Tag: #Mourning

  • That Song Triggers That Memory

    I went grocery shopping this morning. It is one of the rare moments in my week where I can listen to music uninterrupted. I take the subway down to the Trader Joe’s on 93rd, and there is a little bit of a walk. Early in the morning, after the kids are in school, and people have left for work, there aren’t many folks on the street, so I can jam out to my music; I can get it.

    And as I was riding the subway home with my bags, my playlist randomly gave me “Bye Bye Love,” by The Cars. I have heard this song since forever, and its hints of unrequited love made it such a wonderful juxtaposition of a song, contrasting with its upbeat rock tempo.

    Not sure why, but I added it to a playlist in mid 2018, and listened to it quite heavily. In September 2018, I was visiting a friend from college and her husband in a rather cool Brooklyn apartment that was in a walkup building, and they had access to a rooftop garden. That kind’a cool apartment, you know? We were drinking, a lot, and started playing a game of finding videos and concerts on YouTube of songs we loved. I picked “Bye Bye Love,” from a club concerts The Cars played in 1979. I liked it, but not sure if it played well in the room.

    But the memory of what I was feeling in that moment is still attached with that song. I felt lonely, because my wife and daughter were 3,000 miles away in California. I felt paralyzed as I was supposed to be packing up our apartment for our move to California, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. I was about to start rehearsals for what would be the last show I worked on, which had me excited to see my friends who I love and I am amazed by. And I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom, as my mother had cancer, and I knew she wouldn’t recover.

    My college friend lost her father when she was younger, and I knew if there was a friend who could understand what I was feeling, it would be her. And I think of her as one of my close friends, but I couldn’t talk about it. I just lied. I said it was looking better, and we have to believe in hope, and all that stuff. But I didn’t mean it. I said the thing I thought was expected. I didn’t tell the truth.

    I don’t hate listening to “Bye Bye Love,” or The Cars. Sometimes that memory and feeling doesn’t settle over me when I hear it. Some days, I’m okay when I think of my mother’s passing. And then one day, I hear a song, and it all comes back to me while on a B train, heading uptown.

  • Still Dealing with the Emotions

    Today is the third anniversary of my mother’s death. It felt a little different this year. See, when I cross into October, I start to feel this change in me. I start to feel solemn and, well, just sad about everything. A blanket of sadness falls over me. I’m not upset, or angry, maybe melancholy is a better way to describe it.

    Now, I say it felt different this year because I don’t feel the weight of it on everything today. The past two years, I didn’t want to do anything, just be left alone. This year, I can function without being dragged down. I can think of my mother without feeling like I’m going to fall apart, and I can even think about the silly things she would say and do. That is different from last year. I think this day will always have a despondent feeling to it, and that’s okay.

    What I did think about today was how I knew she was going to die even though no one would say that she was dying. She was in the hospital and each day she was getting worse. Dad kept telling me that it wasn’t time to come home, that she could still improve. We all knew it wasn’t true, and I didn’t know what I should be doing.

    So, one day when I left work, and the office was in lower Manhattan, around Wall Street, I just started walking up Broadway listening to music. I walked through the Financial District, through the Civic Center, SOHO, The Village, to Union Square, to the Flatiron District, to Koreatown, the Garment District and stopped at Times Square. About two hours and three and a half miles. It was getting dark when I took the subway home.

    That was a helpless moment; walking and not wanting to get anyplace.

  • Memories of Apple Picking

    When the wife and I were dating, we never went apple picking. Around here, it’s an easy “Cute Date” you can have. You know, rent a car, go upstate, dress in flannel and sweaters, take lots of pictures that involve hugging while holding apples. We used to make fun of people who did it.

    Then time passed, we had a kid, and my parents came to visit one year in the Autumn, and as we were trying to think of things to do with them, we went apple picking. And it was fun. Holding a plastic bag, pulling apples off a tree, walking around eating them, and talking. Talking with my Mom while she held her granddaughters’ hand.

    When my parents came to visit, none of us had any idea that we had limited time left. I mean, you never really know that. You never know that, that goodbye, might just be the last goodbye. My Mom wanted to come back in the Autumn again, to apple pick, to look at the foliage. It just didn’t work out that way.

    And so, when Fall rolled around, we headed out to the farm, to pick the apples, like all the other people from the City. This year, we brought the dog, which was a nice change up. We got out the plastic bags, I put on my flannel, and the wife wore a sweater. We picked apples, and tasted them, and talked. And I took pictures, so, you know, we can keep the memories alive.

  • Personal Review: “Offside Constantly” by Camille Bordas

    (The short story “Offside Constantly” by Camille Bordas, was featured in the June 28th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    I have had a soft spot for stories that deal with grief, because I am still dealing with the grief of my mother’s passing. This affection explains why I was such an avid supporter of “WandaVision,” and still list it as one of the best TV shows of 2021, as it was a story about how even the best people can fall victim to, be consumed by, and ultimately, deny that they are in mourning. That once you start down that path, it is very difficult to get out of it. “Offside Constantly” is another story of a protagonist dealing with the effects of grief, and how to deal with those emotions.

    From the start, teenager Johanna is talking about death, or how people die. Her brother has recently passed, and she is dealing with a probable case of narcolepsy, but it cannot be confirmed because her mother won’t allow a spinal tap. We learn about Johanna’s obsession of getting her brother’s obituary listed in a magazine, and her attempts at helping another girl at school deal with her mental issues. Her mother comes across as caring, and her father is distant, but both seems to be handling their grief away from Johanna’s observations. When the climax of the story arrives, Johanna’s actions have changed though she explains that she hasn’t changed her mind.

    What I read was smartly written, but I would also categorize it as a “something-yet-nothing happens” story. Yes, clearly things happen; a plot was set forth, a climax occurred, and there was a resolution, but it felt like nothing happened. I think this was caused by the narration of Johanna, who never seemed too concerned for anything, other than a moment when her parents showed some affection towards each other, which upsets her, as she sees it as they are returning to “normal.” I understand that teenagers can be angsty and attempt to portray themselves as disinterred in everything, but this teenager talked like she was over 30, which left me feeling that the character lack authenticity. Grief can manifest in numerous different ways for each person. There isn’t one way to mourn, and we should allow people the breath of space to discover, or learn, what their new normal life will be as loss now accompanying them. I apricate that “Offside Constantly” took the time to look at the loss of a sibling, but I never could understand why Johanna wanted to share this with me, as I don’t think the story decided if her situation was dire, and needed to be corrected.

  • Personal Review: WandaVision (Spoilers!)

    (You are warned! SPOILERS AHEAD! And this is a long one.)

    So, I finished WandaVision last night, and nothing was ruined for me; No internet troll, no idiot fanboy friend, and no spoiler reveiling headline. I was able to watch, and enjoy what unfolded. Just like our ancestors of old.

    The first thing is that I am really surprised at how much I enjoyed WandaVision, as it made me look forward to Friday night. The group of people who put this together did a great job of keeping the story well paced, revealing this mystery piece by piece. I wasn’t sure at first, to be honest. The first two episodes moved slowly, but as the show progressed, it did feel like a runaway train, building speed, and you knew it was headed for a crash of a climax. I keep thinking that at some point I will get tired of superhero shows/movies, because Martin Scorsese is right; you know the good guy always wins, so there is nothing really at stake or in peril. Yeah…

    …But what I enjoyed most was that this was a superhero story about grief and mourning. I think when it comes to “big ‘splosion movies” like Hollywood makes, not a whole lot of time is given to the emotional toll that these trials and losses have on the characters. (I remember when Carrie Fisher said that Princess Leia was the strongest character in Star Wars because Leia was captured, tortured, watched her home planet get destroyed which killed her parents and family and friends, got in a shoot-out, still had time to empathize with Luke’s loss of Ben, and then went on to help lead the attack on the Death Star which caused her to, yet again, face imminent death. And through all of that, she never broke down. That’s an emotionally strong character.) When you think about Wanda, that character has been through too much grief; parents, brother, and her partner in Vision. How would a character with unlimited power deal with all of that death? As she went through the stages of grief, why wouldn’t she use her powers?

    Grief doesn’t make sense. As I watched this show, it made me think about how I have grieved for my mother. Clearly, if I could bring her back I would do it, but I know that will never happen. But I do sometimes find myself having the fleeting thought that I might still get a phone call or text from her. It’s a thought that enters my mind, only to be quickly dismissed by logic, but it lasts long enough for there to be a catch in my throat, and that sad sinking feeling in my stomach. My grief doesn’t stop me from functioning, because my kid makes me keep going, but my grief is always below the surface. It’s a sadness that always seems to be in the back of the room, just out of the corner of my eye. It holds me back from being very excited about anything, or opening myself up to any deeper emotions, or even the joy of looking forward to something.

    And that is the thing that WandaVision did for me. When I figured out this was a show about Wanda’s grief and how it had manifested itself, I didn’t run from it. Watching this show was admitting that it was going to bring up things in me that are still raw. Two and a half years after my mother’s death, I can talk about it, but I’m still not ready to feel that pain again. Watching Wanda and Vision say goodbye to their boys, that hurt. Watching Wanda and Vision say goodbye to each other, oh that hurt as well. But what hurt most was watching that red energy field contracting; the inevitable visual end, the looming death, that was moving toward them. That image for me was how my mother’s death felt. As she lay almost comatose in hospice, we all knew death was coming. We couldn’t stop it, and as every minute ticked by, we knew it was getting closer. I would have done anything to stop it. But I couldn’t. That hurts still.

    WandaVision ended up being something more than I thought it could be. What I thought would be a one note joke of being trapped in old TV shows, or a vehicle to set up “Phase 4” or “Phase 5,” actually was one of the better shows that I have seen a in long time. There was something at stake, and there was peril. Sure, that bad guy was defeated, but the grief survived. Grief can be a gift, as it does show us who and how deeply we truly loved, but if grief is not confronted, it can destroy us.