Needle in a haystack
The hay is important, too.
One thing I didn’t consider before my dad died was his stuff. I’m not talking about valuables or even personal effects—just stuff. Bank statements and tee-shirts and DVDs and magazines and boxes upon boxes upon boxes of stuff. I was going through this the other day when I came across a red notebook with a thick red pen stuffed into the space between its coils. I recognized it as my mom’s the way you recognize things that belonged to people you love, as if the thing itself is them. The pen gave it away. Thick pens were easier for her to grab on account of her arthritis.
The notebook was empty except for a letter she wrote to my brother and me in the spring of 2004. She said she wished we were nicer, that she was trying her hardest to be a good parent but felt like she always fell short. That she wanted to spend more time together as a family before I went off to college.
I’ve tried not to beat myself up over this. As hard as it is to not feel guilty, I also have to acknowledge that 2004 was a time in my life when I drove my car through the garage door, when my brother put a broadsword through our mailbox, when I broke my back trying to sled through a shed at the bottom of a hill. The letter doesn’t take into account the family vacations we resumed in my twenties, the daily phone calls my mom and I had after I moved away, the joy she felt when she found out my wife was pregnant, that she was going to be a Nana.
My kid’s at a weird age right now. She’s three, so she goes from cuddling into me to throwing herself to the ground kicking and screaming and back again in a matter of minutes. I tell her I love her knowing I’ll get anything ranging from a “no” to an “I love you more.” It’s hard not to get frustrated by this, the unpredictability, the volatility of it all. Large parts of my day are at the whim of a tiny human who’s learning how to process her emotions. It sucks. I’m trying to look at these frustrating moments as parts of a bigger picture of our experience as a family, though. We can drive ourselves crazy if we dig into the frustration or sadness of a moment, but I don’t think it has to be that way. There’s always another side of things if we can step out of those moments and think about it. I think there is, at least. Maybe I just hope there is.
Some recommendations:
I could recommend The National all day, so I try not to do it a lot. I come back to their track “Nobody Else Will Be There” pretty often, though, so maybe give it a listen if you haven’t. I’m pretty fond of this live recording they did. Matt Berninger’s “hey baby” always gets me—you’ll know it when you hear it.
My wife and I started watching Severance on Apple TV+. We’re always late to these things, so I’m guessing lots of folks are caught up on it already, but it’s intriguing and sad and creepy in one of those ways that feels a little too real. If you’re interested, check out the trailer:
Until next time. Cheers, y’all.