And Life Just Keeps Getting (Adjective)

It's nearly midnight and I'm smack dab 4 weeks into Covid19 shelter-in mandate in New York City.  I'm not going to waste words explaining that.  Not because it's late and I'm feeling lazy and tired but I just can't be bothered.  You know what I mean.  I know you know what I mean.  There.  You're all caught up.  Did you miss me?  I didn't even know I was gone.  The time between last post and this one is technically two whole years not the few minutes it shows stamped.  A lot has happened since the last post.

Since my visit to the England back in 2018, I have had hand, foot, and mouth disease.  Yup, it's real.  Only the parents whose children got this will understand.  Both my hands and feet lost all nails and skin.  What did I learn from this experience?  The dead skin on our feet are like shoes and we do need all those calluses on our feet to stand up in the shower without falling.  So at the age of 40 I got brand new hands and feet.  Nails included.  It was loads of fun when my nails kept falling off.  But I'm looking at the bright side. 

I had a friend of my husband's pass through my house so I thought it would be a great idea to help out a single mother and daughter.  That was towards the end of 2018.  They are still here.  Not my best decision looking back on it now.  But who am I to turn my back on a friend. 

I also lost a rescue puppy.  I should have known better than to responds to a pet adoption advertised via social media.  When we drove to some small pet shop basement in Brooklyn, I should have hesitated.  But my son was convinced this was going to be our dog.  It lasted 10 days and 8 of them was in the animal hospital across the street.  There is nothing quite like getting a phone call from your spouse to tell you the dog didn't make it. 

The hardest part was explaining to my son that God answered his prayer for a puppy.  Before you decide to crucify me over that statement, let me try to explain.  My son prayed for a puppy.  He chose the puppy.  I made the rest happen.  Puppy was sick.  Because my son chose that dog, it died happy, with a name, and a family that loved him and mourned him.  His name was Loki. 

We did get a new puppy.  But I'll have to regale you with Macy's life later.  Moving on. 

I broke my left pinky in 2019.  A week later, my mother-in-law passed away after her three year battle with cancer.  I won't lie.  I miss that woman.  I met her in 1999.  I had her in my life for two decades.  I never would have my family if I never met her.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I married my husband because I wanted his mom for myself.  She flew out to New York after my mother passed away in 2014.  I haven't quite had the chance to properly mourn her.  Life has been adamantly relentless.

So here we are, Covid19, the word trying desperately not to go to hell in a hand basket.  I'm working from home.  I can't complain because that means I'm still earning a paycheck.  My two young children are learning remotely.  That experience hasn't exactly been a walk in the park but at least they don't hate being stuck indoors with their parents and each other.  The world has gone mad for toilet paper and cleaning supplies.  And I'm realizing, far too many people in my family and social circle are essential workers and I could very well not see some of them when this pandemic ends. 

I won't lie.  I despise the idiot in chief for how he's made the situation worse.  I am loving the governor.  He makes me feel safe, informed, and sane.  I go to grocery stores early in the morning and in a crowd I have panic attacks.  I think we're all going to need mental help in some form or another.

Despite all that, I am grateful to this pandemic that will take more lives before it's done.  The last time I got to spend quality time with my children was after they were born.  They are growing up.  My oldest will begin middle school next year.  The years ahead will fly as swiftly as the last decade has gone.  But for now, I am stuck at home, hiding from the world in the heart of my family. 

I have learned to count my joy in the midst of this difficult season.  That is why, after all this time, I'm still standing even if its on my knees. 

This is my journal.  This is my reminder.  Life hasn't defeated me yet.  I will continue to whisper my prayers into the fury of the storm.  

An Old Post I Forgot to Publish...

Dear Reader,

Have I disappointed you with my lack of content?  Let's pretend I have since you haven't said otherwise.  We'll pretend to care or not care, silently across the vast expanse of the internet.

I visited the Science Museum in London today and it has set those thought trains into motion.  Returning to my in-laws, the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen is tormenting my hunger riddled stomach.  The damn thought trains are sounding the horns, demanding to leave the station.  The oldest is playing chess with his father.  He got into this game a few years ago, when he was about five and his world was ripped out from beneath this feet.  A part of me is glad my father is dead because he isn't here to drop advise on my son's opponent on how to beat him.  Or maybe he only did that to me.  This thought makes me angry.

Would I have been a decent chess player if my father had only sat down and played with me?  Whenever I played chess, I remember being desperate to win.  It's not a pleasant feeling, trying to beat your father because he was helping someone else trying to beat you.

I had that feeling in the museum too.  It reminded me of the anger with which my cousin educated me of the atrocities visited upon East Pakistan by West Pakistan which would eventually result in Bangladesh being formed.  I viewed the science and technology exhibit and a photography exhibit on India.  It's difficult to remain interested and detached when you realize that this is your homeland and the man you married belongs to the culture that oppressed this land (along with so many others) for the sole purpose of profit.

So much anger and pain; it's not new.  The current baboon sitting in the Oval or this backwards move of Brexit, they may not be the imperialists oppressing the colonials anymore, but they are still those who have who would take from those who have not.  News just travels too fast these days.  Maybe these atrocities are visible.

It's a new year and maybe I should make a resolution.  I know myself better.  Resolutions are for those who aren't afraid of commitment.  So I will focus on this anger that has come to the surface on the heels of memories remembered, historical context realized, and address that.  Anger, stoked like a low banked glowing ember can flare up and become an all consuming flame.  It become necessary to turn the other cheek in these instances.

Its easy to say you're sorry or ask for forgiveness.  The real effort comes from those who must forgive lest they become entrapped in a trap from which there is no escape.  Those who have wronged you will think a simple request for forgiveness cancels the debt.  They very rarely give us (those to who this debt is owed) credit for finding the courage to forgive.

It struck me, while visiting that exhibit, the pain so many people have suffered at the hands of their oppressor and will continue to do so.  Pain often encloses us, walls us off.  Forgiveness is the only key that will unlock that door.  So I'm choosing to forgive my father for deliberately trying to help my opponents beat me at chess.  Maybe the best way to exercise the demons of my memory is to start playing the game.

There goes the dinner bell.  Time to partake of the delicious smells that have been coming out of the kitchen.