Author: ferylfiles

In Repair

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When I was in the French grad program at Ohio University, my good friend, Amy, loved and listened to John Mayer a lot. She went to his concerts and was a vocal fan. Aside from “Your Body is a Wonderland” (because who wouldn’t want a troubadour with a guitar serenading that?!?!), I really didn’t get the appeal. Until now. I can fully admit I am embracing John Mayer fandom. His music, in this particular season of my life is hitting hard and I love it.

I didn’t write or post anything about Father’s  Day this year. Instead, I went a quieter more somber route. I have been mulling things over, particularly this song https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rZLbUIa7exE&pp=ygUsZmF0aGVycyBiZSBnb29kIHRvIHlvdXIgZGF1Z2h0ZXJzIGpvaG4gbWF5ZXI%3D as it relates to my dad and me. You see, my dad was magic—straight charisma, charm, and humor. To bask in his sunlight was everything. But he could turn it off like a switch, perhaps as a defense mechanism for his own tender heart and insecurities. His humor danced a razor’s edge of warm teasing to mocking cudgel. In my 20s, more than once or twice, I found myself drawn to men who had similar tendencies and to be near that magic, that sunlight was enough, for a while, enough to tolerate poor behavior, enough to offer far more than I received. These are easy patterns for me to fall into because they’re so familiar.

Remarkably, however, I did not marry a man like my father. Oh sure, Bryan was charming and charismatic, but I never had the fear of him turning that off. And instead of just shining his light, he sought mine and encouraged me in every way he knew to make my light shine brighter. As the lyrics go, “daughters will love like you do.” I see the way Mary loves her friends, family, work, community in like manner to her dad.

I’m not trying to be hurtful to my dad’s memory. He had moments of great introspection and growth. He worked very hard to be a better dad than his own father and succeeded. And he could say I am sorry and did. Nevertheless, the legacy of father-daughter relationships and their effects echo in the hall. I think wanting to be close to that light and feel warmed by it because it feels good is why I am drawn to larger-than-life, charismatic men and have had a history of subsuming my own interests and pride just to be near the light. It is so good to reflect on that and to remember how Bryan sought my light. I think the ending of this song brings those ideas to bear in a really beautiful way. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7VBex8zbDRs&pp=ygUSam9obiBtYXllciBncmF2aXR5

Finally, when I told my good friend, Amy about my John Mayer late-bloomer discovery, she encouraged me to listen to “In Repair” suggesting it might be an anthem for where I’m at. If you can, go find the lyrics. They’re absolutely spot on. I’m in repair from the consequences of grief and bereavement. I’m in repair in many other ways. My friend, N, calls it “doing the work.” It’s important to recognize what has brought us to this point, extend grace, but acknowledge one’s own responsibility to grow, change, and heal. I am “In Repair” and I’m just fine with that. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Bq8SBDv7Wn4&pp=ygUUaW4gcmVwYWlyIGpvaG4gbWF5ZXI%3D

Unicorn

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I’ve likened Bryan to a unicorn, not because he was a mythical, mystical, enchanted beast. He.was.rare. Precious. He preferred to discuss ideas much more than events or people. He could change his mind with well-argued, reasonable, and passionate push-back. He listened actively, almost irritatingly so. He made his space welcome to the vulnerable. He was endlessly curious about the world, the universe, the opinions of others, my opinions. Now I want to make sure you know I’m not deifying the man. Bryan was absolutely human and anyone who was on a bike ride with him when the hangries hit KNOWS just how much so.

I know exactly how lucky I am to have been married to this man. I know what it means to be with someone whose heart and mind are peerless. That’s what makes being single now so incredibly difficult. I long for nothing less than a unicorn and I know that’s improbable and definitely more than a little greedy.

So what then? Admittedly, for the past year and change, I’ve been more of a grief aardvark. But maybe instead of looking for another unicorn, I need to become the unicorn–a better listener, a safe place for the vulnerable, more willing to admit when I’m wrong, able to change my mind when presented with new evidence.

I certainly have some work to do.

My Josie Geller Era

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A while back, I made an appointment with a local orthodontist office. I have had jaw pain and clicking most of my life. I’m a night clencher and have had this pain in varying degrees since high school. Flash forward to today and I have my very first set of Invisalign trays, rubber bands, weird-looking bumps on some of my teeth, and a first-class lisp.

People often talk about mid-life crises in terms of doing wild things or buying expensive, silly things. But I don’t think crisis is an apt term. (Yes, I’m going to play the harp again.) It’s more like mid-life carpe diem. Finally, in mid-life there seems to be time and funds and a realization the exit is coming faster than we ever realized before. So what do we do? Play, because we spent so much time worrying about all the things all the time. We seek adventure and experience. And sometimes we have to parent our younger selves. Here I am at 47 looking for all of that–play, adventure and experience, and to parent my younger self.

When I was a teenager, I was told: “You have a nice smile. You don’t need braces.” As if the only reason to get braces was to resolve a cosmetic issue. Sure, esthetically, my teeth looked fine. But on one side of my mouth, the teeth sit right on top of each other, slowly grinding each other down while the other side sits as it should. When I clench, they’re off-axis and then my jaw hurts like fury. It didn’t look bad back then, so there must not have been a problem, right? I try not to hold anger because it’s not terribly useful at this point and I’m not sure it was within the capacity of either adult in my house growing up to address the underlying cause of why I clenched my teeth at night. That’s okay. I’ve dealt with it because I’m the grown-up now. And I can take care of the structural issues, too.

Here I am today reflecting on my teenage self and my present self. If you heard me speak today, you would think for all the world I was Josie “Grossie” Geller from Never Been Kissed, a cute little rom-com with Drew Barrymore. To be fair, it’s not a direct comparison. I didn’t get egg thrown at me in my prom dress. I had enough teasing and being made fun of to give me character, a sense of humor, and perhaps sand off some of my rougher edges. Hey, I even make sure my pant legs are long enough now. (Laugh with me.) And I have been kissed–thoroughly, exquisitely… Yet, there is this piece of me that will always feel like the awkward kid waiting to blossom, even at 47, and agonize at the prospect of being made fun of.

Well, here’s to owning all of it.

Holding It Together

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May 29 is National Paper Clip Day. How do I know this piece of trivia? It’s a little thing I do each day to note some of the seemingly random national holidays to my coworkers. Today, I invite you to celebrate paper clips. I can’t help but think of Clippy offering help with a Word document. Were it so simple, little Clippy…

One of the elements of death we don’t discuss a lot is the paperwork; I call it administrania. I’m nearing the end of some of that paperwork. Yesterday morning and this evening, I’ve been gathering papers together, with paper clips, of course. There they are, holding it all together while I most certainly am not. I am grateful for Bryan’s organization and how easy it has been to find things. I’m also cursing needing to do any of this at all because it underscores the facts. He’s gone. I’m here.

Clippy, could you just do it? Guess not. Okay, I will.

Precision

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I love words–the right word in the right moment, the perfect turn of phrase, the exact essence of a thing. Maybe this is the biproduct of studying literature, particularly poetry. Maybe this is the consequence of being the youngest in a family of voracious readers with sharp wits and even sharper tongues. Debates turn on the meaning of a single word. Craig and I affectionately refer to this as “playing the semantic harp.” Words matter, and so I play on.

Recently, in conversations with both my bestie and my sissy I realize I have been using a word incorrectly with hurtful ramifications. I have talked about being lonely. But here’s the thing, I’m not. Not really. I am not isolated, unloved, without friendship or companionship. Every day I share life with my friends, family, co-workers, neighbors. “Becci, come over, we’re making pizza on Friday.” Not alone. “Becci, I’m coming to visit.” Or “let’s go for a walk.” Not isolated. “Becci, let’s go grab coffee.” Not without friendship. “I’m on my way.” “I appreciate you.” “You matter to me.” “I love you stupid.” This is a life full of connection and I am so lucky.

The word I’ve been trying to articulate is bereft. The connection of heart, soul, mind, and body that I had with my person is gone in the way that I had grown accustomed. That gnawing absence feels very similar to loneliness. The ache. The longing to be in connection like that is visceral and overwhelming. That I got the privilege to experience something so precious and rare at all makes me incredibly lucky. But knowing in my bones what that is also makes me long for it still…