Thin

It's odd how the mind, or rather, my mind works.

I was feeling rather rushed the other week while running errands.  (Yes, this was toilet day.)  I was taking my oldest daughter, Enya, to an appointment in New Haven and, true to form, we were behind schedule.

Following route 69 from Waterbury to New Haven is usually a pretty easy ride. On this day, however, I got behind someone driving a sedan from the early 90's or maybe late 80's going just UNDER the speed limit.  I was irked.

And then, it hit me: the age of the car, the speed, I was driving behind some elderly driver.  I was immediately reminded of the drive I took, on this very road, with Uncle George to get a confirmation from Yale that he was, in fact, dying from leukemia.  I was instantaneously transported back to that day.

It never really gets any easier.  Uncle George was a close to a father as I will ever have.  Everyone tries to cheer me up with the "He lived a nice long life" speech.  And he did, but he just didn't live long enough for me.  Purely selfish, I know, but I feel robbed in so, so many ways.

The veil between the living and the dead must be really thin about now.  (I always did like that image).  Enya wore an old hat of Uncle George's that we keep in my mom's hallway at Christmas.  Gone was the pretty dress and the barrette, instead she was in nothing but a diaper and a pair of red tights, swipes of blue and green marker on her face and chest, and Uncle George's hat.  She was just so cute; laughing her deep laugh. We all laughed too and in that moment, I looked up to see my sister laughing and crying only to realize that I was crying too.  His absence was so palpable in that moment, it was physically painful.

One friend always remembers to ask after the holidays how Thanksgiving was.  She remembers that it was Uncle George's favorite holiday and that he died less than a week before Thanksgiving as well.  It makes me really appreciate her, just knowing that someone else remembers to ask after my feelings.

Lots of things remind me of Uncle George, but more so lately.  I often try to think what his advice would be when a situation is most troubling.  Or what he'd say about my siblings' latest antics.  Or how he'd love Enya's laugh.  Or how proud he'd be of the boys.

 My rough exterior is feeling thin, my seemingly thick skin is getting thin, my patience are wearing thin.  My sister would say that I need a good cry, but that's not it.  It doesn't make me feel any better.  Times like this, I just want to lay bare all of my feelings, rail at those who have hurt me, shout at those who damn well need shouting at, say all of the unkind things I've left unsaid to spare other people's feelings.  That won't work either.  I'll just feel like a rotten person afterward.

So what brings this all up today of all days?  I made lasagna for dinner, and as I was putting dishes in the dishwasher, I was thinking of an email I was going to compose but I really felt that I could use his advice.

See? Strange how my mind works