The past couple of weeks have been rough. The summer is too long and weighs on us, pushes us down with both hands. I think we are all waiting some release. Me. Elise. The kids. Maybe especially the kids. While Elise and I just want quiet, a place that doesn't move or change for a few seconds, the children are filled with boundless, limitless energy and no channel through which to funnel it.
Most days I am happy to wait on them. They are my children and I depend on them for my survival as much as they depend on me for theirs, but there are days, more numerous now, where one more disagreement on overhead lighting or one more request for a sip of water exasperates me. Sometimes for no other reason than because I know Elise is more exasperated than I.
It is unfair of me to say that I am not looking forward to our trip back to the States when there are so many who are eager and excited to see us. But knowing I have a memorial service for my mom staring me down, trapping me as a pair of headlights captures a deer, hopefully suffices in some way as explanation.
Elise says it is a horrible idea to have waited, to have to dredge up all those emotions all over again. I agree with her.
Though I don't know what I could have done differently. Even though my mom was so sick for so long, and we all knew she would pass eventually, and we all began to know without doubt when the end was getting closer, I still seemed woefully unprepared to put together a funereal.
I know there were those who would have helped, but I had no idea where to start. It's not like I had ever planned a funereal before. I could have turned to my dad, but at the time, I wasn't sure what role he would have or should have. If any. My mom's complete shuttering of that part of her life and surgically-precise extraction of my father from her life made any dealings with him awkward at best, tortuous at worst.
Events where both my parents had to be present -- regardless of how joyful for me -- were always fractured in some way, because I would have to consciously split my time between them on opposite sides of a room, tent, or auditorium. Weddings, graduations, birthday parties were all bifurcated, cracked in half like a broken egg.
It seemed impossible them to plan a funereal. It still seems impossible.
I'm not looking forward to the trip.
When I share this with friends at work, I don't tell them the whole story. They assume it is because I have to visit my in-laws, and I acquiesce reluctantly, because that is the path of least resistance and gets me out of having to go into details. In reality, staying with in-laws is the only part of the trip I am looking forward to. There, I know I will get to go on long runs through wheat fields, go to Wolf Lodge for steak and trout, and drink good beer. But it is more than that, too.
Two weeks ago, I had been swamped at work and didn't plan anything for the weekend. Mostly because I didn't have time to, but also partly because I didn't really want to do anything. But weekends without plans -- while fine on paper -- are a disaster in actual practice. Forward momentum is the kids best friend. When we are on the move, things go well. When we try to be still is when things fall apart, when the bickering and fighting, the pinching and scratching and name-calling begins. I know my brothers and I weren't any better.
Mostly for that reason alone, last weekend, I arranged for them to go horseback riding. They had a blast, but the lesson was only forty five minutes. When we got home, around 10:00 in the morning, it took them only a few minutes to begin complaining about how bored they were. So, we organized a water balloon fight. It took us 45 minutes to fill the balloons and about 3 1/2 for them to pop them all, then we were right back where we started.
So, I let them watch TV.
I told Elise I was going to get my haircut and to Meat Masters to buy steak and sausage for the week's dinners. I got in the car and drive to get gas.
I pulled up at the gas station. I've been taking Arabic for almost a year now, two times a week, but I still don't know how to say "Full" or "95". Fortunately, even the gas station attendants in Amman speak English.
I turned out of the gas station and started back up the hill to Sweifieh, listening to music, and lost it. I almost had to pull over. The last time this happened I was driving through Ballston on the way back from picking up carry-out at Ravi Kabob.
We are standing in the shadow of this memorial service. All of us. Especially Elise who is the emotional sherpa for all five of us.
I was listening to Jose Gonzalez "Stay Alive" when the dam burst:
There’s a rhythm in rush these days
Where the lights don’t move and the colors don’t fade
Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams
In a world gone shallow
In a world gone lean
Sometimes there’s things a man cannot know
Gears won’t turn and the leaves won’t grow
There’s no place to run and no gasoline
Engine won’t turn
And the train won’t leave
Engines won’t turn and the train won’t leave
I will stay with you tonight
Hold you close ‘til the morning light
In the morning watch a new day rise
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
Well the way I feel is the way I write
It isn’t like the thoughts of the man who lies
There is a truth and it’s on our side
Dawn is coming
Open your eyes
Look into the sun as the new days rise
And I will wait for you tonight
You’re here forever and you’re by my side
I’ve been waiting all my life
To feel your heart as it’s keeping time
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
Dawn is coming
Open your eyes
Sometimes, as a middle-age man you feel like you are in the middle of an ocean with a sail and no breeze. The days you grew up behind you and the days you children are grown ahead of you, it can be easy to forget they are growing up right under your nose.
We'll do whatever just to stay alive.
We need this trip as much as this trip needs us.
Most days I am happy to wait on them. They are my children and I depend on them for my survival as much as they depend on me for theirs, but there are days, more numerous now, where one more disagreement on overhead lighting or one more request for a sip of water exasperates me. Sometimes for no other reason than because I know Elise is more exasperated than I.
It is unfair of me to say that I am not looking forward to our trip back to the States when there are so many who are eager and excited to see us. But knowing I have a memorial service for my mom staring me down, trapping me as a pair of headlights captures a deer, hopefully suffices in some way as explanation.
Elise says it is a horrible idea to have waited, to have to dredge up all those emotions all over again. I agree with her.
Though I don't know what I could have done differently. Even though my mom was so sick for so long, and we all knew she would pass eventually, and we all began to know without doubt when the end was getting closer, I still seemed woefully unprepared to put together a funereal.
I know there were those who would have helped, but I had no idea where to start. It's not like I had ever planned a funereal before. I could have turned to my dad, but at the time, I wasn't sure what role he would have or should have. If any. My mom's complete shuttering of that part of her life and surgically-precise extraction of my father from her life made any dealings with him awkward at best, tortuous at worst.
Events where both my parents had to be present -- regardless of how joyful for me -- were always fractured in some way, because I would have to consciously split my time between them on opposite sides of a room, tent, or auditorium. Weddings, graduations, birthday parties were all bifurcated, cracked in half like a broken egg.
It seemed impossible them to plan a funereal. It still seems impossible.
I'm not looking forward to the trip.
When I share this with friends at work, I don't tell them the whole story. They assume it is because I have to visit my in-laws, and I acquiesce reluctantly, because that is the path of least resistance and gets me out of having to go into details. In reality, staying with in-laws is the only part of the trip I am looking forward to. There, I know I will get to go on long runs through wheat fields, go to Wolf Lodge for steak and trout, and drink good beer. But it is more than that, too.
Two weeks ago, I had been swamped at work and didn't plan anything for the weekend. Mostly because I didn't have time to, but also partly because I didn't really want to do anything. But weekends without plans -- while fine on paper -- are a disaster in actual practice. Forward momentum is the kids best friend. When we are on the move, things go well. When we try to be still is when things fall apart, when the bickering and fighting, the pinching and scratching and name-calling begins. I know my brothers and I weren't any better.
Mostly for that reason alone, last weekend, I arranged for them to go horseback riding. They had a blast, but the lesson was only forty five minutes. When we got home, around 10:00 in the morning, it took them only a few minutes to begin complaining about how bored they were. So, we organized a water balloon fight. It took us 45 minutes to fill the balloons and about 3 1/2 for them to pop them all, then we were right back where we started.
So, I let them watch TV.
I told Elise I was going to get my haircut and to Meat Masters to buy steak and sausage for the week's dinners. I got in the car and drive to get gas.
I pulled up at the gas station. I've been taking Arabic for almost a year now, two times a week, but I still don't know how to say "Full" or "95". Fortunately, even the gas station attendants in Amman speak English.
I turned out of the gas station and started back up the hill to Sweifieh, listening to music, and lost it. I almost had to pull over. The last time this happened I was driving through Ballston on the way back from picking up carry-out at Ravi Kabob.
We are standing in the shadow of this memorial service. All of us. Especially Elise who is the emotional sherpa for all five of us.
I was listening to Jose Gonzalez "Stay Alive" when the dam burst:
There’s a rhythm in rush these days
Where the lights don’t move and the colors don’t fade
Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams
In a world gone shallow
In a world gone lean
Sometimes there’s things a man cannot know
Gears won’t turn and the leaves won’t grow
There’s no place to run and no gasoline
Engine won’t turn
And the train won’t leave
Engines won’t turn and the train won’t leave
I will stay with you tonight
Hold you close ‘til the morning light
In the morning watch a new day rise
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
Well the way I feel is the way I write
It isn’t like the thoughts of the man who lies
There is a truth and it’s on our side
Dawn is coming
Open your eyes
Look into the sun as the new days rise
And I will wait for you tonight
You’re here forever and you’re by my side
I’ve been waiting all my life
To feel your heart as it’s keeping time
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
Dawn is coming
Open your eyes
Sometimes, as a middle-age man you feel like you are in the middle of an ocean with a sail and no breeze. The days you grew up behind you and the days you children are grown ahead of you, it can be easy to forget they are growing up right under your nose.
We'll do whatever just to stay alive.
We need this trip as much as this trip needs us.
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