Hello, and thanks for returning for the thrilling conclusion of our tale of romance and heroism!
When we left off, it was Tuesday evening, Lee and I were assembling a car-top carrier, and I was slowly becoming convinced that we were never actually going to leave North Carolina. I even began to entertain the idea that, perhaps, I was trapped in some sort of Groundhog Day scenario.
Once we finished constructing the luggage carrier and had it mounted to the top of Lee's car, we were finally able to start packing boxes into the backseat and trunk. As we carried the first few boxes to the car at 10pm on Tuesday night, I reflected on the heady days of my youth, when with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes I had believed with all my heart that we would be leaving early Tuesday morning. At this point I was merely a shadow of my former self, and I knew that this never-ending bullshittery had irrevocably aged me.
At some point Lee noticed that my spirit had dimmed. Maybe it was because I went nearly an hour without speaking, trudging wordlessly up and down the hall, in and out of the elevator, watching silently while Lee unloaded cart after cart of boxes. Around 2:30 in the morning he suggested that I go home and get some sleep while he finished up the packing, so that at least one of us would be well-rested when we hit the road early that morning. I grudgingly agreed to let him work on into the night while I slept peacefully in my pillowy soft queen-sized bed. I vaguely remember being awakened at about 4:30 in the morning to let Lee into my apartment so he could sleep, too. But after that, I happily snuggled back down into the covers, whisked away by blissful dreams of hitting the open road at last.
Wednesday morning.
If I remember correctly, the first thing Lee said to me was, "You're gonna be so mad when you see the apartment." Apparently, he had packed all he could into the car and there were still boxes left. Like, 10 of them. That morning we stood in his apartment and gaped with despair at the remaining boxes. I was pretty sure Lee was going to cry. I, on the other hand, had long ago transcended human emotions and calmly accepted the fact that I had obviously done something terrible for which I was being severely punished. We made some half-hearted stabs at problem-solving as we felt our planned departure time slipping painfully out of our grasp. There was nothing else to do, nowhere else to put the rest of the boxes.
Defeated, Lee called his mom and brother and asked them to drive out and take the last of the boxes to be stored at their house. Earlier that morning, before I had realized how truly screwed we were, I had demanded that we forgo breakfast until we were on the road. Now, with nothing do but wait for backup, we decided to go to Bob Evans and eat our pain.
There we sat, haggard and unwashed and out of place amongst the other diners, who all lived happy, carefree lives where all their things were unboxed and they weren't endlessly preparing for cross-country moves that never actually happened. It was at that point that I think Lee and I both realized that the experience had reached a critical level of awful which transcended time and space. Neither of us could remember a time when we hadn't been side by side, cleaning and packing and carrying boxes. The fact that we hadn't yet died or killed each other meant that we were bonded for life, like every pair of romantic interests in every disaster movie ever. The only appropriate response to surviving a trauma like that together is to make sweet, grimy love. But we were tired, and in a restaurant, so instead we ate pancakes and eggs.
When the cavalry finally arrived, Lee took his mom upstairs "to look around" and she didn't come back down for three hours. It was my job to guard the van while Lee and his brother carried down boxes. Every once in awhile I received a report that the apartment was almost empty, or that Lee's mom was dusting the baseboards. After half an hour, I got wise and called my mom to entertain me while I waited.
Around 4pm, the apartment was empty, the cars were full, and the keys were turned in. Three days before I might have felt a little sentimental about the end of an era, but at this point it took all the self-restraint I could muster not to set the whole building on fire and ride away on a motorcycle. Lee was determined to start heading toward Texas that night, but since I had moved onto the acceptance phase of the grieving process I was able to convince him that maybe staying at his parents' house and then getting up and driving in the morning (after showers!) would be a more pleasant option. So we drove to Charlotte, ate the last North Carolina barbecue Lee will have for awhile, and passed the hell out.
Thursday morning.
The sun bloomed majestically in the east and pointed its golden fronds toward our destination. After some coffee (and a few photo ops for Lee's mom), we set out like the Joads, Clampetts, and Bundrens before us, on a journey to far-distant lands that no one ever wanted to go to in the first place. We drove for 14 hours on Thursday, slept in Baton Rouge, and drove another 6 hours on Friday. I was in Texas long enough to enjoy an impressive rain storm and a few delicious meals cooked by Lee's talented aunt before I flew out early Sunday morning.
So, to summarize...
My plan: Pack Monday. Leave early Tuesday, drive all day Tuesday and Wednesday, spend three days together in Texas, fly home Sunday.
Vs.
Reality: Pack Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Leave Wednesday evening and drive 2 hours to Charlotte. Leave early Thursday, drive all day Thursday and Friday. Spend a day and a half together in Texas, fly home Sunday.
If I ever agree to help anyone move ever again, I better be getting a technicolor triceratops with wings at the end of it.
Seriously, though? The whole process was about as painless and enjoyable as it could have been, given the circumstances, and I wouldn't have wanted to go through it for anyone else's sake. And even though I miss him terribly, I'm so proud of and excited for that kid.
Showing posts with label traumatic experiences. Show all posts
Showing posts with label traumatic experiences. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Monday, November 2, 2009
A Different Kind of Death
(Before anyone gets too alarmed, I should say that I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and it doesn't really accurately reflect my current feelings, but I'm posting it now because I have serious writer's block and I don't have anything else interesting to share. Enjoy my melodramatic ramblings!)
Sometimes when someone dies, it's kind of OK. People say things like, "At least now her suffering is over" or "He's finally gone on to a better place." I think a little bit of what people feel in those situations is relief. When you wait so long for the end, the waiting can become more scary than the death. When it finally comes, it feels like you're reliving something that's already happened, because in a way, you are. Part of your mind has been running over and over the possibility of death for days, or weeks, or even months, already. Even though it hurts, it's nice to let that part of yourself collapse and rest at last, secure in the knowledge that the worst has finally happened. You can give yourself permission to move on, to start rebuilding. Things can only get better from there.
On the other hand, some deaths come on like a tsunami, like an Escalade merging into your living room. Those are the ones that leave people slack-jawed and wide-eyed, exclaiming in disbelief about how young and healthy the deceased was, as if the fact will somehow undo reality. I've never lived through something like that, but I've been close to people who experienced it, and I can imagine it. I can imagine how the knowledge of your loss sinks in slowly, one mundane moment at a time, and you find yourself thinking inane thoughts like, He'll never make fun of my movie choices again. He'll never drink another milkshake. He'll never tell another terrible joke. After enough of those tiny epiphanies build up, maybe the force of it finally hits you, like the sonic boom that comes after a jet passes overhead - an echo more powerful than the event itself. That's the scary time. That's the time to fear. When the concept passes from being abstract and curious and instead becomes viscerally, horrifyingly real.
Obviously, losing someone to death is more painful than losing them in other ways. But losing someone, even in a divorce or a break-up or because they moved to a distant island with no phone or internet, always involves a grieving process. The dissolution of a relationship can fall along the same scale as death: from an end that was long-expected and practically a relief, to one that feels painfully premature. An example of the former would be the relationship I was in before I was with Lee. By the time it was over, I was relieved that he had finally crossed a line that made it impossible for me to make any more excuses for him, that at last I could move forward and look for something as good as I deserved. We had sucked every bit of the marrow out of that relationship, and then beaten the shit out of each other with the bones. On the other hand, with Lee I feel like the end came too soon. Maybe it's better to end a relationship before you're thoroughly broken down and disgusted with each other, but I hate the feeling that there was still... more, is the only word I can think of. But that's just how I feel. Maybe while I'm mourning the loss of a young marathon runner, struck down in the prime of his life, Lee feels more like he's finally said goodbye to his 90-year-old grandmother after a long battle with Extremely Painful and Drawn-Out Disease.
I wonder if it's really always more difficult to lose someone to death. After death, a person lives on primarily in your memory. If you like, you're free to mold that memory into whatever is most comforting to you. You can talk to the person, pray to them, imagine that they look down upon you benevolently, that they're proud of you. You can believe that every painful word that ever passed between you is forgiven, that they would still be here with you if they could, and that wherever they are, they are thinking of you with affection. But when a relationship ends, well. In that case, reality is what it is. You don't have the same luxury of converting your memory of that person into some abstract spiritual idea. In that case, the ghost carries on, with infinite potential to stymie any attempts at establishing meaning or closure. If you're like me, constantly in search of The Absolute Set-in-Stone Truth, that could potentially drive you insane. Sure, you can tell yourself comforting things, but how do you know?? It's so easy to torture yourself with split-screen visions of painfully incongruous images: you, feeling miserable while your ex-boyfriend has an enthusiastic threesome with two Scandinavian models. Or you, drinking cheap beer alone while your ex-girlfriend is happily riding a tandem bike with a devastatingly handsome rugby player. It may be unlikely, but it's not entirely impossible. You seldom have to worry about those kinds of things when someone dies.
The scariest part is wondering how long it will be before the grieving process is over and the experience goes from being "the most traumatic thing that's happened to me recently" to being "one of the many life experiences that has proven my ability to overcome adversity and which has also put me on the path to meeting my extremely handsome and successful Doctor-Lawyer-Revolutionary husband." They say that it takes half the time you were with someone to completely get over them, which means I have roughly a year to go before I'm completely in the clear. Worse than that, it also means that I really only JUST finished getting over my LAST boyfriend. And really, when you put it that way, the bottom line is this:
Fuck.
Sometimes when someone dies, it's kind of OK. People say things like, "At least now her suffering is over" or "He's finally gone on to a better place." I think a little bit of what people feel in those situations is relief. When you wait so long for the end, the waiting can become more scary than the death. When it finally comes, it feels like you're reliving something that's already happened, because in a way, you are. Part of your mind has been running over and over the possibility of death for days, or weeks, or even months, already. Even though it hurts, it's nice to let that part of yourself collapse and rest at last, secure in the knowledge that the worst has finally happened. You can give yourself permission to move on, to start rebuilding. Things can only get better from there.
On the other hand, some deaths come on like a tsunami, like an Escalade merging into your living room. Those are the ones that leave people slack-jawed and wide-eyed, exclaiming in disbelief about how young and healthy the deceased was, as if the fact will somehow undo reality. I've never lived through something like that, but I've been close to people who experienced it, and I can imagine it. I can imagine how the knowledge of your loss sinks in slowly, one mundane moment at a time, and you find yourself thinking inane thoughts like, He'll never make fun of my movie choices again. He'll never drink another milkshake. He'll never tell another terrible joke. After enough of those tiny epiphanies build up, maybe the force of it finally hits you, like the sonic boom that comes after a jet passes overhead - an echo more powerful than the event itself. That's the scary time. That's the time to fear. When the concept passes from being abstract and curious and instead becomes viscerally, horrifyingly real.
Obviously, losing someone to death is more painful than losing them in other ways. But losing someone, even in a divorce or a break-up or because they moved to a distant island with no phone or internet, always involves a grieving process. The dissolution of a relationship can fall along the same scale as death: from an end that was long-expected and practically a relief, to one that feels painfully premature. An example of the former would be the relationship I was in before I was with Lee. By the time it was over, I was relieved that he had finally crossed a line that made it impossible for me to make any more excuses for him, that at last I could move forward and look for something as good as I deserved. We had sucked every bit of the marrow out of that relationship, and then beaten the shit out of each other with the bones. On the other hand, with Lee I feel like the end came too soon. Maybe it's better to end a relationship before you're thoroughly broken down and disgusted with each other, but I hate the feeling that there was still... more, is the only word I can think of. But that's just how I feel. Maybe while I'm mourning the loss of a young marathon runner, struck down in the prime of his life, Lee feels more like he's finally said goodbye to his 90-year-old grandmother after a long battle with Extremely Painful and Drawn-Out Disease.
I wonder if it's really always more difficult to lose someone to death. After death, a person lives on primarily in your memory. If you like, you're free to mold that memory into whatever is most comforting to you. You can talk to the person, pray to them, imagine that they look down upon you benevolently, that they're proud of you. You can believe that every painful word that ever passed between you is forgiven, that they would still be here with you if they could, and that wherever they are, they are thinking of you with affection. But when a relationship ends, well. In that case, reality is what it is. You don't have the same luxury of converting your memory of that person into some abstract spiritual idea. In that case, the ghost carries on, with infinite potential to stymie any attempts at establishing meaning or closure. If you're like me, constantly in search of The Absolute Set-in-Stone Truth, that could potentially drive you insane. Sure, you can tell yourself comforting things, but how do you know?? It's so easy to torture yourself with split-screen visions of painfully incongruous images: you, feeling miserable while your ex-boyfriend has an enthusiastic threesome with two Scandinavian models. Or you, drinking cheap beer alone while your ex-girlfriend is happily riding a tandem bike with a devastatingly handsome rugby player. It may be unlikely, but it's not entirely impossible. You seldom have to worry about those kinds of things when someone dies.
The scariest part is wondering how long it will be before the grieving process is over and the experience goes from being "the most traumatic thing that's happened to me recently" to being "one of the many life experiences that has proven my ability to overcome adversity and which has also put me on the path to meeting my extremely handsome and successful Doctor-Lawyer-Revolutionary husband." They say that it takes half the time you were with someone to completely get over them, which means I have roughly a year to go before I'm completely in the clear. Worse than that, it also means that I really only JUST finished getting over my LAST boyfriend. And really, when you put it that way, the bottom line is this:
Fuck.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Ow, It Hurts
Saturday I drove from Winston-Salem to Greensboro (this means nothing to you if you don't live in NC, but the two cities are about 45 minutes apart), and while I was in Greensboro I discovered that the clutch on my car, it was no more. So, I drove the last three blocks to my destination at the mellow speed of 25 mph, parked, and went about the business of handling things. "Handling things," in case you're wondering, involves some or all of the following: calling your boyfriend, snapping at him for no reason, calling your parents, crying to your dad, getting passed off to your mom, sucking it up and calling AAA, finding out your clutch needs to be replaced and that this will cost $1,000.00. Let me just repeat that last part: ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. One G. One zero zero zero. TOO MUCH MONEY. Which I paid this morning when I went to pick up my car (actually $1,034.66, but who's counting?).
Luckily, I had the money in the bank, but that is hardly the point here. As a money-hating dirty hippie I should probably be glad to have it out of my life, to have $1000 less hanging over my head, pressuring me into selling out and being all commercial and forgetting what's really important in life. (Although to be fair, I think I already sold out last month when I went to Target on three separate occasions and spent... well... too much money.) But you know what I like even more than I like preaching about how materialism is not the answer? I like security. And safety. And having a bunch of money in my savings account. And I am feeling $1000 less secure today, by golly.
But what can you do? I think part of the reason it hurts me so much (right here, in my heart) is because it makes me think about all the people who have recently lost their jobs, or who can't/won't save money for occasions like these, who would be totally screwed if this had happened to them. Because honestly, I don't make a huge amount of money, and if I weren't so compulsive about saving, and if I just lived paycheck to paycheck like so many people do, I would kind of be in serious trouble right now. It's like when you're driving down the road and your attention kind of wanders and then all of a sudden you realize your drifting toward oncoming traffic, or a mailbox, and you turn the wheel at the last possible moment and even though you're completely fine, your heart is still kind of pounding, and all you can think is, there but for the grace of God go I.
Or maybe this is just the neurotic voices talking. Your call.
Luckily, I had the money in the bank, but that is hardly the point here. As a money-hating dirty hippie I should probably be glad to have it out of my life, to have $1000 less hanging over my head, pressuring me into selling out and being all commercial and forgetting what's really important in life. (Although to be fair, I think I already sold out last month when I went to Target on three separate occasions and spent... well... too much money.) But you know what I like even more than I like preaching about how materialism is not the answer? I like security. And safety. And having a bunch of money in my savings account. And I am feeling $1000 less secure today, by golly.
But what can you do? I think part of the reason it hurts me so much (right here, in my heart) is because it makes me think about all the people who have recently lost their jobs, or who can't/won't save money for occasions like these, who would be totally screwed if this had happened to them. Because honestly, I don't make a huge amount of money, and if I weren't so compulsive about saving, and if I just lived paycheck to paycheck like so many people do, I would kind of be in serious trouble right now. It's like when you're driving down the road and your attention kind of wanders and then all of a sudden you realize your drifting toward oncoming traffic, or a mailbox, and you turn the wheel at the last possible moment and even though you're completely fine, your heart is still kind of pounding, and all you can think is, there but for the grace of God go I.
Or maybe this is just the neurotic voices talking. Your call.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
PTSD at the DMV
Disclaimer: You may have to forgive the quality of my posts for the next few days, since I'll be at the Very Important Grown-Up Big People Conference. It's going to be difficult to maintain the extremely high level of quality that I've established here, but I'll at least keep posting, by God.
Last week I had to go to the DMV to get a new license, in order to replace the one that was stolen last month. As anyone familiar with Dane Cook's early work knows, everyone sitting and waiting in the DMV is thinking the same thing: AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH!!! (Since we're all tired of seeing Dane Cook's face at this point, I'll move along quickly.) Actually, I was in a pretty good mood for someone who had to sit in a cramped waiting room for an hour, only to have to fork over $10 to replace something that was RIPPED FROM MY POSSESSION IN COLD BLOOD. I think this is because I had dedicated myself to a zen attitude about the whole thing before I even stepped in the building. I would have pulled it off, too, if it hadn't been for the damn DMV propaganda video that was playing on a loop in the waiting room.
Prominently placed in the middle of the tiny, crowded waiting room was a TV with a built-in VCR. Over and over and over it played a video about how important it was to pay attention and abide by the rules of the road while driving in a Work Zone. It was mostly annoying, in an extremely chipper sort of way, until it reached a certain point in the middle and suddenly turned all Lifetime Movie. Imagine, if you will...
A young girl, in her early 20s, is driving down the highway in an extremely irresponsible fashion. Irresponsible as in, talking on her cell phone, applying make up, and fiddling with the radio stations. Irresponsible as in, the only irresponsible things they didn't show her doing were waxing her eyebrows, bonging a beer, and/or snorting coke off the steering wheel column. And I think they probably would have gone with those things too, just to get the point across, but they didn't want to give anybody any good ideas. While she's doing all this, we are treated with a meaningful close-up of a sign warning that there is a Work Zone ahead.
Suddenly she looks up surprised, and says, "Oh no!" First, we see her car strike an orange barrel (rather slowly), and then HER CAR HITS A ROAD WORKER. I cannot stress this enough. Her CAR hits a PERSON. I know that we see violence on television all the time, but I did not expect to be confronted with this in the freaking DMV. I may have gasped the first time I saw it. Oh, but it doesn't stop there. Suddenly, everything is in black and white, and we see the worker hit the ground and a puddle of blood seeps out from under his head. The camera zooms in, weirdly, on the worker's eye. His dead, sightless eye.
Cut to Irresponsible Moron, who is freaking the hell out. A state trooper comes up and calmly explains the situation to her, while she hysterically cries. She claws at her face, she asks to call her mother, she asks what will happen to her, is the man dead?? Then we get to see a montage of pictures of the girl, in her prom dress, in her cap and gown, in her tennis uniform. Can't you see how her life has been changed by this terrible turn of events?!?
Suddenly, you're looking at a mother and her 2 children playing in their front yard. The mother is gardening, the children are tossing a football back and forth (in a really awkward, under-hand way, I might add). If you're like me, this will be the point at which you realize that your jaw has been hanging open ever since that poor guy's head blood spread across the pavement two paragraphs ago, and you think, "Ah, thank God that is over, now I can relax." You are so wrong. The voiceover tells us that this family loves to play outdoors, which is one reason their Head of Household chose his current job - as aROAD WORKER. Oh shit. Suddenly, 2 state troopers show up to tell this poor family that their husband and father was involved in an accident and he DIED. There is much weeping and gnashing of teeth. I think I teared up a little, crammed where I was on one of those little bucket seats between a large black man and an elderly white woman.
I think it's safe to say that none of us is expecting to go through an emotional roller coaster like this when we go into the DMV. It is a scientific fact that any time spent at the DMV is time taken off the end of your life. But we have no idea what additional damage is done by having to watch 5 minutes of pure melodramatic hell while sitting in the DMV.
But that's not all, people. Because I was sitting in that room for at least 45 minutes, with nothing to look at but that damn TV, I watched this video at least SIX TIMES before my brain just completely disengaged. So thanks a lot, North Carolina Department of Transportation. If your goal was to make me more aware of the dangers we all face when driving in Work Zones, then consider that mission accomplished. I know that the next time I drive through a Work Zone I will be more vigilant than ever before. And I'm sure that, with time, the sweating and trembling will subside.
Last week I had to go to the DMV to get a new license, in order to replace the one that was stolen last month. As anyone familiar with Dane Cook's early work knows, everyone sitting and waiting in the DMV is thinking the same thing: AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH!!! (Since we're all tired of seeing Dane Cook's face at this point, I'll move along quickly.) Actually, I was in a pretty good mood for someone who had to sit in a cramped waiting room for an hour, only to have to fork over $10 to replace something that was RIPPED FROM MY POSSESSION IN COLD BLOOD. I think this is because I had dedicated myself to a zen attitude about the whole thing before I even stepped in the building. I would have pulled it off, too, if it hadn't been for the damn DMV propaganda video that was playing on a loop in the waiting room.
Prominently placed in the middle of the tiny, crowded waiting room was a TV with a built-in VCR. Over and over and over it played a video about how important it was to pay attention and abide by the rules of the road while driving in a Work Zone. It was mostly annoying, in an extremely chipper sort of way, until it reached a certain point in the middle and suddenly turned all Lifetime Movie. Imagine, if you will...
A young girl, in her early 20s, is driving down the highway in an extremely irresponsible fashion. Irresponsible as in, talking on her cell phone, applying make up, and fiddling with the radio stations. Irresponsible as in, the only irresponsible things they didn't show her doing were waxing her eyebrows, bonging a beer, and/or snorting coke off the steering wheel column. And I think they probably would have gone with those things too, just to get the point across, but they didn't want to give anybody any good ideas. While she's doing all this, we are treated with a meaningful close-up of a sign warning that there is a Work Zone ahead.
Suddenly she looks up surprised, and says, "Oh no!" First, we see her car strike an orange barrel (rather slowly), and then HER CAR HITS A ROAD WORKER. I cannot stress this enough. Her CAR hits a PERSON. I know that we see violence on television all the time, but I did not expect to be confronted with this in the freaking DMV. I may have gasped the first time I saw it. Oh, but it doesn't stop there. Suddenly, everything is in black and white, and we see the worker hit the ground and a puddle of blood seeps out from under his head. The camera zooms in, weirdly, on the worker's eye. His dead, sightless eye.
Cut to Irresponsible Moron, who is freaking the hell out. A state trooper comes up and calmly explains the situation to her, while she hysterically cries. She claws at her face, she asks to call her mother, she asks what will happen to her, is the man dead?? Then we get to see a montage of pictures of the girl, in her prom dress, in her cap and gown, in her tennis uniform. Can't you see how her life has been changed by this terrible turn of events?!?
Suddenly, you're looking at a mother and her 2 children playing in their front yard. The mother is gardening, the children are tossing a football back and forth (in a really awkward, under-hand way, I might add). If you're like me, this will be the point at which you realize that your jaw has been hanging open ever since that poor guy's head blood spread across the pavement two paragraphs ago, and you think, "Ah, thank God that is over, now I can relax." You are so wrong. The voiceover tells us that this family loves to play outdoors, which is one reason their Head of Household chose his current job - as aROAD WORKER. Oh shit. Suddenly, 2 state troopers show up to tell this poor family that their husband and father was involved in an accident and he DIED. There is much weeping and gnashing of teeth. I think I teared up a little, crammed where I was on one of those little bucket seats between a large black man and an elderly white woman.
I think it's safe to say that none of us is expecting to go through an emotional roller coaster like this when we go into the DMV. It is a scientific fact that any time spent at the DMV is time taken off the end of your life. But we have no idea what additional damage is done by having to watch 5 minutes of pure melodramatic hell while sitting in the DMV.
But that's not all, people. Because I was sitting in that room for at least 45 minutes, with nothing to look at but that damn TV, I watched this video at least SIX TIMES before my brain just completely disengaged. So thanks a lot, North Carolina Department of Transportation. If your goal was to make me more aware of the dangers we all face when driving in Work Zones, then consider that mission accomplished. I know that the next time I drive through a Work Zone I will be more vigilant than ever before. And I'm sure that, with time, the sweating and trembling will subside.
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