yule tide blues
So, it's Christmas Eve. I'm home now, alone in the computer den, taking it all in. Screaming children, new babies in new baby carriers, little weiner cocktails, peanut butter cookies with stars in the middle, and eggnog. Christ, I hate 'nog. I hate Bing Crosby, too.
Today, my grandmother had an emergency cat scan and it was discovered that she's got a tumor the size of a grapefruit occupying the right side of her brain Operation Freedom style. She'll be dead soon. I didn't know her as well as I would have liked, but she was an amazing woman up until about three years ago when she had her first stroke. I have memories of staying in her downtown third floor walk-up apartment as a child, and waking at six in the morning to discover she'd already baked and perfectly frosted homemade cinnamon rolls with homemade icing. She had a kitchen that reminded me of Europe, with strangely shaped windows of colored glass, bizarre linoleum, an elaborate cuckoo clock, and other weird German things. She wore a babushka and never drove a car. She was a nurse who raised five children alone after the untimely death of her husband. She lived through the Great Depression. She was the only person who could speak to the German people of our family. Is. While talking to my aunt and my father about the whole situation, I said that I wasn't that sad about the tumor, and that my grieving had all been done when she stopped being the fiesty old woman that we all adored and became an invalid. Everyone agreed with me, but I can't help but think that it was a chilling thing to say. Sometime soon, I will get my assignments in advance, be absent from class, pack a night's worth of clothing, walk to my car, drive one point five hours, and I will cry at her funeral.
Feeling sad already, on the way home from my other grandma's house, my mother mentioned to me that my cousin, Nick, had a long-term girlfriend who committed suicide a few months back. He chose not to sleep at her house that night, and she pleaded and pleaded and pleaded. And he went home because he had class in the morning. And she hanged herself. All he does is wonder what if what if what if, and why why why, and my aunt is scared. I've never particularly liked Nick; we are the same age, and he always was kind of mean to me. He ruined my First Communion Party, and called me fat when I was a flower girl at my aunt's wedding. But we are adults now, and I spent the car ride home staring out into the black bleakness that is Iowa Winter, just wondering how that would feel. I can't imagine it.
I remember feeling like there was something special in the air on Christmas when I was a wee tyke. It was like being high on all of it: the presents, the happiness, the company, the cold winter air. I can see that the children of my family feel the same way. It wasn't just me.
Now, at 21, all I can think about is death, first world problems, and how old I feel.
I feel really old.
Today, my grandmother had an emergency cat scan and it was discovered that she's got a tumor the size of a grapefruit occupying the right side of her brain Operation Freedom style. She'll be dead soon. I didn't know her as well as I would have liked, but she was an amazing woman up until about three years ago when she had her first stroke. I have memories of staying in her downtown third floor walk-up apartment as a child, and waking at six in the morning to discover she'd already baked and perfectly frosted homemade cinnamon rolls with homemade icing. She had a kitchen that reminded me of Europe, with strangely shaped windows of colored glass, bizarre linoleum, an elaborate cuckoo clock, and other weird German things. She wore a babushka and never drove a car. She was a nurse who raised five children alone after the untimely death of her husband. She lived through the Great Depression. She was the only person who could speak to the German people of our family. Is. While talking to my aunt and my father about the whole situation, I said that I wasn't that sad about the tumor, and that my grieving had all been done when she stopped being the fiesty old woman that we all adored and became an invalid. Everyone agreed with me, but I can't help but think that it was a chilling thing to say. Sometime soon, I will get my assignments in advance, be absent from class, pack a night's worth of clothing, walk to my car, drive one point five hours, and I will cry at her funeral.
Feeling sad already, on the way home from my other grandma's house, my mother mentioned to me that my cousin, Nick, had a long-term girlfriend who committed suicide a few months back. He chose not to sleep at her house that night, and she pleaded and pleaded and pleaded. And he went home because he had class in the morning. And she hanged herself. All he does is wonder what if what if what if, and why why why, and my aunt is scared. I've never particularly liked Nick; we are the same age, and he always was kind of mean to me. He ruined my First Communion Party, and called me fat when I was a flower girl at my aunt's wedding. But we are adults now, and I spent the car ride home staring out into the black bleakness that is Iowa Winter, just wondering how that would feel. I can't imagine it.
I remember feeling like there was something special in the air on Christmas when I was a wee tyke. It was like being high on all of it: the presents, the happiness, the company, the cold winter air. I can see that the children of my family feel the same way. It wasn't just me.
Now, at 21, all I can think about is death, first world problems, and how old I feel.
I feel really old.