Some days are harder than others. D-day, strangely, wasn’t. It was like watching a scary movie through your fingers. You can’t help watching, but if your do so through your fingers, you can keep the ghouls at bay. That’s what last week was for me. This week…
I have a confession; my first thought whenever I see a happy family is, “Fuck you.” It really is. On television, in person, on Facebook. How awful is that? It’s not directed at the happy family, but at my family’s fate. The words pop into my head instantly, and just as instantly dissipate. It brings a kind of relief, like slapping a hysterical person.
People die. There’s no way around it. We’re all going to experience loss at some point in our lives. Parents lose children in far worse ways, under far worse circumstances. Had Chris not died, we might all be mourning him in a different way now. Maybe this, maybe that, maybe the other thing. Maybe nothing. Maybe doesn’t count for anything when the result is already in.
Frankie D and I had a perfect weekend, just the two of us. Beautiful weather, a little shopping, hanging out in the yard, playing Phase 10 (his favorite game) by moonlight. We had a great dinner out at our favorite place, got the yard ready for summer, put twinkle lights on the gazebo, and swam in the pool. Sunday night, I made clams and lobster tails on the grill, and corn on the cob. We watched the Game of Thrones finale. After a peaceful week last week, the weekend was the sigh at the end of a long, lovely day.
And now today…I find myself a bit weepy. Maybe that’s the consequence of all that peace. The ghouls held at bay got pissed. I think I’m pissed, too, because I have a good life. Better than most, I think, and yet saying that out loud feels so many kinds of wrong. Emotion and logic battle constantly. Happiness and sorrow. Hope and cynicism. That’s why I write these blog posts, to help sort through it all.