I’ve been staring down the meaning of the word ‘alone’ for longer than i’d care to admit. If we’re talking words and phrases, i’ve gone ahead and categorized the term “love of my life” for use in the past tense.
At least, that’s how it’s been used around me.
When I saw my dad’s body, it just looked like he was asleep. It never occurred to me that someone had put him like that before I got there.
Late…I got there late. It’s been like, ten years and I still wonder if I would have made it on time if I had just focused on the road instead of talking on the phone during the drive. but maybe I should be thankful that my meandering gave them enough time to close his eyes and get a blanket. Set the scene to look like he was napping. He was laid up on that same gray couch you could find him falling asleep on in the middle of some too-loud movie late at night.
I always got annoyed at the sound of the tv, coming out of my room to complain, only to find him there snoring. Maybe I’m repainting memories for comfort with colors of familiarity, but it seems like the only difference dead was a lack of sound.
How many times had I asked my dad to turn it down?
Action movies with car crashes and shoot outs. Late night talk shows. The show ‘Cheaters’. Inevitable snoring.
Finding him back on that couch, everything was silent.
But silence has a sound, too, if you listen hard enough.
It was different with my Grandma, like a scene from an a24 film. Very Ari Aster. On the floor, mouth open, eyes wide You couldn’t call her laid, it was more like sprawled.
Happy Thanksgiving.
No one bothered to set that scene unless the scene was from a low budget horror film. It’s probably my fault that I got so scared, having spent decades devoted to the genre. Old people are always such a staple for cheap jump scares.
and I guess I’ve just never seen someone look like that before…so…not alive.
It only just occurred to me that it was probably my job to do the arranging for everyone else. Bring the blanket. Close the eyes.
As usual, I found myself totally unfit for the job. I don’t know what job I’m fit for. But I don’t think it’s anything in the mortuary arts.
Instead, I shut the door.
I’ve never been good at shutting doors, always leaving them open incase I want to retrace my steps and relive my past. but not this time.
This time I didn’t think twice, I just shut it.
The steps were left to be traced (and retraced) by my grandfather.
He discovered her dead, only to forget and go looking for her in the morning.
He spent the next few days mentally pacing the house trying to find her, always and unfortunately finding her yet again… dead.
He retraced years with his little old man slippered steps.
In one room and out the other.
Imagine having to continuously deliver the news that someone’s wife of like, 60 years is dead. The lamentation of losing the love of his life never gets old for him.
He doesn’t remember we’ve already done this song and dance but I do.
Once, twice, I’ve lost count. He sings, he dances, I watch, ever the unwilling audience. That’s what I meant by ‘love of my life’ being past tense.
He rewinds his memory like an old mix tape and presses play at a moment that is less traumatic – I have to admit, it’s not the worst plan.
I’d probably rewind my own if I could. There’s no need to remember a few of the things I’ve got going on up there - they wrote eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for a reason.
Unfortunately for him, he seems absolutely terrified to be forgetting. It’s understandable but when it hurts to remember, wouldn’t you be more grateful to forget?
I say that fully aware that I, too, would be up pacing the house looking.
In one room and out the other with slippered steps.
But what would I even be looking for?
Quiet has a sound.
And It’s louder than you’d expect.
Enhance your reading experience with today’s Blog pairing menu:
Catchy Tune: I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus