"Didn't you just write about mortality?" you might ask. And, well, yeah, kinda. But I think you'll find this to be a bit of a different direction. The last post was more speculative, this one is unfortunately much more concrete. Just in trying to get my thoughts together, this post likely promises to be quite a mess, too. But what else could it be? It reminds me a bit from the beginning of Slaughterhouse-Five: "It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, never to say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like 'Poo-tee-weet?'" I've actually thought a lot about that book over the last couple days. Kristine's grandpa is not doing well, and it seems things are taking turns for the worse. The conversations have definitely drifted toward "when," not "if." I suppose it's "when" for everybody, but his "when" seems more at hand. Anyway. Kristine went to visit him on Friday, then we went together on Saturday. When we first arrived, we really didn't know what to expect. How responsive he would be or how coherent. He seemed to be a bit better than the last time I saw him. He was talking more and seemed to at least somewhat recognize us. He called me by name, which he did the last time I saw him as well. I don't know if it's just luck or what, but he has consistently recognized me through this whole ordeal. He asked me how school was going, but I was unsure if he was referring to my current master's program or confusing me for being about ten years younger. He also asked Kristine's brother if he had a heart attack, seeming to confuse him with his dad. It brought back some immediate flashbacks of my own grandmother and the way she would have a hard time placing her visitors and frequently getting them mixed up. My Grandma Parrish died when I was in fourth grade, the same month my Great-Grandma Summers died. I don't remember which one died first. Anyway. By the time she died, Grandma Parrish had been really bad for a long time. It had been years since she knew who I was, and it became a pretty regular occurrence for my dad to be confused for my Uncle Jessie. I don't have a lot of memories about my grandma, and I don't know that I can say I have any of her in her right mind. I gather that is a real shame. I haven't heard anybody who knew her say the first cross word against her. Maybe it's just people not wanting to speak ill of the dead, or maybe there's a measure of pity of how life worked out for her. But, I don't think so. The stories I hear speak of a genuinely warm and caring woman. I'm sorry I never really got to find out for myself. There are a few stories I do remember first hand. The first was when I first found out she was moving to a nursing home. I think I had just started school, or maybe just slightly before. I remember asking when she would get back from the hospital, because that's how it worked to my knowledge. You went to the doctor, maybe you stayed a little while to rest up, and then you came back up, ready to go. It took some explaining to me that she would be there for a long time, but it took even longer for me to really realize that she was never leaving that home. I don't think that was ever really told to me. I had to eventually figure that one out on my own. I don't know when I puzzled that one out, but I do know I spent a long time wondering when she would go back to living with my Aunt Connie. The other memory I have is a bit shameful. I can only plead ignorance, and I would certainly never do anything like this today. As you might expect for somebody who raised eleven kids, mothering was a huge part of my grandma's existence. During her time in the nursing home, she took to caring to dolls as her real, living babies. To my elementary school mind, it was just weird and I couldn't really comprehend what was going on. She was going on about one of the doll babies waking up and crying, and she was trying to rock it back to sleep. I said something snarky about it, I don't remember exactly what. But I remember the glare I got from my mom. It was a look to kill, and it hit me somewhere deep. I never did anything like that again. Now that I'm older, I see that whole incident in a different light. Instead of it being bizarre and pitiable to me, now I can see it in a more touching, sweet light. Grandma was too far gone for it to phase her, but it's still a moment where I'm deeply disappointed in myself. I've heard other stories that remind me more of Kristine's grandpa, how he gets people and times confused, sometimes within the same breath. Like I said, it was not uncommon for my dad to be confused for his eldest brother.* I also heard stories where my Uncle Jessie went to visit, and Grandma tried to attack his wife, believing her to be some other woman her husband had brought home. Or trying to convince another uncle (thankfully by marriage) to go to bed with her. *Again, with eleven kids and Jessie being the oldest and my dad being the youngest, there was quite a gap there. I don't think it was at all the point or subject Kurt Vonnegut had in mind when he wrote Slaughterhouse-Five, but it did occur to me over the weekend that the idea of being unstuck in time is a pretty good one when dealing with dementia. There is healthy literary debate about whether the things Billy Pilgrim experienced actually happened or not. It isn't hard to find arguments for either side. But that's missing the point here. Whether or not anybody else could ever confirm it, it was all still real for Billy. It all certainly happened as far as he was concerned. The same was true for my grandma. Maybe I couldn't see or hear her doll babies crying or wanted fed, but she certainly could, and she was going to care for them to the best of her ability. And if Kristine's grandpa could see her being three again in Beth while talking to me at the same time, that was reality for him. The rest of us may not be able to reconcile it, but it is the world as the clouds in their head can put together. I didn't understand it as a child. I hadn't developed that sort of empathy yet. I still don't know that I can say I understand it as an adult, but I certainly have a different capacity to roll with it and extend my sympathies. All we can do now is just try to make things as easy and comfortable for him in the meantime and worry about the rest as it comes. The rest is just too big and crushing to try to take on at once. It might be "when" for all of us, but God damn does it suck when that "when" is staring you in the face. Today, I am Larry Bird years old.* I'm slowly making my peace with getting older and accepting that my body is probably not going to do some things that it used to do, but that doesn't mean it's the easiest thing. *There are a few other options here (Scottie Pippen races to mind), but being from Indiana, I think I'm legally required to pick Larry Bird. Somebody recently told me I am "honestly [one] of the only people I know who have their shit together in regards to being an adult. I mean, I look up to you." And that honestly scared me to death. Let me be absolutely clear here: I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm pretty sure nobody else really does, either. To paraphrase maybe the most quotable movie ever, anyone that tells you different is selling something. I don't know what it looks like from the outside, but I'm just making all this up as I go along, and I'm not entirely sure I'm doing the best job. I'm not trying to get all "woe is me" about it. I have a pretty good life. For the most part, I like what I'm doing professionally and who I do it with. I love my family, and I think we generally run a pretty solid household. There's nothing awful in my life. But, I did make some choices that have now left me working pretty hard to undo and to break into some more fulfilling roles in my life. And I'm starting to come into some healthier terms understanding that my time is limited. It used to be a thought that would just stop me in tracks, often for several days at a time. And, just to be clear, it's still a thought I don't necessarily deal well with. But I'm able to at least push it away and keep functioning. I've also not been taking great physical care of myself over the past few years. Maybe really since I got back into working an office job. It's left me heavier than I've ever been, and it's starting to spawn new trouble. I constantly complain about having to wear insoles so I can continue to walk without pain. I think I've also developed some sleep apnea. Kristine tells me how awful my snoring as become and how I just stop breathing. I've also started having a lot of nightmares* and morning migraines. So, you know, that's great. I'm hoping getting some weight off will go a long way to fixing that. *Many of these nightmares seem to center around mortality as well. I wish I could have a real conversation with my brain and say "Look, I get it. I am dust and to dust I will return. I. Know. You're my brain, remember? You know what I know. Can't we just go back to having dreams about teeth falling out or completely forgetting about a college class?" There are a few things I think I've picked up along the way, though. First is to have courage. Unfortunately, I've mostly learned this one by not having it. I'm pretty good about speaking my mind and standing up for what I believe. I'm not shy about that. But to have the confidence and courage to do something for myself? That is . . . not as much of a strength. When I went to Wabash, I thought I was going to become a teacher. Then a combination of things pushed me away from it early on before thinking I should have gone through with it far too late. I had several people (one former Bachelor editor in particular) push me hard that I should do Teach for America. And they were right. I should have. That would have been a relatively quick-and-easy way to make up for my own indecision. But, I didn't. I didn't like not having complete control over where I would live and couldn't break out of that comfort zone. So I didn't, and instead kept struggling at jobs that barely kept me afloat and led to an awfully long bout of unemployment. All of that just to come to a point where I'm taking graduate classes to start plotting a path back into the classroom. I never had a real passion for IT. It's fun, it's a nice enough hobby. To make it my life's work, though? That was always foolish, and some part of me always knew that. There are several Disney movies that should have taught me this a long time ago, but, to steal a bit from Moana, when that voice inside you keeps telling you what you want to do, maybe it's worth listening. The next thing I learned about courage is to have confidence in what you've created. If you think you have a talent, share it. I'm still learning this, by the way. Rejection is hard, but it is just part of the game. I've written some stories and some books, but I've been too paralyzed by fear of rejection and finding out that maybe I'm not as good as I thought I was to try to sell it. I'm finally reaching a point to where I feel a responsibility to try to get my stuff professionally published, and I've gone through a few drafts of a book that I'm going to try to get there. It's not ready yet, and I haven't really had the time to polish it during this master's program. But that ends in December, so I'll be able to get back to it. It's taken me ten years of writing just to get to the point of feeling like I could possibly put myself out there to be rejected, though. I think about it now and think how much wasted time that was and wonder if I might gotten a break that could have meaningfully changed my life and career already. Don't spend that time wondering or being afraid. It isn't worth it. Find out, and if you find out bad news, just take it as an opportunity to grow and get better. Again, I'm still learning this. And the last thing is something I think we all know at some level, but nobody appreciates until it's too late. I'll say it anyway, but I know it won't do anybody any good, because this happens to generation to generation. Nobody ever appreciates it until it is over. Value your youth. That doesn't necessarily mean to appreciate all the things your body can do and all the free time youth affords you. That is important, but I think I even understood that to some level as a child. What I didn't quite understand is to value the opportunities youth gives us. Maybe this is a problem of modern technology, but I don't think that's the whole thing. In any case. I did not realize how lonely adult life would be, and (for lack of a better word) I am not alone in this. Back during childhood, all the way through college, there were always easy-to-join sports teams and clubs, and having similarly aged peers all geographically close to you always made it effortless to find somebody to connect with. It was never hard to go hang out at somebody's house or have them hang out at yours. If anything, as a kid, it could be difficult to find some moments alone. Then everybody dispersed into their own lives and their own timelines. Everybody has their own story to live, and so many of those connections are lost. I've written it several places, but I don't know if it's ever been in a public place before. There is absolutely no better way to put a pep in my step and change my whole outlook on a day than to spend a little bit of time talking to somebody who knew me when I was young. And, not only knew me, but knew our circumstances. Crossing paths from a classmate (or near-classmate, anyway) from Covington or Wabash just hits in a totally different way. There's a level of understanding there that other adult friends, as great as they are, just won't understand. But, you just can't live there forever. Childhood is like that. Innocence is like that. You cannot ever go back, and you cannot ever unknow or unexperience anything you pick up along the way. I lament that for myself sometimes, and I get to see it now from another level as a dad now. I get to see Beth's wild abandon because of her absolute trust in the world and the absolute lack of care of judgement. I want her to always keep that, but I know I'm powerless to stop it. It's something we all learn, for better and worse. I'm 33 now. I can't really tell you what that feels like, and I don't really know what that's supposed to feel like. I don't know that I ever really thought that hard about what my future would look like. I just figured I'd do my best and see where life takes me. If I don't fight against the current too much, I would just end up where I needed to go. I'm not sure if I believe that as much any more. Even if the times I've fought against the current didn't end up getting me much but a story and some bitterness, I think I've just learned better ways to struggle. And, well, that's not such a bad thing. I spent a lot of time dreading getting older and finding new ways to tell myself I'm not a full adult somehow. But, I think I'm done with that now. I'm still scared as hell of the end of the road, don't get me wrong. But this part of life? It's taken me a while, but maybe it's not quite as scary as I imagined it would be. I watched this video a little while back, and this game turns out to be a great metaphor for childhood. I'm not sure if that was the intention or not, but damn does it work. I would encourage you to give it a watch. |
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