Unsaved Draft - A Review

It was famously said that life happens all at once.

Right now, life is happening to me a great deal.

I am in a state of constant unsuredness. A lot of the world around me isn't predictable anymore. This is good and bad, but as I've suggested before, I often crave consistency.

These are the thoughts that are on my mind as I explain the layers of weirdness of my life to one of my best friends.

These are the words that are leaving my mouth when I find out my grandfather is dead.

Grandpa Steve is someone I've called a roach. He's been an ever present reminder of what loss feels like in my life. He's constantly reminded me of where I could end up if I became too callous.

He was an alcoholic and mean. He was constantly rude, blatantly immature, and abusive.

The most I ever saw him was once a year. On Father's day we'd meet at Tom's Farm. Eat a meal and then leave. I don't remember how these days went, just that our time with him was short, and largely spent waiting for him to show up. Never exactly sure if he would.

Then, life happened all at once to him. He got sick, he needed constant medical care and my father saw to keeping him alive and comfortable. My grandfather never appreciated it.

When I was more of a pessimist, which feels distant for being a year ago, I didn't feel much more than resentment for the man. He did so much to tear his family apart and did very little to respect anyone, including himself.

But when I changed my outlook on life, I came to realize I could really just only feel sorry for him. The man isolated himself so much that when the opportunity came for him to come back into our lives, he didn't know how.

Could we have done more to welcome him? I don't know. But in so many respects we gave him enough chances.

Now those chances can't be taken. We can't offer any extra. He can't accept them.

This, to me, is the true pain of grief. The deeply unsettling realization that the impossibility of fixing things is inescapable.

I don't like to lose people. And I don't like to lose chances. But sometimes, that's how life works.

But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

For a while, I convinced myself that sometimes you might need to step out of someone's life. Then I had to do it and I realized that I don't like the practice of that particular sermon. It wasn't my choice, it was hers. I still am sorry for it and wish it went down differently.

But sometimes it does seem like it's worth cutting out the heartache. Sometimes it's better to lose than to fight a losing battle.

But that's never been how I operated.

So, it's tough to have even the slightest possibility of victory ripped from my hands. Although, I guess, when things are indeterminate, what is victory anyway.

I'm reminded of an adage... or quote... or something... I don't know where it comes from, a song probably, or maybe I made it up. Or maybe its some mix of stolen and original. But it goes something like this:

"Steal the breath from my lungs, and then remind me to breathe

deep when I am overwhelmed."

Now that it's written, I know its from a poem because the white space is important. I remember thinking of it as a sigh, one that acts as a unnatural pause and also something that separates the sentence into two separate statements. But that pause is manufactured. It isn't created or justified by anything. It's built in. It's shallow. It's empty, like stolen breath. The idea of the shallow pause matches the definition of whelming. Something I was reminded of recently. It means to pile up, but it also means to bury. This creates a contrasting image in diction alone and for whatever reason that connects with me more than ever right now.

I tried finding the poem this is from, but I can't. Regardless, I'm just doing my best today. And will continue tomorrow, and the next. And the next.

It's all I can do, after all.

Thanks for reading, and have a great week.