Good Mourning
My last entry was posted on his 10-year anniversary. 10 years! It seems like a long time, and so significant. So important, yet this was the first year I forgot. I didn't call anyone to see if they were thinking about him, too. Just to check in to make sure everyone was okay, like I usually would. I forgot, completely. Usually, the date looms and I start to feel a bit crazy. Remembering that day with such clarity, it almost feels as if no time at all has passed. I give myself the okay to act out, to act the way I feel... a little bit crazy. Crazy with memories, loss, nostalgia. This year, I still went crazy, but didn't know why. I was actually having a GREAT time.
I went out and got drunk. Drunker than I've been in a long time. I'm a casual drinker and I can have a beer and call it a night. Sometimes, though, the wine goes down too easily. I start talking loudly and laughing and probably end up with a few purple stains on whatever I am wearing. Good times. Times when you know you should stop, but you're just having too much fun and don't want the fun to end with the last sip from your glass. So fill it up again, and let the fun continue.
I was on my way from the party to a friend's house, late. Going to see his newborn baby girl, knowing it was inappropriate that I was drunk, but not caring. My husband was there and I was going to pick him up. I had a message from my mother, so on the bus ride uptown (I never take the bus... another sign of just how drunk I was!), I returned her call. I was the annoying woman talking too loudly on the cell phone about completely inappropriate things. That is the word to sum up my behavior when I drink: inappropriate. Anyway, talking to my mother about ovulation cycles and whatever, when she brings up the anniversary.
GASP! I forgot, I say, and I start to cry. She comforts me and tells me it's okay, that it's a good thing. That it doesn't mean that I've forgotten him, but just that I'm maybe moving on a bit. That it's significant that this would happen at the 10 year mark. That it's okay. But to me, it wasn't. I should have called her. Called my grandmother, my sister, my brother. I should have mentioned it to my husband. But I forgot. Simply forgot.
I spent a long teary-eyed evening after that, trying to get other people to tell me it's okay. When I should have been celebrating the birth of their baby, I was instead mourning for my own loss so many years ago. Sometimes I hate myself for the things I do, the way I act. Deep down, I know it is okay, and I don't want to spend my life counting the years that my father has been dead, but I also want to keep the clarity of the memories that I have of him alive. Next year, perhaps a quiet walk outside, sober, alone with my thoughts. Appropriate.
I went out and got drunk. Drunker than I've been in a long time. I'm a casual drinker and I can have a beer and call it a night. Sometimes, though, the wine goes down too easily. I start talking loudly and laughing and probably end up with a few purple stains on whatever I am wearing. Good times. Times when you know you should stop, but you're just having too much fun and don't want the fun to end with the last sip from your glass. So fill it up again, and let the fun continue.
I was on my way from the party to a friend's house, late. Going to see his newborn baby girl, knowing it was inappropriate that I was drunk, but not caring. My husband was there and I was going to pick him up. I had a message from my mother, so on the bus ride uptown (I never take the bus... another sign of just how drunk I was!), I returned her call. I was the annoying woman talking too loudly on the cell phone about completely inappropriate things. That is the word to sum up my behavior when I drink: inappropriate. Anyway, talking to my mother about ovulation cycles and whatever, when she brings up the anniversary.
GASP! I forgot, I say, and I start to cry. She comforts me and tells me it's okay, that it's a good thing. That it doesn't mean that I've forgotten him, but just that I'm maybe moving on a bit. That it's significant that this would happen at the 10 year mark. That it's okay. But to me, it wasn't. I should have called her. Called my grandmother, my sister, my brother. I should have mentioned it to my husband. But I forgot. Simply forgot.
I spent a long teary-eyed evening after that, trying to get other people to tell me it's okay. When I should have been celebrating the birth of their baby, I was instead mourning for my own loss so many years ago. Sometimes I hate myself for the things I do, the way I act. Deep down, I know it is okay, and I don't want to spend my life counting the years that my father has been dead, but I also want to keep the clarity of the memories that I have of him alive. Next year, perhaps a quiet walk outside, sober, alone with my thoughts. Appropriate.
posted by Tracy at 7:00 AM
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