With the sudden, unexpected loss of my mother’s partner in the early hours of this morning, I have been forced to step back and reconsider the frailty of life. Even with the occasional tension between the two of us (perhaps for the competition for my mother’s attentions) and my distaste for some of his mannerisms, he took wonderful care of my mother over their too-short chapter. He was a good man.
I had just seen him on Monday. Apart from the normal ailments of a man in his 60’s (and even lesser, given his rigorously physical work-life) and those of a smoking man whom would have benefited from a healthier lifestyle (that my mother tried to give to him), he had no complaints. I suppose what I mean to say is, even with the cigarettes and lackluster food-choices, he showed no overt signs of heart disease or extraordinary issues with his lungs (for instance, like my own father’s emphysema).
And yet still
last night he closed his eyes
and this morning he was no longer;
Loss started, for me, with the death of my mother’s mother in 2007. It wasn’t exactly sudden, although I took it very hard. She was only 61 and, apart from her Emphysema, extremely healthy. I will always remember the click and whir sound her breathing apparatus made as she struggled for breath in bed over her last days. She wasn’t even a smoker.
We were always like two peas in a pod. Referring to the interests we shared, my mother always said, “It skips a generation.” It was true – my mother never took any interest in our hobbies. She sewed, crocheted, beaded, and knitted among other activities – all which she passed on to me. My Nana was always so proud to show me off to her stitch-n’-bitch groups. She had also participated in the WAF program which made her one of the first active-duty women in the US Air Force…
His breath, like a whisper in my ear, speaks multitudes. His story spills as from a fresh wound and puddles on the floor before us. I dip my toes in to test the waters. A beautifully uncomfortable sensation overtakes me, and, for a moment, my breath catches in my throat. ..
I have to be strong so that he can be weak. Well, at least that’s the long and short of it. He’d rather not be here either. But we’ve just done the back and forth so many times. Had it ever worked out, we would have stayed. Honestly, had he never asked me to go with him to Tenerife in 2009, we still would probably be in Italy. Well, I would. Maybe it would all be different…
This is an excerpt from my last (rather long, rather verbose) post. I thought why bad boys have such appeal was a concept that deserved more specific discussion:
My best friend from childhood, the one I always speak about, calls me for relationship advice. Or, rather, a decision between two “boys.” She is my age and just as smart, but she is wholly inexperienced in exploring herself and in relationships. I have been married nearing 5 years, so I can understand her seeking me out for advice. Especially on such an appropriate query:
M: One of them is so smart and so respectful; he wants to treat me so well, but I just don’t feel it. The other? Such a bad boy. Felonies and DUI’s galore. A drop-out, a possible drug-dealer – no future, really. But he’s just so exciting.
I happen to have lots of problems. I don’t know if it’s because of this or in lieu of this, but I seem to gather about me women with just as many issues. Whereas my problems are continuous – and generally kept under wraps – it seems like their lives, on sporadic occasion, blow up in their faces.
All at the same time.
I have been so hard on my husband lately, I feel like I need to talk about some of the good. Because there really is so much of it – in all honesty, that’s what makes the bad so hard.
Because I know
it’s not him —
As you lay there in bed and address me gruffly one last time before turning your back towards me, I wondered, again, what it was that I had done? What had I done wrong? Did I disrespect you? Did I ignore you? Did I offend you? Did I break your heart?
I think to tap you on the shoulder and question you about it. I think to tap you on the shoulder and
As a senior in high school I moved to Italy to live with a family. Before moving there, I had many preconceived notions about Italian culture and what the Italian lifestyle was like. Having always had problems with my weight fluctuating, I worried slightly over the abundance of pasta dishes and massive meals.
A handful of times, as a youngster, I had been to Italy (and around Europe) to visit my expatriate aunt and uncle during summer vacations, so I had some idea of what my time in Europe would entail. I also seemed to remember, however, that regardless of the elaborate meals, I always seemed to lose weight on these short vacations, so I wasn’t obsessing over avoiding (host) family meals like the plague. Continue reading
For a while I have understood that I am in a codependent relationship. Perhaps to begin to work on my issues (or, even, distance myself from them), I have been reading material about similar situations, what they mean, why they happen, and their consequences.
My research has brought to light many things I didn’t know – or, perhaps, I did know, but I convinced myself that I didn’t (in order not to suffer them so profoundly). There are the normal concepts – fear of abandonment (both of being abandoned as well as abandoning my partner that is hurting), the feeling that I’ve held on so long that if I just wait a little longer it will all get so much better and have all been so worth it, letting myself be convinced that I deserve the treatment I’m receiving because he’s having a bad day (everyday), fixing all of his mistakes because he doesn’t care about consequences, and letting myself be controlled by the fear of what he’ll do and the mistakes he’ll make if I ever truly leave…
But what I wasn’t considering,
was the fact
that I have boundaries.