Memento Mori: May 2021
They say that April showers bring May flowers. I haven’t been viewing any of my growth as flowers lately. I owe that to FEELING the pain of my roots pushing their way through the bullshit. It’s the part of growth we don’t talk about enough because it isn’t glamourous like our end results. I wish we openly talked about process more and that it was actually encouraged. Not the obvious A to B steps but the navigating of all the roadblocks that will present themselves. I wish people were more honest about their privilege and how THAT helps them navigate life a little easier than someone else. However, we don’t. We live in a society that constantly wants us to show up as attractive as we can possibly be so we don’t upset others with our normal ass ugliness. We all have it but work SO hard to hide it behind memes, posts, laughter and curated pieces of life intended to show us at our best.
The Isley Brothers were on to something when they said, “but at your best, you are love.” It leads me to believe that this is why we stay pressed to present ourselves in the way we do. Well… the month of May isn’t me at my best. It’s me feeling at my worst and being furious that I must LOOK like it for it be taken any kind of serious. It’s knowing that when we do look how we feel that usually signals we’re on our way to meet up with Elizabeth.
The final hours are nigh and the light at the end of the tunnel is a few steps away. This makes me think about my dad because cancer made him age what seemed like 50 years overnight. It was over the course of 4 years but that’s still a short amount of time, especially considering he looked like he could be my older brother for 38 years of my life.
this is what cancer looks like for some people… this is a progression of what my father looked like over the course of 4 years. at his death, he was even thinner than the third picture. I don’t feel like digging for that picture. it’s even more jarring than what’s here…
My mom recently visited for Bug’s 5th grade promotion and I found myself staring at her in the same way I stared at my dying father. She’ll be 65 in December but doesn’t really look a day over 35. She looks like she could just be my older sister. It reminded me that despite the insurmountable load of stress she’s been under, she STILL has a ton of life left to live. At least that’s what I’m telling myself because I don’t want to face the reality that she’s closer to check out time than I want her to be. According to the life expectancy of my grandparents and great grands, she has a good 20–30 years left to spend with the people she loves the most.
Mom & Dad… mom don’t look too much different than this now. She’s thinner but that’s about it… she looks young for being 64 years old.
There’s a part of me that hopes me and Bug are included in that because we haven’t been for so long. She says now that my father is gone, she can work on having a better relationship with us. There’s a part of me that says “just be grateful she’s trying” but there’s also a part of me that’s little Synitta being furious that she had to wait until my father passed away to SHOW she cared more about me and her granddaughter. She didn’t wait to do this with any of her other children or grandchildren. It feels like a consolation prize… especially because if my dad were still alive, she wouldn’t be doing it at all.
He had THAT much control over her… and our entire family. He was the dominating force for how we all moved. In a way, it’s good that he’s gone. It’s allowing change to take place that he blocked. I suppose this is also some of those May flowers that are blooming because of the April showers. His death was 4/13/2021 and it still feels like it happened yesterday. I’m curious as to when that’s going to go away. I have the urge to talk to people who’ve lost a parent… specifically people who had complicated relationships with their parent(s). Even when your parent was a complete dickhead to you, it’s still YOUR parent. You came from them… part of them STILL exists because you do, whether you like it or not. I don’t want to talk to anyone who thinks that death wipes slates clean. It doesn’t. If anything, death reminds you exactly of who that parent was to you. Especially if the relationship didn’t even change before they died.
I desire to talk to people who understand that no parent is perfect, no matter how we create the façade in our mind that they are to stomach that one of our Creators just wasn’t a great person. The goal is never perfection but the result should never be that a child isn’t loved. I don’t want to talk to someone that wants me to reframe who my father was. That isn’t how I get to a place of peace. Pretending some shit wasn’t what it was doesn’t help any of us heal. It’s deception of the worst kind and it doesn’t allow me to grow. My flowers won’t bloom if I infuse lies into my soil. Sometimes the truth is ugly and it hurts. I want to talk to people who understand that and make space for it. I want to talk to people who will talk back, not just respond with “mmmmhmmm” and “girl.”
May has reminded me that the things I want are important and I should be okay with stating them aloud. Everyone isn’t capable of meeting those needs and that’s okay. It doesn’t make them useless. It just means they aren’t the fertilizer I need now. I look at June wondering what it brings other than the heat. If we’re sticking to the theme of things, I see growth still happening. We had the rain in April to wash away the bullshit. May presented the growth. June… burns away everything else I don’t need to make room for what I do.
Hello June. Promise me you won’t be an insufferable cunt as you do your job.
(Originally published on June 6, 2021 via Medium)
