October 9, 2020. Sheltering at Home Week 30
This morning, during my Pilates class, mid-squat, I burst into tears.
I was doing my workout via Zoom, as usual, in the guest room.
It’s our guest room, but it’s also the place we store all the stuff our son accumulated as a kid. Baby scrapbooks, soccer trophies, high school yearbooks, souvenirs of a post-college trip to India. Stuff he doesn’t have room for in the house he now shares with his family, two thousand miles away.
A Plié Interrupted
As I lower myself into a plié squat, my eyes land on Peter’s college books on the bookcase in front of me. Books by Derrida and Kierkegaard. Novels by Louise Erdrich and Cormac MCarthy. Books on poker, basketball, chess.
On top of the bookcase, on my laptop, the Pilates instructor and a dozen classmates are deep into their squats. But I am in tears. I feel Peter looking out at me from the things he’s left behind, and suddenly I miss him.
And We Haven’t Seen Them Since
I last put my arms around Peter in January. He was here for his birthday, along with his wife, his little girls, his sister and her husband. That was before Covid-19. We haven’t seen any of them since.
He is tall and I am short. When we get ready to hug, my arms go around his waist, his arms go around my shoulders. It used to be the other way around. My arms around his little neck, his small arms around my waist. Eventually the day came — he must have been about 11 — when we switched things up. My arms around his middle, his arms around my neck.
I keep busy these days. There is writing to do. A patio remodel to oversee. An upcoming election to fret over.
Mostly, I choose not to think about the thousands of miles — as well as the months, past and future — that lie between me and Peter. Working out in Peter’s guest room, I keep my eyes on the laptop screen, and off the books and mementos that call out to me.
Same thing when I’m up in Christina’s old bedroom, dusting the furniture or stitching something up on my sewing machine. Her silly, scary art project masks leer at me across the room. The 7-year-old Christina is here, daring me to be scared.
On the other side of the room — taking up way too much space, but I can’t bring myself to give it away — is the droll peacock chair she made in school. The roomful of Christina objects chimes, “Hey, I’m Christina and I’m here. Give me a hug.”
I Miss My Grown-Up Children
So, mostly I don’t think too long at any given time about my kids. I’d have to let myself feel how sad I am without them. That would be too much to let in. And there’s no fixing it.
Better to see if Jon would like to help me move the dining room table a foot or two toward the kitchen. The right placement of the table eludes us. Or, I could go online and hunt down patio chairs.
Jon and I video chat with the kids pretty often. There are telephone calls, emails and posts on social media. I tell myself, I’ve got it good. Everybody’s healthy. Everybody has jobs. Marriages are holding up OK. There’s no need to grieve
But I do.
Long before my kids came along, there was this story about being young and single in New York City: “Unmarried and Pregnant in Mid-Century America.” More about my grown-up kids at “Geographic Mobility in America — Watching My Grown-Up Kids Disappear.” Also, “The Weekend I Talked — And the Kids Listened.”
Barbara– Tough times for all for sure. My in laws are in a senior citizen apartment complex that does not allow outside visitors. My son is in retail, and the store in downtown SF where he works is doing virtually no business, and thus his hours have been greatly reduced.
This is a very long term overhang on our economy and our lives. Tears and humor are our natural reactions and responses respectively. Much better enunciated in your blog about your family.
Oh, dear. So hard for your in-laws and you. Does the complex have an outdoor area where you could sit with them? Or does the complex management think even that is too risky?… So many people are out of work, or half out of work. It seems like Millennials have been hit with a double whammy — first the 2008 recession, now this.
Aw, Barbara. This is a heartbreaking time. I fight myself daily about needing to stay apart and physically healthy versus hugging the girls to stay emotionally healthy. Please know we all miss you.
Liz
Thanks, Liz. We miss you, too. I’m missing so many of my friends and acquaintances. There is one redeeming upside to this shut-down — we see a lot more of our neighbors, which is sweet.