This weekend I felt scattered and pensive. This tension arose from some unexpected personal news and the residual feelings of what happened in Boston over the week. Every time I turned on the television these images kept playing like a scratched record on a turntable: news that one brother died in a gunfire battle, another brother alive, captured, but unable to talk, lying in the same hospital building as those who were victimized by him, and the face of Sean, the MIT officer, whose Mona Lisa smile will never be seen again by his parents and siblings.
Closely following the barrage of news, tweets, Facebook updates of the Boston tragedy left me exposed in a way I do not understand. Much of my own life stayed the same, while another city shut down. I took my daughter to school, exchanged a few hello’s with other moms, returned home to my office where I wrote a post, had lunch with a friend, and laughed during dinner with my own family. In another corner, others were grieving, picking out caskets, a set of parents flying overseas to bury their only daughter, and mothers and fathers and siblings comforting those who lost limbs.
I know this is a part of life. This tug and pull between grief and moving forward and repeating the cycle again. I will never be comfortable with this dichotomy. These overwhelming unforeseen events pushed me to think of my own losses in the most unexpected way. My daughter loves Taco Bell, especially the bean burritos. We decided to make it a Taco Bell dinner night. I waited on the seats while my husband and daughter stood in line. My daughter ran to where I was seated and began to swivel in her chair. Her excitement about the tiny pleasures in life always give me pause.
Once we got our order, I unfolded the white wrapper that covered my burrito and reached for the hot sauce packets. At that point, tears streamed down my face. One of my father’s quirks was collecting Taco Bell hot sauce packets in a mason jar at home. He absolutely loved their hot sauce and would always gather a few handfuls like they were precious souvenirs. At this moment, I realized how much my life’s move forward since his passing, but how an unforeseen trigger can unleash grief.
My daughter and husband tried to comfort me, but for that single moment, inconsolable, I let the tears stream, wiped them away, and acknowledged how much I missed my father. And in the very next second, my daughter made a funny joke and I laughed.
Loss and love. On moving forward and going back. We learn to navigate the space between grief and happiness. Even if we stumble.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
This week had drained me completely. Strange I see others unaffected. I took it hard , I felt it deeply. I was obsessed with the news . Strange I wondered how on Monday my son had witnessed so many images as if it was a war zone. He didn’t want to talk about it. Then on his shift he also had the terrorist come in to his ER where he passed away. Life is fragile and we have to go through these things and become stronger. I am sorry you had bad personal news, I wish you the best. The way you feel about your father, I know this pain too well. I send you hugs and I hope you find peace. xoxo
Oh, Rudri, I’m so sorry…you have captured the emotional roller coaster ride of the last week to two well. Except it’s not really a rollercoaster ride as you say, is it? Rollercoasters are more even. Like you, too, I can feel different emotions simultaneously, or within minutes apart. My son, too, keeps me grounded and laughing, but I can also suddenly cry as another image of a victim appears on the screen. Even the story of the suspects saddens me. The reports of their difficulties assimilating to America, unanimous reports of how kind and “normal” the younger suspect has always been – all of this humanizes the tragedy and just leaves me feeling confused and sad…for everyone.
I appreciate so much your writing about this. Not everyone is talking about it, and I find comfort in those who are expressing their emotions about last week. I am still trying to find my own way through all of this and it helps to come over here and know that someone is going through the same confusion and up and down. (I’m also sorry to hear about the personal issues…)
Lovely.
We learn to navigate the space between grief and happiness. Even if we stumble. – beautifully said. While my own father’s life is still in peril, his sister who lived next door died. Shortly later my friend’s daughter gave birth and then another friend’s mother died…yes, life, death, happiness, sadness…such cycles of humanity. I’m back and forth right now myself.
Of course we stumble…that’ s the hardest part about grief. I’m so glad your daughter was able to make you laugh.