I bought special lightbulbs and then I lost them. They’re a particularly expensive kind that fit into flat ceiling fixtures and are a pain in the neck to change. Literally, hurts my neck to look up long enough to change them.
For months, lightbulbs have burnt out one by one in the basement. I just kept thinking I’d get to it eventually.
Finally, they all burnt out and it was ridiculous. I made a special trip to the special store and bought the special bulbs
Alex had already started removing the old bulbs for me days ago and the mounts were hanging there, from the wires, like we live in a crack house or something.
It’s so easy to change lightbulbs. But working a full time job (more on that later), doing all the adult chores while managing the house and the kids who are on remote learning, (or partial schedule or whatever schedule it is any given week) was just too much. Something had to give and it was the lightbulbs.
I was frustrated that I went through all the trouble of getting them and then forgot where I put them. I looked everywhere and was beginning to think that I left them in the car that was currently at the repair shop (btw, do you know how hard it is to get your car to the shop when you’re the only adult in the family and you have no time to do it because of everything else? And the only kid with a license is somehow gainfully employed and busy? Believe me you don’t, unless your spouse also died.)
People say, “Your kids should help you more.” Or my favorite, “Well, WE MAKE our kids do stuff! You should too!” To that I used to smile politely and think to myself what an asshole that person is. Now I just say, “First, at my house there is no WE. Second, my kids are doing WAY more adulting than they should EVER have to do at this point in their CHILDHOOD. So back off, Buster!”
But I don’t say “back”.
Or “Buster”.
Sorry, I got sidetracked-
I was complaining about my forgetfulness and the lightbulbs with friends one day recently and one of my dearest said, “I just have my husband do stuff like that…” Surprised, I replied more harshly than intended, “I don’t have that privilege.”
I feel like people don’t understand.
It is me.
Alone.
Raising kids.
During a pandemic.
Maintaining a social life that the world tells me is dangerous, but to me it feels more dangerous not to.
Trying to be normal.
Faking being normal.
Managing. Everything. (you have no idea. Seriously. You don’t.)
I am happy almost all of the time. Thank God, it is just my nature to truly feel grateful and to have a happy heart.
Thank God, that through all of this, my kids are doing okay, (most days) too.
Thank God my friends and family are all so forgiving and loving that they don’t hold it against me when I get cranky and snappy.
(Btw- when I say “Thank God…” it is not just a figure of speech. It is actually me praying.)
Several people have told me sympathetically, that they’re having a hard time handling life during a pandemic, too. I feel validated that two parent households are also getting their asses kicked. Then I feel pretty proud of myself, because I AM MAKING IT! Not all that well, really, but our heads are currently just above water.
Anyway, at dinner later, my friend apologized for what she said.
She said tearily that she forgot.
“I forgot Tom was gone.
It didn’t even occur to me how insensitive it was to say, because it is still so unreal to me that he’s not here. How can that be?
He should still be here.
Why isn’t he here to help you with the lightbulbs?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know…” I said with tears in my eyes, too.
Luckily, we got interrupted by the server bringing our drinks (phew…), or else we probably would have spiraled deep down into the ugly cries.
I needed to hear that, though. I didn’t know that it was still so unreal to others, too. I thought I was alone in the disbelief and also, like I’m the only one who remembers.
I sometimes still think I can tell Tom things. I heard some news recently and my first thought was “Oh my gosh- I’ve got to tell Tom!” Then I quickly glanced around the room looking for something:
My phone?
Him?
It was just a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for me to think, “How can I get a hold of him?” Then I remembered. And I kept the news to myself.
Keeping all of the words I want to tell Tom to myself is almost the hardest thing of ALL the things.
I don’t often feel lonely, but I do know that true loneliness is having something important to say or a funny inside joke and no one to say it to.
Swallowing the words is painful. It is like swallowing scrabble tiles one by one, until the whole sentence has scratched its way down my throat. Then they sit in my stomach, bloody, making me nauseous.
This isn’t the real me- up until 15 months ago, lightbulbs were changed instantly. I had my house in order and my shit together. Bills were paid promptly, laundry done swiftly. Weeds were pulled, dishes done. There were no crumbs, stray hairs, or dust bunnies. The meals were prepared and table set by 6. A vodka tonic was mixed and the newspaper laid out for Tom by 5:45.
(We liked to discuss the headlines while I finished up cooking. Tom would actually call me excitedly to tell me he was on his way home. That was my cue to get out his favorite icy tumbler from the freezer. He was kind of spoiled. ☺️)
I was thinking about my friend and her perspective later in the shower that night (where I do all of my best thinking). Something about it made me feel better. It helped me to see it through her eyes.
I loved that she forgot, because that must mean that Tom Tracy was so much larger than life that he is still alive and well in our minds and hearts even after all this time. Tom was with me for so many years, of course people will forget that he’s not anymore.
He was a part of me.
I was a part of him.
If I am here, he must be, too, right?
And maybe that says something about me. I’m doing okay enough that even my dearest friends forget that I’m still not totally whole. That the very best part of me is absent.
As I was scrubbing my hair, I had a thought- 💡 like a lightbulb!!
“They’re in the new cabinet.” I quickly finished and went to look. Yesssss- they were there!! After weeks of wondering where I put those damn lightbulbs, I finally found them!
I remembered then why I forgot:
Weeks ago, I was picking up the house and put the bag of bulbs in the cabinet to deal with later. I took a quick look inside the cabinet and got distracted for two reasons- it is a new built-in wine cabinet that Tom designed for under our stairs. He never saw it installed. I had to finish up the project and all of the final details by myself. I was reminded that he never got to see his very own design finished. He never got to go downstairs and pull out a bottle of wine like he planned. It made me so sad.
Also, inside the cabinet were boxes and boxes of Kleenex. It is where someone (my Mom, probably) put all of the paper goods people gave me when Tom died all those months ago. I totally forgot about them. I was moved to tears all these months later for everyone’s generosity.
These two reasons made my heart sink when I was putting the lightbulbs away to begin with, but I didn’t have time to digest my feelings about it. So I pushed the emotions aside for a later time. With my feelings, I guess I pushed aside the entire moment, forgetting that I put them in there next to the Kleenex, solo cups and paper plates.
So, as I got the lightbulbs from the cabinet, I pulled out a box of Kleenex, and one solo cup (One…Solo…The irony…) I grabbed the most expensive wine we have from the rack and poured some into the cup. What a shame to drink it from plastic…what a shame to drink it alone.
I started changing the bulbs,
one by one,
sip by sip,
and tear by tear.
The wine smoothed my scratchy throat and warmed my unsettled tummy. I told myself that I CAN do it all, it just might take a few weeks longer than it should. And also, I needed to change my definition of “all”. (I’m currently fine tuning “all”.)
My arms got tired, my neck was aching, my heart still broken, but I finally got it done.
I counted my blessings like I always do, adding, “Thank God for Tom’s strong presence, for my forgetful friend, and for helping me see grief through others’ eyes.”
I am a little better now for accomplishing the small, but frustrating task. Strangely, everything seems a little brighter now in more ways than one.
Or maybe it’s just the wine…
It’s probably just the wine.
