I went to see my grandmother for Thanksgiving, which means I went to the belly of the beast (Michigan), for a few days. Every time I swear I won’t go back, for any reason, I go back. As long as she’s alive, I can’t swear that place off, for good. So, I guess, I hope that’s forever, then. The trip was rife with panic attacks, passive-aggressive accusations, and my complete emotional shut-down, by the time we pulled out of the hotel we’d checked into.
On a great note, my husband, non-native that he is, thought we were staying in the adorable city of Nov-ee. Michiganders will be laughing, because Novi is pronounced just like it’s spelled, Nov-i. How cute is he?
It’s now Wednesday, almost a full week later, and I didn’t see, speak to, or otherwise communicate, directly, with anyone other than my grandmother; still, the whole idea of my family stressed me out so much, that I got dressed today, for the first time. Yep, that’s what that place does to me. I used to be ashamed at what a loop they threw me for, but it’s pretty common for survivors to be less stable, the further out they are from their childhood. And, it takes pretty intense therapy to get over it…which I’m in. Depression and trauma are no joke. And, one day, I hope to get past it to a degree that I don’t throw my whole life into chaos, just by being in the same state as the “family;” you know, those folks who are rolling their eyes right now, and treating me as a joke. Gosh, I can feel the love from here.
By the way, since I brought up getting dressed, let’s talk hats. Hats always make me think of Go Dog, Go.
And, whenever I wear a hat, I harass my family by asking, “do you like my hat?”
I have the smallest “normal” adult head possible. I don’t have any medical condition for my small head, other than the dent in the back from my skull missing a large chunk (NBD, right?); but, I had a small head before that. I can even, comfortably, wear children’s baseball caps! So, wearing adult hats can be an issue. But, I like to go all out when I get dressed, even to run to the pharmacy. If not then, when? I only have two speeds for my clothes: sweats, or everything. So, I like a hat, now and then.
Still, I contend it takes a fair amount of confidence to not only put on the hat, but to wear it out of the house. I have a few that I wear, on occasion, with as much boldness as I can muster. No matter how good it looks, inside I’m screaming, “does this look okay?” Everyone trying to pull off a look is thinking the same thing. So, the next time you see someone wearing something bold, pay them a damn compliment, you animal.
Today was such a hat day. My destination? The Fairfax Clinic to pick up some prescriptions for my child. Fancy.
Then, it blew off in the parking lot, and my “cool” factor dipped by a factor of, at least, ten, as I had to chase it, in my high-heeled boots. It was so windy today! This one is adjustable inside, and it fits my head well. Still, I knew to keep my head down, towards the wind, the whole walk to the car. Apparently, the vacuum created by opening the car door, as I sat down, translated to: make Rachel look like an asshole.
Back to my original topic, I will say this: my family, that is to say my husband and son, were heroes. They navigated arrangements, so I’d have to communicate with no one. They saw I was spiraling anyway, and snuck out to buy me a present and a card (a very silly cat hat – another hat! --, with an attached scarf and paw mitten pockets – both very chic and very me), which was beyond touching. They gave me more hugs in 48 hours than any mother/wife has a right to. They rose above and beyond.
And, my 11-year-old child sat patiently in a nursing home, with nary a complaint for almost two days. He played a flute concert for my grandmother, chatted with her, and was all-together pleasant. My memories of nursing home visits as a kid are thinking that the elderly were trying to suck the youth right out of me, as they saw me traipsing down the hallways. Plus, they don’t care who you are there to see, you are everyone’s surrogate grandchild. As an adult, I am much less forgiving of the elderly; perhaps because I’m closer to becoming elderly.
Overall, I’m glad I went, but I’m not sure when I can muster a trip back. Hugging my grandmother enough times to try to save them up is wonderful, and gives me memories that are beyond special; and her words, just for me, warm my heart. I cannot replace those things; I shall treasure them always. I just wish I didn’t have to deal with all that pesky stuff that breaks my spirit and my heart, in order to do that other nice stuff.