A miracle
This Saturday I went up to Phoenix with some friends to see my favorite comedian live. I last saw him in 2002 or so, and we had to go out to L.A. that time, but it was totally worth it. This time he was coming to us.
We had dinner at my favorite restaurant, laughed our asses off at the comedian, and headed back to the hotel for the evening, since no one wanted to make the drive back to town that late. Oddly, the hotel we got was the same chain I stayed at, and cried myself sick at, when I went to meet his gang in California in September. Fortunately, there were no difficult flashbacks. The rooms were very different, and it’s been almost a year since then. Dang…where does the time go?
By the time the evening ended, and I was in bed reading until I fell asleep, I was marveling at the fact that I had thoroughly enjoyed myself. And it wasn’t because I didn’t think about A; on the contrary, he was on my mind quite a bit, as he always is. His name was in the dessert I ordered; I ordered it because of that. I shared the comedian with him, and we watched some of the videos together when I visited him, laughing until we cried. But for the first time in over a year, I had unsullied enjoyment, and it felt like a miracle.
Up until now, I would have moments where I’d be enjoying myself, but there was always the mental follow-up of “I’d be having a really good time if only A hadn’t died,” like “This moment would be perfect if only he was still in my world. I’d have no worries. But he’s not, so I’m unable to enjoy it fully.” Like the enjoyment was discounted 25% automatically with that thought, and truly, it was. I could feel myself sink. But not Saturday. Saturday it was more “I’m having a really good time. A is not here.” They were two separate facts, but one did not necessarily inform the other for a change. Reality was able to hold both pieces without making them causal or intertwined.
And that was the thing…there had been plenty that day that could’ve really tanked me. Leaving my neighborhood, I saw a sign for an estate sale. Prior to losing A, I would see signs for estate sales and think, “Oh, I bet there’s some good stuff.” Because it was a whole lifetime for sale. It’s a little sickening to realize and admit I thought that way, in comparison to now. Having had his “estate,” such as it was, swept away to places and people unknown to me, and not having any opportunity to have a treasured memento from among his possessions, I now view an estate sale as a necessary horror. Yes, a family may not want to hold on to everything, and may have bills to pay any way they can. But I will never shop an estate sale again. Anyway, the sign gave me a moment’s pause, and a sad feeling passed over me as I thought of the person who had passed, whoever they were, and the family left behind taking care of the unpleasant, yet necessary, tasks of settling an estate. I suppose you could call it a prayer, though it was more of a warm, sympathetic wish sent out in the ether in the hopes that it got to them. Maybe they’re the same thing.
But then I was able to go on with the day. The thought of it came back a few more times, but it didn’t stop me from enjoying myself. The whole day was remarkable that way. The reality was still there, but it didn’t have me in a chokehold, unable to see anything else except through that perspective.