The Upside of Anger

Pepsi reaching for Mom

Dear Pepsi,

Losing you so suddenly has me expectedly crying, feeling sad and withdrawing for the most part; however, I am also angry and easily agitated. I have a very low threshold for bullshit. While I try to conserve my strength and carefully pick my battles, there are moments when I cannot hold back. Granted, the election of Donald Trump and a new world order is serious cause for concern, anger and speaking up. But what I am feeling is more intricate, complex, and personal. All my edges are rough and raw. You are most likely amused because I have not exactly been a shrinking violet. You have seen your Mom going off about politics or if I thought someone was tampering with the wellbeing of those I love, including you. This is different though, I feel like everyday without you is a punch to my gut. And I am furious about it.

Pearly chasing Pepsi

The truth is I am not faring well without you. Neither is Dad, and defiantly not Pearly. I worry about her the most. She doesn't want to play with Pandy. She seems to be mopping around a lot, has more grey in her face, and her gait less spry. I was supposed to go to Cuba this week but backed out. I didn't feel up to it; however, more importantly I didn't want to leave Pearl. What if she thought I was gone for good as well? You read about married people who when one partner dies, the other is not far behind. I stare Pearly down, like I once did with you and plead with her, Don't leave me Pearly, please stay with me. You were her other half, Pepsi, and now she is lost without you. Sometimes I ache for you so much I feel guilty that Pearl and Pandy cannot sooth me. And other times, when I am playing with them, laughing and hugging them, I still feel hollow. Either way I am shortchanging them.

How can we not long for this face?

In what might feel unrelated I received a phone call from my Rhode Island childhood friend Debbie today. We lived across the street from each other on Dedham Road and were best friends. Her older brother Paul was my brother's best friend. We had the usual spats and drama, threatening to never speak again and then back to being bussom buddies, the stuff of childhood friendships. We played outside all day and sat on the curb taking late into the night while our parents were fast asleep. We moved to Vermont when I was 13, and while that ended Debbie's and my relationship, Paul remained in our lives, moving in with us for periods of time after he graduated high school. He briefly attended college, and when he dropped out it was clear he was troubled. There was drug use; however, mental illness was the true culprit, which often has an onset at that age. My parents did their best to help but it was beyond their scope. Paul went back to Rhode Island and his mother's care. We heard little from him after that.

Some things just are

Fast forward to a few years ago when I joined a Facebook page for people from Warwick RI. Magically I reconnected with Debbie. We had a long phone chat and she told me Paul had a difficult life, never married; however, though her mom had passed she remained close to him, therefore he was far from alone. Debbie and I stayed in contact via Facebook and she was very sad and sympathetic while you were sick and when you passed. We scheduled a phone chat for yesterday; however, I never heard from her. She called this morning and asked how was doing, to which I replied Shitty. She was in tears, which I initially thought was because of you Peps; however, it was about Paul - his lungs are failing. As she told me about his physical decline her voice was a mixture of sadness and anger. Why are you angry I asked, What is this about? Barely below the surface was the anger and pain towards an absent father, now 90 who she had not spoken with in two years. She didn't want to call him yet felt pressure from others to do so. And certainly Paul had no desire to include him. She was also angry that she felt he had been cheated by his illness from having a wonderful life like she had been blessed with. I felt her anger and sadness, a potent combination I am only too familiar with. Listen, I told her, Paul has not been alone, he has always had you and your children. He has family. You have been a loving sister, you have done him a real solid all these years. You don't need to call your father. All he needs is to see you and you both will figure out what comes next. Tears streamed down my face. Were they for you Pepsi? For the wounds inflicted by my family that also resided barely below the surface? Or because my childhood friend, who I had not seen in over 50 years, felt as close to me as if we had seen each other regularly throughout the years? All of it and more.

That all knowing look

The truth is your loss has made me less inclined to hold my tongue, and at the same time caused me to recede from unnecessary engagement. Life is full of paradox. I told Debbie I have deep gratitude for my life. Despite the rejection and cruelty I endured from my family, I have had an amazing life filled with love, great kids, interesting people, travel, and the satisfaction of finding purpose in my work after years of searching for a good fit. I take none of it lightly; however, I am still at a loss without you Pepsi girl. I cry everyday and imagine you in my presence - on the pillow next to me, on the couch while I watch TV, and laying wherever the sun pours through the windows. I am furious that you are not here to soften me. I am not a person of blind faith, or who puts her fate in the hands of others. I fight hard and with tenacity. I couldn't beat cancer for you, it came swiftly and showed no mercy. It ripped us apart, devastated Dad and I, Rena and Jonathan, all who loved you, and now Pearl's spirit seems to diminish with each day you do not prance through the door. I wonder if loosing you, and such profound losses are meant to stir us up? Perhaps this is the upside of anger? Emboldening us to act, speak up, and not be timid when the stakes are high for those we love or humanity in general. Watching you take cancer like a champ until you couldn't take it anymore taught me to buck up, press pause on the non essential, and not hold back for fear of what people may think. We are all such complex and confounding creatures Pepsi, and you always seemed to get that in a mysterious and irresistible way just by the look on your face. I felt it today talking to Debbie, and in a strange way it was you all around me, carving space for compassion and reminding me that love is deep, gripping and perplexing, and in the end our best chance at salvation.

Oh darling girl, how I miss you, now and forever.

Love,

Mom