On Mother’s Day and Feeling Scared (Blog #773)

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Today, for Mother’s Day, my mom and I continued our tradition that we’ve had for the last several years. We went to see a play, then to dinner. This year the play was The Legend of Georgia McBride, a fun, lively, and hilarious (but also touching) show about drag queens. Well, about an Elvis impersonator/bartender who gets roped into being a drag queen (and ends up liking it) when one of the drag queens at the bar where he works doesn’t show up. Anyway, it was fabulous. There were sequins, wigs, and even a Judy Garland impersonation. My mom said, “I learned so much!” Personally, I just think it’s great that she’d attend such a show. A lot of parents (a lot of people) wouldn’t do that.

After the show, we went to Starbucks, which also part of our tradition. (The above picture was taken there.) This gave us time to chat about the show and catch up with each other. I don’t know, it’s weird when you live with a person (your parent). You’d think you’d talk to them all the time, but you don’t necessarily. And yet today Mom and I had such lovely conversation. This reminds me that it’s important to be purposeful with the people in your life. If you live with them, maybe get each other out of the house once in a while.

For dinner, we did the usual, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. (By usual, I mean once a year on Mother’s Day.) Ugh, talk about good food. I had the ribeye, and Mom had the filet. And whereas we normally sit at a table, this year we sat in a booth–a high back. This made our two-hour dinner even better, since it afforded us just that much more comfort and privacy. And here’s the cool part. When I made the reservation online a couple weeks ago and they asked if I had any special requests, I just asked for it–a booth if you have it. And whereas I forgot about the request, they remembered. Today when they walked us to our table and took us to the booth section, I thought, HOW COOL!

Sometimes getting what you want is that simple. You just have to ask.

After dinner, I drove Mom home, and now I’m at a friend’s house, house sitting. Their dog is curled up next to me and was just making high-pitched noises in its sleep. I guess it’s having having a good (or bad) dream. Maybe chasing a rabbit. Anyway, I wish I were asleep too. Last night I went out to eat with a friend then to the symphony, and it feels like this weekend has been go, go, go. All the activity has been wonderful, of course, but I’m ready to slow down, ready to rest. I wish I could hit Publish.

But here’s something.

Today as Mom and I were leaving the show (so before Starbucks and Ruth’s Chris), Mom fell. She was stepping up on a sidewalk, and I guess her ankle rolled on the curb. I was right there, and it just happened so fast. The next thing I knew, she was lying face down on the concrete, her glasses, bent, lying on the ground beside her. Thankfully, she was okay. Well, she probably twisted or sprained her ankle, and she scrapped her hand and part of her face. I’m sure she’ll be bruised in a day or two. But she said she was more scared than anything else.

Ugh. Fear. I felt that too. It’s terrifying to watch someone you care about stumble and fall and not be able to do anything about it. As soon as it happened, I remember thinking, I don’t know what to do. I actually moved her purse from the street to the curb because it was SOMETHING I felt like I could do competently while Mom was re-orienting herself. Three people came over–a couple and an older woman. Y’all, they were so kind. Also, nobody knows what to say. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for checking on us.” It’s like all of us were kind of in shock, like, We can’t believe this thing happened. And we all wanted it to be okay. But it HAD happened, and although it was okay, it wasn’t.

As the evening went on, Mom’s ankle swelled more, and walking was harder for her. When I left her at home earlier, Dad had put an ice pack on her leg. So healing has started.

It’s weird the way your brain keeps playing pictures in your mind. What I mean is that although I know my mom is okay, that’s she going to be okay, and that she’s at home right now, I keep seeing her on that sidewalk. The whole thing reminded me of once when I was a teenager and Mom fell in our kitchen. I could be wrong about this, but I believe it had something to do with a medication she was on (or wasn’t on). All I remember is that one minute she was making Cream of Wheat, and the next minute she and the Cream of Wheat were on the floor. Just like that. (Gravity is fast.)

In that instance, Mom ended up spending a few days in the hospital. Honestly, I don’t remember how it transpired. Dad was in prison, so someone probably called a relative to help. Either before or after she got settled in, I probably cleaned up the Cream of Wheat, just like I moved the purse today. Because it was all I could do.

Fuck feelings.

What I mean is that feeling your feelings is difficult. Like today when Mom fell, I kept wanting her to be okay. Not just for her, but for me. Because it hurts to see my mom hurting, and it’s scary to think that things could have been worse or that this could happen again. You know, as long as gravity is a thing. And whereas Mom was OKAY, the fact is that she limped the rest of the day. The fact is the side of her temple was bleeding. There’s a scratch there now. Having watched Mom fall more than once, having seen her in the hospital, these things unsettle me. And it’s like, if she’s OKAY, I don’t have to feel scared.

But the truth is we all feel scared. Feeling scared is part of the human experience, and there’s nothing that can keep us from it. (Although whiskey and chocolate help.) Personally, I’m at a point in my journey where I’d rather acknowledge and feel my fear than ignore it or shove it down. Now, granted, I’ve been putting it off. Writing about it tonight, I saved it for the last thing. (This is called burying the lead.) Still, I’ve been saying that I’ve been trying to keep my heart open to WHATEVER arises, so I’m trying to keep my heart open to this. To feeling scared and being uncertain of what to do. Not because it’s fun but because I’ve shoved my feelings down enough to know that they don’t go anywhere–they just come up later.

So crap. Sooner or later, you have to meet yourself.

A lot of teachers say that when feeling your feelings, it’s important not to “run your story.” To me this means that when I’m scared I do my best to not tell myself, This is so awful. What if it happens again? Rather, I try to experience what being scared is like physically. My heart is beating. I can’t sit still. I have a lump in my throat. This is hard, hard, hard to do, but always brings me out of my fear-based fantasies and into the present moment. For example, after Mom fell today and she sat up on the sidewalk, I noticed that the fall was OVER and that there were kind, smiling people there to help us. This was my experience when I hurt my leg several months ago. Not that the situation was pleasant, but that it wasn’t as terrible as I’d made it out to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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My Mother’s (Day) Example (Blog #409)

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Two years ago on Mother’s Day I had plans to see a musical with a friend of mine, but they called that morning violently ill. In a mad dash to find another plus-one, I asked my mom to go, thinking she’d say no because she isn’t exactly spontaneous. But she said yes, so then I made reservations at the only place I could find that took reservations online–Ruth’s Chris (Fancy Pants) Steakhouse. Based on Mom’s reaction when we pulled into the parking lot, it completely made her day. (Considering I’d actually forgotten it was Mother’s Day until that morning, this was a huge win.) Anyway, last year we repeated our adventure–saw a play, went back to Ruth’s Chris. (You can read about here.) Again, Mom was thrilled.

And thus a tradition was born.

That’s right, today for Mother’s Day, we did it all over again. First, Mom and I saw a play in Fayetteville at Theater Squared, The Hound of the Baskervilles. A humorous take on the classic Sherlock Holmes story, it’s the same show I saw last week and stars the three talented actors who taught the comedy workshop I attended a few days ago. Y’all, the production was just as hilarious today as last week, even more so. You know how it is the second time around–you notice things you didn’t notice before, subtle little things. At least that’s been my experience with theater productions and boyfriends. (That last part was a joke.) Today there was a line that completely escaped me the first viewing, a reference to a miniature cow, which one of the characters called “a bonsai bovine.” A bonsai bovine–how clever! I’m still tickled.

After the show, Mom and I briefly went to a bookstore, but neither of us saw anything we couldn’t live without. Still, it was fun to look. Then we went to Starbucks because Mom hardly ever goes to Starbucks and it’s still a treat for her to get a Chai Tea. (It’s the little things.) As for me, I got a White Chocolate Mocha and a chocolate-chip cookie because, well, fuck Autoimmune Paleo. (At least for today.)

No regrets.

Leaving Starbucks, Mom and I went back to Ruth’s Chris for dinner. Seriously, the name is weird, but it’s a pretty classy joint. The waiters all smile at you (imagine that), there’s a candle on every table, and today all the mothers got a rose. Oh, and did I mention the food is fabulous? Tonight Mom and I both got steak and split our sides, creamed spinach and southwest mac and cheese. (Can you say fattening?) And then–and then–we both had chocolate cake. (Can you say bitch, it was delicious?)

It’s weird what all can happen in twelve months. This time last year, mom was just about to be diagnosed with breast cancer. Now she’s undergone chemotherapy, had a double mastectomy, and completed radiation. Last week she got a new wig, and today she wore her foobs (fake boobs) for the first time. One is slightly bigger than the other, which Mom said was true to life. (We talk about EVERYTHING in this family.) At dinner tonight I asked Mom how it felt having come through the whole ordeal. Glancing at a bracelet around her wrist that says, “Hope,” she said, “I’m glad it’s over.” This really is good reminder–something worthy of celebrating–that just as challenges can come into our lives, they can also leave.

Never give up on life or anyone in it.

Later I told Mom, “The next time you reincarnate, I’d ask for an easier life. You’ve had more than your fair share of trials and tribulations this go round.” Seriously, the woman has. I won’t go into details, but she’s had it rough. And yet here’s what I notice about my mother, that not only is she able to weather the storms of life, but that she’s able to do so with poise. Not that she doesn’t have bad days, but she doesn’t whine about them. At least from my point of view, she’s not bitter. And whereas I consider my mother’s unconditional love her greatest gift to me, perhaps this is her second greatest gift–her example of grace under fire. Perhaps this too is unconditional love–to refuse to be defined by your bruises, to never give up on life or anyone in it (including yourself), to hope.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

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A Blanket of Stars (Blog #408)

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Blah. That’s how I’ve felt all day today, probably because I partied hard last night. And whereas pizza and beer make you feel good in the moment, they apparently don’t make you feel good the next day. Since I woke up this morning, all I’ve wanted to do is lie around. So other than leaving my bedroom for two meals, that’s pretty much what I’ve done–stayed in bed to sleep in, stayed in bed to read a book, stayed in bed to take a nap (until our dog, Ella, barked her ever-loving butt off at whatever the hell was so important outside and woke me up).

Blah.

What sucks about feeling blah is that all your blah thoughts get together and put on a parade in your head. One by one they march across the theater of your mind as they kick up their heels and wave around their pom-poms of negativity. Your life sucks! Everything is falling apart! Gooooooo team! That’s about what things have sounded like in my head today. Real hopeful, I know.

This evening after taking Tom Collins (my car) to the car wash to clean him up for Mother’s Day tomorrow, I went for a run, three miles, I think. That helped a little, smelling the honeysuckle, burning up my frustrations under a blanket of stars. I’m really not a natural runner, but I love the way my feet strike the pavement. Starting off they’re heavy and awkward, then later they’re like a metronome, slow and steady. I guess there’s something about finding my rhythm on the road that makes me think one day I’ll find my rhythm in life as well.

Since getting home, I’ve been obsessed with my histamine levels. I spent a while rubbing some sore muscles, and my skin has been red and inflamed from the friction for over an hour. That’s not normal, I’ve been thinking, and I haven’t been able to stay off Google. I keep telling myself that I have doctors to figure this stuff out, but there’s such a large part of me that feels like I’ve got to do it on my own. I feel that way a lot, like I’m solely responsible for making my dreams come true, providing for myself, and even healing. As if I’m not part of a family, a community, or a universe.

As if I’m an island.

This “I’ll take care of it myself, damn it” attitude started when I was a child, I’m sure. Mom was sick and Dad was often absent, so my sister and I essentially raised ourselves. Personally, I see a lot of good that’s come out of this situation. For example, I’m highly independent and can think on my feet. I don’t mind going to the movies or eating out alone. Hell, I actually enjoy it. But the downside to doing everything by yourself for so long is that it not only makes it tough to trust other people, but also makes it tough (really tough) to ask for help. Isn’t that funny? There’s not a thing in this universe that doesn’t depend on something else for its existence, and yet admitting you’re not self-sustaining always feels so–so–embarrassing.

Or is that just me?

We all shine brighter together.

I guess we all want to be like the honeysuckle–wild, free, and never embarrassed. Likewise, we all want to feel connected, not just know it in our heads. Personally, I know logically that I’m not alone out here. I have a lot of support–my family, my friends, my therapist. And yet on blah days I have a hard time remembering that I’m connected, supported, and cared for. When you’ve raised yourself, it’s easy to forget that you’re part of something bigger. And yet surely every lone star belongs to a larger constellation, and surely we all shine brighter together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

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(A Wonderful) Mother’s Day (Blog #45)

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Judge me all you want, but I traditionally suck at Mother’s Day. I mean, my mom’s not really into “stuff” or “things,” so I usually get her just a card, and sometimes we go out to eat, and sometimes Dad pays for it. (They say confession is good for the soul, and they must be right because I feel pretty good right now.) All that being said, I did a LOT better today, but before I can tell you about it, we need to back up a year.

Last year, I totally spaced out about Mother’s Day, and I’d planned to see the musical Beauty and the Beast in Fayetteville with a friend. Well, that morning my friend called and said, “Marcus, I’m sick. I know it’s short notice, and I’m sorry, but try to find someone else to go.” So it was all very last minute, but I took my mom to the show, and we both had a great time. (I cried.) And then we headed to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse because it’s fancy and I like fancy things and they were also the only place that took same-day reservations online.

(I didn’t tell Mom where we were going to eat until we got there.)

Well, when we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Mom’s face lit up, and she said, “Oh, Marcus, Ruth’s Chris! I’ve ALWAYS WANTED to go here, but never thought I’d get to.” (Talk about a win.) And for the last year, she’s consistently told me what a great day she had, how it was one of the best days of her life. (Dad’s response was, “Uh, hello. What about the day you married ME?”)

About a month ago, I cashed in some credit card points for a gift card to Ruth’s Chris, so I asked Mom if she wanted to go back, and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. A day or so later, she said, “Let’s go back for Mother’s Day.” Well, earlier this week I noticed there were a couple shows going on this weekend, so I asked Mom if she wanted to go to one and make a day of it. I said, “The first one is a play, a comedy, and it’s indoors. The second is like a circus, so it’s in a tent.” Mom said, “I’d love to go, and I like air conditioning.”

So our Mother’s Day started this afternoon when my mom and I went to see a play called The Dingdong. (Let your imagination run wild.) The play was basically about a husband and wife, both of whom are considering having an affair, so it was this big slapstick situation with five actors playing over a dozen roles and all sorts of potential lovers hiding in closets and under couches and one person walking in just as another person walks out. It really was delightful, and I don’t know that I’ve ever heard Mom laugh so much, but—thanks to three years of therapy—I kept thinking, These people have TERRIBLE boundaries.

Here’s a picture from the play. If you get a chance to see it (the play, not the picture), it’s at Theater Squared in Fayetteville for three or four more weeks.

After the show, we had a lot of time to kill before dinner, so we went to the square and did some window-shopping, and I bought a thank-you card that says, “Much obliged.” I don’t know who’s going to get the card, so if you want it, feel free to do something really swell for me. Currently I’m in need of medium-sided shirts, a job, and a husband that preferably looks like or is Zac Efron. (I know that’s asking for a lot, but this is an EXTREMELY NICE thank-you card.) Anyway, the store had a really cool neon sign that said, “I bet you look good on the dance floor,” so I asked the girl at the counter to take a picture of Mom and me below the sign. Mom explained, “My son’s a dancer.” (The girl didn’t seem impressed.)

Next we looked around at a vintage store, and then we went to Starbucks because Mom has only been to Starbucks one other time in her entire life. (Amazing, I know.) So we just sat for over an hour and talked. Maybe that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Mom has spent so many years not talking because of her depression, it’s actually a big deal. Before we left, we took another photo, and Mom told me that it was so nice because we never take photos together, and she also told me that I was required to print them out so she could frame them.

After Starbucks, we went to Ruth’s Chris, and we were there for over two hours. Actually, we were the last ones to leave. If you’ve never been to Ruth’s Chris, sell everything you own and go. It’s great food and great service. Mom said, “I think this is the best meal of my life.” I said, “I really get off on fancy stuff like this—long meals, waiters who scrape the breadcrumbs off the table, bathrooms with individual hand towels.” Mom replied, “It’s like Downtown Abbey.”

Later she added, “I get off on stuff like that too.”

Our final stop for the evening was the buckyball at Crystal Bridges, this really cool geometric “art thing” that lights up and changes colors. Beneath it, there are reclined benches, so you can lie underneath the stars and look up at the lights and shapes. (Apparently, you can also make out with your girlfriend under a blanket, which is what the guy on the bench next to us did.)

On the way home, Mom talked the entire time, which she said was to help keep me awake. (It worked.) Later she said, “I hope I didn’t talk too much,” and even though I had thought, Mom is talking a lot more than normal, I started thinking about all the things I learned about her today, like what it was like when her parents divorced, and how her years with depression have made her a more compassionate person, and why she still feels guilty about that white lie she told over forty freaking years ago. And then I thought about how much closer I felt to her and said, “Mom, it’s okay. I don’t mind your talking. Besides, today literally had your name on it.”

[Mom, I love you. For everything, including bringing me into the world and a wonderful day, I’m much obliged.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

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