#9

[cosmolinguist]

I noticed the icicle lights outside our dining room window when we were eating dinner today.^{1, 2} "Ooo, Christmas lights!" I said to Mom.

Dad had hung those up last Wednesday. He turned them on then to make sure they all worked, but Mom made him turn them off. Not until Thanksgiving! she insisted.

"Yeah," she said now. "We haven't had them on yet."

I thought we hadn't. That was, I think, one of the reasons I was happy to see them. But Mom seemed sad to see them, for the same reason.

People deal with grief differently, my friends keep telling me today. I knew this already; I'm sure I'd be telling me the same thing. And I know it's stupid to feel bad about how my way differs from my parents', especially my mom's. But knowing that doesn't stop me from feeling bad about it.

I know Mom probably doesn't like the Christmas lights being lit because it seems so festive and normal at a time when the prevailing mood around here is about as far from festive or normal as you can get. It feels bad to do anything normal: this is the first time I've cared enough about tooth decay to brush my teeth since... this is the first time I've left my parents to go off with my friends since... this is the first time we thought to turn on the Christmas lights since...

But I know that I like the Christmas lights being lit because seeing them there-but-not-lit makes me more miserable than I was before. The holidays will be hard enough; having them with no Christmas cookies, probably no shopping for presents ... hell, I wouldn't know what to ask my parents to get me this year, and what can I get them? Still, being without all that expected stuff is only making me more sad. Even now, just thinking about it.

I know we're still too close to worry about striking a balance between Incapacitated and Callous. We're all still allowed to be incapacitated—indeed, we are probably expected to be. Dad wanting to go back to work on Thursday is very troubling to Mom. My excitement about finally having an almost-definite date for Andrew to fly over here for our wedding seemed out of place this afternoon.

Maybe it is too early to walk that fine line between "wow, you're dealing with this well" and "wow, you're a cold-hearted bastard." I'm not really worried about it. But I am thinking about it.

¹ And can I just say how annoying it is that it's totally dark and time to turn the Christmas lights on by the time we get around to eating dinner at five-thirty?

² No hotdish tonight. Dad insisted. We've had nothing but hotdish since Thursday. There are still half a dozen more in the freezer.

Comments

[davmoo.livejournal.com]

Okay. I give up. I have to ask. What the hell is 'hotdish'?

And I'm sure that if it were possible for you to ask him, your brother would want you to enjoy Christmas and not feel guilty for it.

[latelyontime.livejournal.com]

ummmm I second that. what is hotdish?

[cosmolinguist]

I shall refer you to this excerpt from How to Talk Minnesotan, an authority on the subject.

[latelyontime.livejournal.com]

I think I know the kind of things that you talk about. When I am really depressed and down, I write like madness and then sing happy songs, put on bright lights and sometimes move around doing all the routine things which help me keep my sanity.

I dont think you should be worrying about what people think or say. Just keep yourself occupied, deal with the pain in the way that suits you the best. I am glad you have a family and bunch of friends to talk to right now.

[davmoo.livejournal.com]

Nevermind as far as the first question goes. I finally broke down and googled it, and discovered what you people call 'hotdish' is what everyone in the other 49 states calls 'casserole'.

So new question...what is your hotdish of choice?

[cosmolinguist]

People in the Dakotas or Wisconsin or Iowa will at least recognize the word hotdish! We're not as insignificant as you might think! :-)

I don't want to tell you my favorite; you'll laugh at me!

Honestly, I don't really like it that much. But my favorite is probably the turkey one (you can use chicken but I like turkey better), with cream-of-chicken soup (because I really don't like cream-of-mushroom, the usual hotdish staple, that much) and chow mein noodles on top. There's other stuff in it too, but I can't remember now.

[cosmolinguist]

Thank you, Gavin.

[miss-newham.livejournal.com]

I think that's probably normal to think about, but don't worry too much. I'm thinking about you a lot while I knit your scarf. For some reason I want to thank you for writing this stuff.

[cosmolinguist]

For some reason I want to thank you for writing this stuff.

::grins:: Silly girl. I'm glad someone else seems to like it, though; I don't have my usual ability to judge what might be interesting or worthwhile to other people. I mean, I always claim not to have that, but usually I'm at least half-kidding; now I really mean it. So, thank you yourself!

[ihavemanyskills.livejournal.com]

It's been 2 years since we lost my partner's brother, and the whole family has been dealing with things very differently. His birthday, Father's Day, his son's birthday, his wedding anniversary, Christmas... Each year these days are difficult but each year they are different. The pain hasn't gotten any less for my partner, but she's dealing with it better than she was 2 years ago.
Her parents are a different story. They're more stuck than any of the rest of us. Mama feels that her pain is worse than everyone else's and let's us know that, including Steven's widow. We know she doesn't understand that everyone can hurt the same amount - just in a different way.
Punkin's sad because her main rock in life is gone. I'm sad because I barely go to know her brother, and that his son won't get to know him at all. His wife is sad for herself, her son, us, and the rest of the world. Her parents can't get beyond their own grief.
Anyway, my point in rambling on is: be you, all of you - completely and with no apologies. Hopefully your mom will see that life goes on after a tragedy occurs, just as it should. To not do so would be a dishonor to those who pass before us.