Missing Pieces

8/5/2013





I’ve got a cashier’s check in my hand; I’m going to be able to keep my home. My roommate just moved in and things are only going to get better. I walk out to my car. I’m going to drop off the rent money on my way to work. I slide into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition.





I turn the key.





Nothing happens.





My car won’t start.





Nothing happens.





Nothing happens.





This can’t be happening.





I walk down to the leasing office to give them the check. The most important thing is keeping a roof over my head. I call my client to let them know that my car won’t start, and I’m looking for a ride, but there’s no answer. I call the office and talk to them about what’s going on. They call my client. My client calls me.





I walk over to meet Herb at the gas station on the corner. He’s picking me up so I can stay with his wife Helen while he goes to work. This is unexpected, this kindness. I see his brand new red van and he tells me to get in. I open the door and as I’m jostling my bag, I drop my fountain drink on the pristine floor mat. I grab it up, embarrassed. Herb hands me a box of tissues and says not to worry.





On the ride to their home, he offers to jump my car when he brings me back.





While I’m with Helen that day, we watch old movies, as we often do. The movie stars Charleton Heston, and it’s set in Hawaii. It’s about love, and interracial marriage.





I think about how lucky I am to have these experiences, these kindnesses, in my life.





“There’s only one language a child understands: Love.” --- from Diamond Head, starring Charleton Heston





* * * *





8/6/2013





We stopped and bought a bucket of chicken to take over to my Grandma’s for lunch. That’s the one thing she always eats when I bring it over. Fried chicken. Mmm.





JT insisted on ringing the doorbell. I was surprised to see him reach it by himself standing on his toes. My Grandma has this really unique doorbell -- it’s not a button that you press, but rather a small lever that you push to the left and then back over to the right. With the push left it makes the “ding” and the push back to the right, “dong.”





Left: ding!





Right: dong!





We stand back away from the door and I watch the blinds for signs of movement and see none. Worried thoughts are running through my head -- my Grandma lives here all by herself, what if, what if, what if...





We wait. JT rings the bell again. Left: ding! Right: dong!





Still no answer. I dial her number on my cell. It rings and rings and rings. No answer.





We wait. I tell JT to run and find the spare key, and he brings it back triumphantly. I ring the doorbell once more, just in case she might hear it this time. Still no answer. I turn the key in the lock and slowly push the heavy door inward. I poke my head in and look around; no Grandma. JT follows me inside and I tell him to wait in the living room while I go check on Grandma. He looks at me questioningly, and I hold up one finger: “I’ll be right back.”





Full of dread, I step slowly down the hallway toward her bedroom in the back of the house. Her door is closed, and I’m afraid of what might be waiting for me on the other side. I knock lightly and hear nothing, so I quietly turn the handle, slowly, slowly, click!, the door opens slightly and I see the shape of my Grandma, lying on her bed. She’s lying on her side, her body facing the door, her arms up by her head, her face turned, almost buried in the pillow. I watch her for a moment, watching for her chest to rise and fall, my hands shaking almost imperceptibly.





And then, I hear it. A small, soft snore, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was even holding in. She’s asleep. I go back out into the living room and tell JT that’s she’s sleeping and we’ll go ahead and eat our chicken in the kitchen and wait for her to wake up. I pull plates out of the cupboard and dish up our mashed potatoes, our green beans. We talk while we eat, JT laughing, forks clinking on the dishes, relief pouring out in happy chatter with my favorite boy. I look up, mid-laughter, and see Grandma standing in the hallway, a few steps back from the kitchen doorway.





“How did you get in here?!” She’s upset, angry, scared, confused. I realize that she doesn’t know who I am. I tell her who I am.





“I know who you are. How did you get in here?”





I explain that we found the spare key and that I got worried when she didn’t answer the door. I tell her that we’ve brought lunch.





“I’m not hungry, and I don’t think that you were worried. I didn’t know everybody had a key to my house! I was taking a nap, I’m allowed to go to sleep if I want to. I locked the doors -- you’re not supposed to go in somebody’s house when the doors are locked.”





I don’t know what to say. I’ve never in my life seen my Grandma upset or angry, and just then she’s both, and I know that underneath that is a very real fear. I’ve invaded her home while she slept, unaware, and upon waking, she finds strangers in her home. Family -- grandchildren -- yet strangers in her eyes, in her tangled mind. I don’t know what to say to alleviate her fear. I ask her if she’d feel better if we left.





“I guess it doesn’t matter. Just do what you want.”





My heart sinks. I know she feels defeated, and she turns back toward her bedroom. I begin packing up our lunch and washing our dishes. I’m at a loss, I don’t know what to do. I need to make this right. My Grandma has never been mad at me. Should I go talk to her?





I should go talk to her.





I decide to go talk to her. She’s lying back on her bed in the same position as before, but her face is buried even further in the pillow. I sit down on the floor next to the bed, and I try to gather my thoughts.





“I’m sorry, Grandma.”





She doesn’t say anything. Words start spilling from my mouth; I need to make this right.


“I’m really sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just worried about you when you didn’t answer the door, or the phone. I worry about you a lot.”





She lifts her head slightly and says she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t believe that I was worried about her. I don’t know how to respond to this, so I sit quietly for a moment. Then I apologize for coming into her house while she slept, and I tell her I shouldn’t have done that. I tell her that I got her spare key from the hiding spot, and that not everyone has a key.





“Well I guess they do, or nobody would be getting in my house when I have the doors locked.”





I tell her only family members have keys, and I don’t even have one, just the spare. She’s shaking her head, and I tell her I’m sorry for scaring her. I didn’t mean to scare her. I tell her we will leave, and that next time I’ll make sure I get a hold of her before just coming in. I apologize, over and over, I apologize.





She lays her face back down into the pillow. Her breathing becomes steady and I know she’s fallen back to sleep.





I stand up and walk back into the kitchen. I feel awful, and more so because I know that she won’t remember any of this when she wakes up again. Anything could happen to her, here, in her home, alone, and she won’t remember.





* * * *





8/7/2013





My new room mate is really cool. We sat outside on the patio yesterday evening just bullshitting and drinking -- her, shots of fireball and Strawberitas; me, one shot of fireball and sangria. (I wonder if it’s the fireball giving me the awful tummy ache right now?) She brought a little radio outside so she could listen to the Tribe game and every so often she’d stop mid-conversation to throw her hands into the air when they scored a run, or drop her face into her hands when the other team did. After awhile, we decided to turn our jungle gym back into a living room, which we’d been putting off for three days since she’d moved in. Five minutes and we’re done. Ahhh, comfort!





I hope Ryan gets this job. He needs something big and incredibly good to happen for him. I feel like he and I have lived these sort of parallel lives since we met at The Grant, both being hurt and abused in different ways while wanting only to love and be loved. Why do good people go through so much horrible shit?





JT’s super excited that he got a new blue wrist watch. I love that boy!





Work with Helen today: Rainstorm, Italian wedding soup & crackers, old movies on TCM. I love having a job that doesn’t feel like a job. I love that I get to connect with people every day and help make their lives a little better. Working with old folks was never something that I thought I would enjoy, but now that I’m doing it, I really feel like it’s what I’m supposed to be doing.





* * * *





Something that bothers me: When I’m blamed for not trusting people. As if it’s somehow MY fault that they aren’t trustworthy. As if by trusting them, they would have somehow become trustworthy.





No!





I say no.





You must earn my trust. SHOW ME why I should trust you. Don’t expect me to just give it blindly, especially when you’ve given me reason not to. The logic here is just flawed. Sigh.





Lesson Learned: Respect myself enough to walk away from someone who breaks my trust -- immediately. Once they prove that they can’t be trusted, there’s no point trying to continue.





TRUST YOURSELF, Erin. Every time your gut instinct is telling you something is wrong, it’s always right. TRUST IT!





8/16/2013





Oh, good morning, Aunt Flo. So wonderful to see you! Even your visit can’t dampen my mood on this glorious day!





8/17/2013





“Why do we crucify ourselves?


Every day, we crucify ourselves.


Nothing I do is good enough for you.”


--- Tori Amos





“I never meant to be the one to let you down,


If anything I thought I saw myself going first…


Does anybody know how to hold my heart?”


--- Sara Bareilles





I didn’t know! I didn’t know!





8/19/2013





“You ain’t missed nothin’. Why, he wouldn’t buy a dying man a drink at a drinking fountain if you know what I mean.” --- “Riding Shotgun,” 1954 Western





Watching old movies with Helen today. Guess what the main character’s name is? Larry. I miss his surprised face and then his big loud laugh. I miss his hands in my hair.





Work with Helen today: She got her hair colored! No more patches of grey poking through. It looks really nice. Beef and barley soup for lunch. I’ll never get to make soup for Ryan.





8/20/2013





Note To Self: Always discuss feelings in person! Too much gets lost in translation via text. Heed this warning!!





How many misunderstandings could’ve been avoided?





Erin: You’re not good at relationships. You fall too fast, too hard, and you always get burned. Take a break. At the very least, take it slow.





Mom’s Advice: Let the man pursue you.





Amanda’s Advice: Look for stability, take your time, and focus on JT.





To Ryan: I hurt your feelings, and then I added salt to the wound. I’m sorry.





Positive Charges:





#190. Celebrate your birthdays.


#400. Always try to be fair.


#402. Know your limits.





Lesson: I need to work on my communication skills!





Empathy is more difficult in written word. “Recognizing facial expressions is the key to perceiving emotion… most of the information on the person’s emotional state is conveyed [via] nonverbal aspects of messages” (Inter-Act, p.203).





“People seem to make sense of their distressing experiences by expressing their thoughts and feelings in narratives or stories” (Inter-Act, p. 206).





10:16 pm. I wonder if Ryan got a call back about the job. I hope so. He deserves it. He needs a break.





Dear Ryan,





It’s a full moon and I’m sitting outside on my patio. The moon is behind the trees, but the lamp in the courtyard illuminates my writing.





You called! :) :) :)





8/21/2013





Today is JT’s first day of school! We made it to the bus stop with plenty of time to spare. Starting off the school year right! He finally admitted to being excited, last night as he was getting ready for bed. I know he’s bummed that Molly’s not in his class this year.





Work with Helen today: Italian wedding soup, crackers, root beer. I asked her if she wanted to go over to the metro parks today for our walk. I know she’d love it. She said no. She’s already been there.





I can’t wait to meet Cam. He has his Dad’s cute nose. I wonder how much he takes after him. I bet he has his kind heart. <3





Watching the news with Helen: Three teenage boys kill an Australian man because they were bored?! What is going on in the world?! People are fucked up!! When does murder ever become children’s entertainment?! This is why I don’t watch the news.





And what is this: Turducken?! A chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey. Yeah… I dunno about that. Fear not, there’s also Turducken of the Sea. HA!





8/21/2013





I asked Helen again how she knew Herb was The One.





“What was it about him?” I asked her.





“Good lookin’!” she exclaimed, and we both laughed.





She told me again about when they told her parents they were getting married.





“I forbid it!” says her mother.





“Now sit down, Florence!” says her father.