Hey, you great big beautiful dolls. Next week is FULL. Daunting, even. Rocco has
And a funeral. I think.
My uncle died? No. That’s not a question. My uncle died. Unexpectedly. And I’m having more feelings than I thought I would have.
Not because I’ll miss him. I won’t. Honestly? Fuck that guy. He was nothing to me. But I mourn for his children. Mostly I mourn on behalf of my dad. If only for the loss of his last fellow witness to their shared experiences of childhood.
I’m sure I shouldn’t be writing about this. I’m sure I’m still processing. I’m sure it’s not even my story to tell.
But this is middle age, right? Attending more funerals than showers or weddings, watching your parents lose mobility and independence (if you’re lucky enough to still have your parents), seeing your siblings start to go gray and complain more about joint pain (if you’re lucky enough to still have a sibling), feeling the new knobbiness of your spouses knuckles when you grab his hand (if you’re still lucky enough to have a spouse), measuring your gums in the bathroom mirror to determine how much they’ve retreated….
And all of that? As fucked up as it might be? Is a gift. I know that. Living long enough to experience those things isn’t something everyone has the opportunity to do.
I have a million Mary Oliver quotes about living…about fulling consuming this “wild and precious life” pulsing through my head right now. And I keep thinking of that most inspiring quote of Erma’s:
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me’.
This is rambling. And I apologize for that. But I am hurrying because I want to
I want to hold them. I also fear they will break, my beautiful dolls.
Love extra this week, my lovelies. Love extra.