My life is a soap opera. This is not new news to me, it is a fact of life that is as familiar as my first name. (Note that I did not say my last name, that is something is this a constant mystery to those around me and often something confusing to even me).
The events of the past several weeks have challenged me emotionally and today I feel emptied out. Maybe it is becasue of all the tears that I have shed lately. Maybe it is because I am exahsted and tired of being exhausted. Summer is here and while the sun feels good it also burns; my peeling shoulder are proof that I seem to have an uncanny tendency to get burned.
First, there is the constant saga of my parents separation and impending divorce. There are facts that I wish not to write about, but fact that are grounded in a truth that is so real I sometimes wish I did not have to accept them. I do know that parents are human and that they fail their children as we children fail them. I do know that I cannot fix their situation, their hurti8ng, or their faults. I am doing what I can to just accept it, to try and figure out how to just live with the ugly realities and not try to get all wound up emotionally. Trying. Not successful for the most part, but trying.
My grandfather died on Friday after a long battle with cancer. He is really my great uncle, my Papa. He has always been the grandfather on my father's side--my father's father died so many years ago and Papa has always been in my life. Or I should say always since I was 11. I was supposed to visit Friday afternoon at 3, but he passed away in the morning and I did not get to see him. Maybe it is the fact that I was raised Catholic that makes me feel guilty, or maybe it is jus the reality that I did not do enough, see him enough, or make an effort that I could be proud of. I mean, I have know that he was dying for some time, but I hadn't seen him since the end of April. His birthday party--the day that after all the guests had left my parents sat us all down and announced their intentions to divorce.
The weekend was spent mostly sitting around quietly and then doing chores when I needed a new focal point, something new to adjust the camera lense on. There was progress made in the laundry room and all the bedrooms are now clean and sorted through. On one hand order brings contentment, on the other hand knowing what spurs someone into order is hard to face. Sunday night was the beginning of the big Catholic send off-or celebration as the priest put it. There was a 4 hour wake, at which we were the "host family." This is not an official title, but rather the order of our family. Papa and his wife Donna, though married 58 years had no children. My father, and his sister (who died in 1994) were their surrogate children, their immediate family. That makes myself and my siblings the only grandchildren and the new generation of his immediate family. My great aunt is 80 and an invincible woman with great faith, with great strength and an amazing love for her husband. Something that I dare say might not exist in our modern generations filled with separation, divorce, and maybe the half-assed committments that we make to one another when we marry. "To death do us part?" How many of us actually believe this when we say it? I don't think that I did.
The drama and soap opera moment of the event camw with warning. There was rumor and speculation that my father was going to bring his new girlfriend, a woman that he has been dating a whole 3 weeks, a woman that my siblings and I had not met, a woman who had never met Papa, a woman who would clearly be unwelcomed at this funeral. I considered the potential, but figured that my father, although lacking in certain judgment, certainly would have the brains and devotion to my great aunt NOT to invite her. I was wrong. He revealed a fault, a huge fault--one that might fracture our little portion of the world. There were fireworks, my mother couldn't restrain herself from blasting the both of them for their inappropriateness--she wasn't wrong perse, but still I wanted to disappear into the wallpaper. I ended up losing it--watching my parents argue, the girlfriend and my mother interacting all directly in front of my front row seat, and literally 5 feet from the open casket--it was just too much. I bolted out a side door sobbing hysterically. The who situation, my dead Papa, my seemingly inability to make it through just ONE year in my life without a death, the loss of my parent's marriage, and the reality that this new woman is a fixture that I will have to deal with all just crumbled me. I don't remember much after that--except that I detached from the night. I did have everyone over for drinks that night at the house; I sat off to one corner and absorbed everything unwilling to make too many comments. To tired to sort through whether I was most consumed with sadness, guilt, or just plain anger.
Yesterday was the service, the burial, the lunch. More hosting. More numbness.
But the end of the day did come. I took the girls to piano lessons in shorts and a t-shirt, happy to be rid of black and stilettos. I did wear an attitude t-shirt, something of a personal armor.
It says:
"Let me drop everything and work on YOUR probem."
If only it was just that easy.
