Harvey Orkin

  Now, I’m exposed

        Ellen Threatts

                 Now, I’m exposed. 

The flashes come and go those of Thanksgivings past. Surrounded by bubbles in warm and a can of twisted tea cuddling the other free hand. My life is so twisted now. Not sure if the memories are bearable to stand even when a smile stretches across my face. Another loss and the day turns into night.  

Prior to Hurricane Delta making landfall an aerial google map showed the thousands of homes covered with blue tarps after Hurricane Laura made landfall. The damages were so widespread  that many residents didn’t bother returning home. Whatever meditating repairs done between the two hurricanes matter little which included  my own a home which  is pieced and patched over to seal out the elements. Now, my life is a cloud of tears that is trying to find a safe, warm and dry place to land. 

 It’s not exposure to the sun , the dramatics  of unhealthy people in my life or even the exposure  to the vast assortments of diseases that plaque our society. The exposure I speak of is the emptiness that the realization that Who am I  without her ? Earlier in the month I thought I had reached a low of all lows maybe even some acceptance, it wasn’t so. This was a first. Reality was creeping in. The first funeral in which my mother isn’t accompanying me through the rivers of introductions and re-introductions to distant relatives.  A second cousin, the woman who had introduced me  to my vocation, a job that still springs laughter, thrills and bitterness died.    She (Dee) and my mom were closer than cousin’s. Always calling to check up on one another.  In my heart of hearts I know my mom’s death in August had taken a silent toll on Delores.

Before their deaths did  either of them think How would I  survive without them?  My two biggest fans: my husband and my mother. Gone forever only to appear now that I try to patch up this life of mine without them.  Lots of leftovers most will be wasted. Snacking on sugary treats, carbs overload  then washing it down with alcohol. Mulling about the house sniffing and pouting from bedroom to living room. Being lulled not by holiday scents or songs, instead drifting with  Anti Anxieties and Anti Depressants Medicine  and secret desires is what I use to patch up my life after so many losses this year.

This fear settles into my heart.

My conversation starter, my mouthpiece is gone. 

She is no longer beside me. 

Relying on me, 

Easing my troubles

Soothing my doubts,  

Calling on me, 

Speaking the truth,

Who will take the lead in initiating those  holiday events. Welcoming those family members from out of town.  Who will be the cushion of comfort when my heart is broken by love? Would she even approve of my next lover? 

   Whether it was a weekday meal, a Sunday dinner  or a Holiday feast afterwards our mom would sometime escape  to enjoy what brought her pleasure, besides catering to her family. If any of my siblings missed those family meals together for they were either out on dates, busy with their friends or engaging in the antics that I found unappealing  she always labeled their  names on top a Styrofoam container or a plate was tightly tugged at the edges with a new piece of foil paper. On this Thanksgiving 2020  I shared a  meal with my working family and the people we call patients.  A co-worker and friend kept her promise to bring me a taste of her family meal. I shared of course, we started with desserts.

  The Mac and cheese has a golden brown crust with a sweet tang to boost. I on the other hand has always preferred to just eat and be entertained, instead of doing the cooking  and entertaining / hosting. COVID-19 may well save me from having to host a family holiday gathering , which as the oldest I’m sure I’ll succumb and somehow be compelled to do so anyway.  After a twelve hour shift I dropped in on my second oldest brother home that he shares with his girlfriend to chat and catch up on how they spent Thanksgiving. My name was written in bold black letters on the white styrofoam container just as our  mother had done so many times before. We immediately acknowledged this time treasured memory with laughs.  

It wasn’t until the day after Thanksgiving. Another Black Friday that so many Thanksgivings past came zig zagging in a rush that brought with it an anxiety attack that nearly smothered me for the entire weekend.  

One Thanksgiving I remember spending it in  the lobby of a Burger King after my husband was released from the hospital. He and I along with two of my stepsons ate burgers instead of Turkey slurped milkshakes in place of nutmeg not even caring how his family or mine were hovering over the massive amount of food. Another one I slept the day away while my mother, nephews and baby brother voices echoed words of concern and encouragement in the living room next to my bedroom. Finally after they left I found myself hiking a local nature trail. Peace was so easy to come by then. Or the one where  I’m speeding home away from my sisters home after she and my soon to be husband  got into a argument that had her wheeling a knife in his direction and I vowed we would never return there for Thanksgiving or any other holiday.  Of course we did. That is what families do.  Keep  forgiving. 

  In a small downstairs apartment miles of the exit bridge tugged on the wayward side from the LSU campus in Baton Rouge where my sister was living with her then fiancé  and their blended family that had grown from two to four.  He  and I spent a great Thanksgiving with them a decade  before the knife wheeling holiday. 

My sister loves it. As did my mother . Even though she’ll  most likely tell our mother by  giving a tongue lashing of us . Why is it that she’s always the one to initiate and host these holiday family get togethers I used to call her, I still do the ‘Black Martha Stewart” with her make shift creative budget minded do it yourself projects; from living room furniture to painting or deco wall framing. The hosting the entertaining holding court reminiscing of family highs and lows, the teasing and joking.  My mother had flair,  confidence the natural tenderness, a soul that was inviting to know more and share her wisdom. 

 

I hear her in the background.  While on a break at work I make a few Holiday greeting calls.  Calls that traditionally  I’ve listened as my mother did  so —- willingly and cheerfully.  As I spoke with my brother in law wishing them a Happy Thanksgiving. I hear my sister in the background.  “I miss that voice fussing at me”

“I know right” I say. She (Mom) Glo for short (Gloria) would fuss about why aren’t the kids dressed or why wasn’t the main food prep done already,  or you don’t start your food on such a high setting.  

 

Around the neighbored many blue tarps sill cover the roof tops. When it rain now my heartbeat doesn’t tumble with fear. The fear that the ceiling will burst with the weight of the rain has become a stagnant emotion. Even though the insurance check is ready to be spent  I’m in no rush to get quotes and estimates, cause I know I’m clinging to the reasoning that when the roof is repaired then comes the repairs to the ceiling which only means the home can be restored to a more comfortable setting. I frequent only my bedroom, master bath, kitchen, laundry room and half of the living room. Her bedroom and bath is of no use to me. Which  means I’ll have to deal with re-organizing tidying up the rest of the spots where my mom laid her head and spent time with me. 

After the death of my husband I cringed at the thought of moving forward. My mother was there providing words of strength, little by little she restored that spirit of a brighter tomorrow. Instead I return  to what I know best,  just plop on the sofa on the opposite end of the room where six years ago nostalgia in a cup occupied my every thought.  I wonder where time  has gone. I miss those not so perfect Thanksgiving already.  

Now I’m exposed to my own insecurities, the silence and a heavy calmness and wonderment. No clear picture what my future holds, just the scars that will need healing again, and the harsh truth that it is now time to GROW UP.