Just your standard philosophical relapse during bath time.
The other night during your bath I was smacked with a horribly sad (and obvious) realization.
Dear L,
During your bath the other night, there was a special moment of quiet shared by all three of us. You were playing with your toys in the tub while Mumma and I watched on like two proud, sleepy zombies.
Instead of simply archiving this moment as a happy memory, my mind drifted to a sad place. It dawned on me that in the absolute best-case scenario, you’re supposed to die an old woman without us by your side. Life’s SOP tells us that our parents should be out of the picture 30-40-50(?) years before we pass (and I hope it plays out that way for you, don’t get me wrong).
But this idea that we intentionally brought you here only to leave you hanging seems like such a mean and terrible design flaw. Who will care for you when your time comes? What will your world look like?
I’ve been chewing on this thought for months. Nobody will love you like we do; a parent’s love is a such a unique, underrated power. Before you were conceived, Mumma and I read each other letters about this journey we’d be taking as parents. Just so we’re clear, we had a lot of sex before making you (I mean not porn star levels of sex, like normal couple levels I guess), but this would be our first intentional reproductive sex (sans condoms). Sorry, I know this is TMI, but I secretly love sharing this stuff. In my letter to Mumma I wrote something or other about my willingness to sacrifice my life for our future children in the unfortunate event such a scenario would occur. Not to lord this over you, but that promise still stands, and I don’t say it to sound cool, I say it because it’s terrifyingly true.
My only opinion about the whole ‘us leaving you hanging’ thing, is that we have no other choice but to 1) accept Life’s architectural flaw as the best of the possible flaws available. And if we’re willing to accept this flaw, by default we have to accept the inherent sadness and irrationality of it all (this is going to turn positive in a second, just stay with me) which unlocks another level of understanding that 2) the way we accept it all without being crushed into oblivion is to speak, write, share, laugh, cry, and emote what is worth speaking, writing, laughing, crying, and emoting.
I can feel you sighing. But I think these are the actions that build resilience, independence, and perseverance… and probably some other cool words that end in nce (I’m truly sorry for how shit these early essays are, it’s a combination of me being an inherently shit writer at a chemical level and having no sleep/time. (The latter is technically your fault, the former is squarely on my bony shoulders).
Most people would call this common knowledge, being in tune with your emotions and the relationships that shape your life, but there are plenty of people (like my own family) who castrate their emotional antennas to the point where I’m not even certain they posses the vocabulary to articulate their true feelings.
Where I’m trying to go with this and failing miserably is: you’ll have things bouncing around in your head until your last day. So document it, journal, scribble, doodle, talk to us, talk to your friends, talk out loud to yourself (something I do all the time and frankly, it’s fucking wonderful). Bounce ideas off people you can trust, people who aren’t trying to score points but will let you talk through topics and join in as a collective conversation for higher learning. Try to adapt your feelings into something constructive. Turn it into poetry — really shitty, terrible, cheesy poetry, so I can tease you, please god, but do it anyway. Do something with your feelings and opinions because it will get you just a little bit more organized, just a little bit more resilient and self-aware. We don’t know ourselves from day one, it takes work. You’ll have gut feelings and you’ll be lost sometimes. So look at your life with a reader’s eye and a storyteller’s mind.
The turn of phrase(!), the irony(!), the truth(!), the ambivalence(!), etc. — all of it should be picked up, shaken, and organized according to your POV. It’s your history, L; respect it, keep it close, and if you want to share it, go for it, but don’t feel guilty or ashamed because deep down everybody knows that’s where real courage lives.
And maybe this silly belief in an afterlife isn’t so idiotic and horrible? Heaven, hell, whatever you want to call it, it’s a fiction-in-progress, but it’s a far more interesting concept in my opinion than closing roads and shutting doors. Your Mumma poses as an Atheist, but she’s really an Agnostic, which is a classic Mumma move. “However it shakes out, that’s what I'm into, it’s all bullshit anyway, can we talk about something else?!”.
Other tips to help you tolerate the inevitability of your parents dying (and for you to live an intentional life):
Find goodhearted people and keep them close. You can’t do this shit alone. But don’t let anyone make you feel less (this will be hard when you’re a teenager and in your 20s, but you’ll discover the older you are, the easier it is to step away). If they’re not bringing out the best in you and if they’re taking energy out of the room, drop ‘em. “Bye bitch.” No use wasting time with idiots (my running mantra for life that you’ll learn to loathe). Avoid jealous people too, and unstable adults. You can’t be fixing people that’ve had 40-50 years to figure it out. Have compassion, but don’t sacrifice your own wellbeing or time. That’s not your job, and you don’t want to be forfeiting time for the benefit of dipshits who could care less how it shakes out for you. Goodhearted people bring out the best in you. They’re your champions, they’re respectful, and they step up when shit hits the fan.
L, you’re not even two years old, and I’m clearly a mess trying to organize all of this shit that I feel. You have Mumma’s creepy mature edge to you already and I love it. The other morning while getting ready for daycare you threw a temper tantrum (standard shit, every kid does it). You didn’t want to leave Mumma’s side. So we sat there in the living room forever. Mumma and I took turns trying to talk you down from your emotional cliff, and just when we were about to give in, you stood up, sighed, and walked to the door without looking back or saying “bye”. When I came back after dropping you off, we both were triumphant over how brave you were.
I love you to the point where I’m sometimes embarrassed and bewildered someone or something put you and Mumma in my life. This is a sentiment that’s likely the result of my childhood—the last dregs of Catholic guilt, who knows?
Square up, L. That’s all I got right now in this incoherent rambling essay. Life is idiot sometimes and unfair, and magical, and illogical, but square up every day and look it right in the goddamn face, and have that laugh and make that joke, and entertain that thought, and give it room to sit and stay with you and upset you and prompt you, and dress it down and reconstruct it, and plant those thoughts, and let them grow, let them turn into ideas, and let the ideas grow into something that’s entirely you. Do the work not for the result but for the process. Find the joy in what you’re willing to tolerate.
Square up to it, L. My sweet and kind little warrior.