Diane and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just finished our grilled salmon with new potatoes and flash-nuked green beans and carrots. A dinner I made. I loaded the dishwasher as she packed leftovers for the next day\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lunch and pretty much out of nowhere I pipe up:<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve got to get some sleep.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We went to bed early last night. You were out like a light.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Fast and dark, but I woke up twice. As usual.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t hear you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You never do. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been sleeping like the recently executed. I get up and shower or I go downstairs and IM with Matthew. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s always up until two or three.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What wakes you up?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I have free floating anxiety. I learned about it at IU in Psych 101 and now, after all these years, I have it. Finally. I think it’s this dead mother thing. Three days before the monthly anniversary of her death my gut knots and my brain goes kaflooey. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t settle back down until the day after.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You need a year to go by. A year helps.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It helped you, didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It helped me and it helped Susan with Jimmy.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You mean a year from now I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be picking apples?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, but you will be sleeping.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It makes no sense.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It makes perfect sense.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not the year thing. The anniversary thing. With me I mean. My family never celebrated anything but Christmas and the kid\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s birthdays. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know when my parents were born, I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know Brian or Joan\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s birthdays. I still think Matt was born in \u00e2\u20ac\u02dc86 on the 16th of July. I only know yours because of the built-in mnemonic. Mother\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Day, Father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Day, Valentines…those days didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t exist until I married into your family. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And you are all the better for it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Maybe, but I think my mother\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s haunting me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Michael, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s called grief.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s telling me she really did want a birthday present.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Diane and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just finished our grilled salmon with new potatoes and flash-nuked green beans and carrots. A dinner I made. I loaded the dishwasher as she packed leftovers for the next day\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lunch and pretty much out of nowhere … Continue reading