Note: This kind of just spilled out in pieces over the past three weeks and is completely unrelated to my beat. I’m not sure what it will turn into, if it turns into anything at all but I figured that since I didn’t know what to do with this piece, that this blog might be a good place to start.<\/p>\n
——————<\/p>\n
It\u2019s Friday afternoon, and I\u2019m navigating my way through the back roads of a small town just outside of Worcester to get to my lawyer\u2019s office. My mind wonders off a bit while driving and I ask myself why I chose a lawyer whose office is so damn far away from everything else in my life (easier to avoid him)? And why I am so damn incapable of doing things in a timely manner (because I\u2019m skilled in avoidance)? \u00a0Sometimes, when the lawyer needs something from me, life finds a way of postponing whatever that immediate thing is. \u201cLife\u201d is what I call the mundane daily routine that I could easily work around and these past two weeks were no exception.<\/p>\n
When I arrive, I ceremoniously swing open the door and step inside and find myself about two feet from his face. He smiles a smile that displays an equal amount of amusement and aggravation. I know the rules\u2026knock before entering. I have never been much for rules that I consider arbitrary and today it doesn\u2019t matter as much. I\u2019m far too proud of myself for showing up to take care of business to concern myself with what he thinks about how I made my entrance.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know whose file I have in my hand?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
The answer is obvious.<\/p>\n
\u201cMine?\u201d I replied with an intonation that bordered annoyance. I wasn\u2019t in a mood to waste time. Friday afternoons are generally reserved for lunches downtown, trips to the art museum, or just near anything but meeting with this guy.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right\u201d he responded, flipping the file folder open for a quick scan of the top document.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you bring the letter?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
I had. I opened my folder and took out six copies of a letter that I neglected to mail out two weeks earlier. He inspects each one closely to make certain that I filled it out properly and then tucks them in the file. I\u2019m left to assume that they are satisfactory.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about the bank account?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cNext on my list today\u2026also going to get rid of that car\u201d I reply.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. I\u2019ll contact you as soon as I get a response from the mortgage company.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turns away, as to say that he\u2019s done with me and that is fine. I\u2019m done too. My business with him is an exasperating necessity that my life would be easier without. I operate along a fine line of having just<\/em> too much to do at all times and my mother\u2019s unexpected death in November tripled that load and pushed the threshold to a whole new level.<\/p>\n My mother and I never really got along, and we butted heads from as early in my life as I can remember. There were some stand out moments, like refusing me the opportunity to study in England when I graduated high school because she<\/em> never got to do it\u2026her attempts to passive-aggressively turn my brother and I against our father by telling us that he didn\u2019t want to spend time with us. I found out much later, that he was working three jobs to pay his child support because she threatened him with additional court dates and the idea of potentially having him jailed. She dated a man that had such racist blood coursing through his body, that he referred to my best friend and our closest neighbors (a Lebanese family) as \u201cthe terrorists next door\u201d. \u00a0I never understood what she saw him other than he had the money to take her on fancy trips to tropical locations, things that she never had access to growing up and things that she never managed to prioritize for herself or her family. Honestly, I can safely say that I never felt like I was of a priority in her life \u2013 but I won\u2019t defend that presumption here.<\/p>\n Now, she\u2019s gone and being the oldest of her two children, I\u2019m left with the immense responsibility of cleaning up her mess \u2013 literally and figuratively. I hadn\u2019t entered my childhood home in over ten years, and on the night my brother and I found our mother, I found out that she was a hoarder. There were signs of this developing while I was growing up, but nothing prepared me for what I saw that night. For \u2018Stranger Things\u2019 fans, it was as close to having a real-life \u201cupside down\u201d experience as I hope to ever have to experience again. \u00a0When the funeral director and staff arrived in the middle of the night to collect her body, they couldn\u2019t even move a gurney into the house.<\/p>\n The lawyer, the house, the car; these are the easiest parts I suppose. It\u2019s dissecting and deconstructing her life that continues to be difficult. It\u2019s having to ask myself how anyone could live like this\u2026how someone could be so proud, that they refused to ask for help\u2026so unwilling to see that the house was destroying her and any chance of having a normal life or normal relationships. Photos of herself taken 40 years prior are taped on the cupboards, yet not a single picture of her grandchild \u2013 my daughter, to me, some minor proof that her reality wasn\u2019t all that it seemed. It\u2019s revisiting so many awkward and hurtful moments from my own life, and seeing that maybe, it was her festering illness to blame and not a personal affront. It\u2019s looking in the mirror, suddenly and acutely noticing our shared features and wondering if I could ever allow myself to succumb to such an illness. It\u2019s convincing myself that I am my own person and not an extension of her instabilities.<\/p>\n This is \u201clife\u201d \u2013 the things you can\u2019t quite see, but are still able to materialize in the back of your mind. Life is the questions we ask ourselves and the answers we provide; the things we want to say, but can\u2019t find the words for. Life is wondering if you\u2019re a better mother to your child than she was to you.<\/p>\n Everything else? They are just the slight instances that make up our being \u2013 compartmentalized microcosms of our experiences\u2026proof we existed. The line between the tangible and intangible draws a fevered sketch of what we want<\/strong> to show others and what we can<\/strong> show others about ourselves and our lives.<\/p>\n Caricatures on the outside, masterpieces on the inside.<\/p>\n Not every masterpiece is beautiful.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Note: This kind of just spilled out in pieces over the past three weeks and is completely unrelated to my beat. I’m not sure what it will turn into, if it turns into anything at all but I figured that since I didn’t know what to do with this piece, that this blog might be […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n