1973. Holes were dug in the yard and then the basement, and fans ran for days drying up the wetness.
That tree was Dad's touchstone when he came home to spend his last days. He could look out the window and see it, and know he was really home at last. Mom and I watched through the window as the workers took it down, bawling our eyes out.
After that, we dealt with more firsts: the first Anniversary Mom spent without her partner, and her first birthday without him in 63 years.
On his birthday, the town was hit with a blizzard/hurricane that devastated the area and put the neighbor's tree in the middle of the backyard. It took out some branches from the oak tree Dad was so proud of, along with the fences.
Dad would not have had a happy birthday this year. So...
This week we did our first Thanksgiving without Dad. We also did it with no other members of the family. Just Mom and me. Such a first, right?
So, November is almost gone. COVID-19 is raging on worse than ever. Over a quarter of a million people have died as a direct result, and I'm sure thousands more have died indirectly as a result, as well. I can't prove it, but I believe Dad might be here, if not for the mishandling of this pandemic, and he's not the only one who was isolated from the loving attention of his family during a time that should have led to recovery instead of death. Broken hearts; loneliness; loss of connection--it took its toll, and took loved ones before their time. I believe this, even if I can't prove it.
Christmas is coming, and I am preparing for it in the only way I can--long distance style. I am not happy. I am not thankful. I am sad and pissed off.
You know what I will be thankful for? I will be thankful when this is over, and we can start looking forward to things again. Things like a meal with family, and a chance to hug each other.
When will that be?
Wear your damn masks, will you, please?
I'm sick of this year.
