His kitchen is cluttered with casseroles made by fine Christian women he calls me when he needs the sound of another voice I chatter to fill the silence, words he won’t remember tripping out of my mouth I wonder what comfort I can give the devout at a time like this she believed and believed and believed through disappointment and empty arms and love that took its sweet time I can only offer poetry it's been too long since a prayer has dropped from my lips even Mary Oliver can’t fix this Somewhere on the black line that connects a hundred towns that don’t exist except to the people who live there and on interstate signs there is a man in a truck who slowed down when he saw something so still in the prairie grass I wonder how long he waited was he still there when help arrived (too late, too late) I wonder what we would say to him thank you I’m sorry we hope you can forget don’t take what you saw with you do you want to know her name do you have someone to tell this story to we loved her In a little house, the man who woke up with a wife and went to bed a widower heats the oven to 350 takes out a single plate tries to remember what it was like to be hungry before the house got too quiet
*****
I was chatting with a friend, catching him up on the overly eventful two weeks we’ve been having around here, and I confided that, once the funeral for my sister-in-law was over, my hope was to “just have a normal week”.
As soon as I said it, I felt like an asshole.
I’ve had a some occasions in the last few years to watch grief up close and I know that, for my brother-in-law, a normal week would feel like an unimaginable gift. I also know that I’m not done grieving and that sadness might pop up in unexpected moments.
But the desire to feel like I can fall back into a routine where I feel like I’m in charge of my days is so strong.
I’m currently days behind on work emails, which makes me feel itchy and gritchy. Both of my children are overdue for fresh braids. I need to pay bills and finish my complaint letter to Thrifty and make that well child visit for my kid. The less said about the thin layer of dust on all the flat surfaces of the house and the Jackson Pollock of toothpaste on the bathroom mirrors, the better. We’re out of milk and the potatoes are a day away from making the kitchen stink.
Of course this doesn’t matter in the long run. Of course nobody would judge me for this. All of this is temporary. And yet.
When I was at the hospital with my husband, I started making lists: who needed an update, what appointments and meetings in the next week needed to be cancelled, which errands needed to be run or appointments needed to be scheduled once he came home. Every list I wrote helped me breathe a little more deeply. One of the nurses saw my lists and cheerfully told me that I looked like I was “so on top of things!”
It can be helpful that my anxiety manifests itself as organization.
I suppose I’m fortunate that the ebb and flow of my normal weeks is something that I want to go back to, that even when it feels busy, it feels comfortable.
Now I’m going to go listen to some more Taylor and update my planner and enjoy the sound of all my people being in the house, making it noisy and wondering why we have no fruit.
***
In addition to the new Taylor Swift album, a few other things I thought were good or interesting this week:
A map of which languages are supposed to be the easiest or most difficult for English speakers to learn.
Speaking of Taylor’s new album, this list made me laugh.
Does parenting matter?
Have you ever wondered what a vaguely Scottish inspired castle would look like if it was actually in the desert of Tucson? Fun fact: my husband lived fairly close to here when we first started dating. Sadly, I don’t recall seeing in this in person when I went over to his house and I THINK I WOULD REMEMBER.
The most beautiful road trips in the world. I think I would chose the Ireland one?
That's a lovely poem that I wish you hadn't been inspired to write.
Beautiful writing as always. It always amazes me that when in pain, crisis, or deep fear, I just want the mundane. Normal is the expected and allows us to feel some sense of control. A privilege to be sure, but I too have often longed for it. 💜