NOTE: I haven't been on this blog in years, and decided to take a look at the back end today. I found this draft, first written on January 30, 2019.
several weeks ago the manager of my workplace asked if i might be able to sub for a fellow staffer on february 3rd. i had a gnawing feeling there was something happening that day, but nothing was noted in my calendar. so i agreed to.
a few days later it struck me that february 3 is the day my mother died.
i would have never forgotten this day, but in the moment of being asked to work, i just didn't make the connection.
i drive by the cemetery where my mother is buried whenever i go to my workplace(s) from home. her burial ground has one of the most beautiful views in albemarle county. it evokes many place memories in me, but mostly it evokes our birthplace, cyprus. something about the arrangement of hill and tree and horizon, especially during sunset in the summer.
she would be unhappy about how much of her left-over money we used for that plot. but she must be so happy that it is a place that i visit frequently. once she decided against cremation because the greek orthodox church doesn't accept it, she said she wanted to be buried with a mountain view. and that she has.
coincidentally, my main employers since my mother's death are in the same mailing district she lived in for her brief tenure in virginia. prior to her death i worked in charlottesville. i spent two years driving triangles from earlysville to charlottesville to crozet and back, while working full time. if my work had been in its current locales, logistics would have been far more streamlined. but i would have also carried a burden daily, that because i was in crozet, i also needed to spend time with mom.
today we had a car at the mechanic's for brake work. my spouse, son, and myself holed up in a restaurant across the street with a plan to pick up the car after. we had a snack, a drink, and tristan eagerly dumped a pocketful of quarters into arcade games.
at sunset dan crossed the street to the mechanics to pick up old car 2. tristan and i climbed into old car 1 parked in the restaurant lot. i turned the key and the car breathed, then dropped dead. i tried starting it a couple more times, but no juice. i texted dan who said: brt.
while i waited, the car did a couple of odd things. the airbag light blinkered in a series of repeats and made a weird sound like––well––air escaping. and the radio suddenly turned on. tristan and i both met eyes in surprise when we heard the music emit from the radio. the car key was in my hand, not the ignition.
kindly, the mechanic showed up with dan. he had a portable charger. he hooked it up and told me to try the ignition. the car had no inclination to start, yet after i took the key out, the lights flashed on and off at random, and then the radio came back on. the mechanic came over and saw the key in my hand, and the dash with a life of its own. he ordered me out, jumped in, got back out, charged it some more, and eventually the car started. but before returning to his shop he looked at us and said he'd never seen anything like that happen. what i didn't hear was the part where he told dan to get rid of the car.
i let it run for a bit, and when i turned on the headlights, it died immediately. dan returned with old car 2 and tried to jump-start it. but nothing. so we locked it up and left it.
what i didn't mention is that old car 1 happens to be my mother's former car. it did cross my mind that she was haunting it. but it was sort of a joking thought.
when we got home, i felt exceptionally drained, and fell into a deep sleep on the couch. i found myself half consciously dreaming that i lived in a house with my mom, and with roommates, and was going through a spell of feeling deeply sad and alone. in the dream i crawled into bed with my day clothes on, pulled a thick layer of blankets over me, and gazed out my bedroom door into the bedroom door of my mother's room across the hall. she too was in bed, covered by a rich quilt. she was an entirely different person yet a mirror of myself in that moment. i was feeling a lot of conflicting emotions looking upon her. and then i woke up. i think i forced myself to wake up so that the dream of my mom wouldn't get lost. she rarely appears in my sleep and this dream made me feel more certain that she had indeed been haunting the car.
later the same night i was searching for some information about the car in my email and one of the first results that came up in the search was an email from my mom, sent just a dozen days before her death. attached were two zip files, one with financial information and paperwork and probably something to do with the car, and the other full of typed histories about our family tree, both her maternal and paternal sides. i realized the zip files hadn't even been downloaded yet.
my mother has been gone two years. i still have many stones unturned when it comes to things she has passed to me. a file full of letters from her boyfriends. a big envelope full of photographs. a wicker basket full of financial history and records. a cabinet full of her silver and plates and cyprus lace. a folder full of letters i wrote to her.
other stones un-turned form a rough and winding road inside of me.
we most of us are hurt by our parents in one way or another, some more than others. and we most of us hurt our parents, one way or another, some more than others. these both. it feels important right now to start turning the stones and looking at what's underneath.
a few days later it struck me that february 3 is the day my mother died.
i would have never forgotten this day, but in the moment of being asked to work, i just didn't make the connection.
i drive by the cemetery where my mother is buried whenever i go to my workplace(s) from home. her burial ground has one of the most beautiful views in albemarle county. it evokes many place memories in me, but mostly it evokes our birthplace, cyprus. something about the arrangement of hill and tree and horizon, especially during sunset in the summer.
she would be unhappy about how much of her left-over money we used for that plot. but she must be so happy that it is a place that i visit frequently. once she decided against cremation because the greek orthodox church doesn't accept it, she said she wanted to be buried with a mountain view. and that she has.
coincidentally, my main employers since my mother's death are in the same mailing district she lived in for her brief tenure in virginia. prior to her death i worked in charlottesville. i spent two years driving triangles from earlysville to charlottesville to crozet and back, while working full time. if my work had been in its current locales, logistics would have been far more streamlined. but i would have also carried a burden daily, that because i was in crozet, i also needed to spend time with mom.
today we had a car at the mechanic's for brake work. my spouse, son, and myself holed up in a restaurant across the street with a plan to pick up the car after. we had a snack, a drink, and tristan eagerly dumped a pocketful of quarters into arcade games.
at sunset dan crossed the street to the mechanics to pick up old car 2. tristan and i climbed into old car 1 parked in the restaurant lot. i turned the key and the car breathed, then dropped dead. i tried starting it a couple more times, but no juice. i texted dan who said: brt.
while i waited, the car did a couple of odd things. the airbag light blinkered in a series of repeats and made a weird sound like––well––air escaping. and the radio suddenly turned on. tristan and i both met eyes in surprise when we heard the music emit from the radio. the car key was in my hand, not the ignition.
kindly, the mechanic showed up with dan. he had a portable charger. he hooked it up and told me to try the ignition. the car had no inclination to start, yet after i took the key out, the lights flashed on and off at random, and then the radio came back on. the mechanic came over and saw the key in my hand, and the dash with a life of its own. he ordered me out, jumped in, got back out, charged it some more, and eventually the car started. but before returning to his shop he looked at us and said he'd never seen anything like that happen. what i didn't hear was the part where he told dan to get rid of the car.
i let it run for a bit, and when i turned on the headlights, it died immediately. dan returned with old car 2 and tried to jump-start it. but nothing. so we locked it up and left it.
what i didn't mention is that old car 1 happens to be my mother's former car. it did cross my mind that she was haunting it. but it was sort of a joking thought.
when we got home, i felt exceptionally drained, and fell into a deep sleep on the couch. i found myself half consciously dreaming that i lived in a house with my mom, and with roommates, and was going through a spell of feeling deeply sad and alone. in the dream i crawled into bed with my day clothes on, pulled a thick layer of blankets over me, and gazed out my bedroom door into the bedroom door of my mother's room across the hall. she too was in bed, covered by a rich quilt. she was an entirely different person yet a mirror of myself in that moment. i was feeling a lot of conflicting emotions looking upon her. and then i woke up. i think i forced myself to wake up so that the dream of my mom wouldn't get lost. she rarely appears in my sleep and this dream made me feel more certain that she had indeed been haunting the car.
later the same night i was searching for some information about the car in my email and one of the first results that came up in the search was an email from my mom, sent just a dozen days before her death. attached were two zip files, one with financial information and paperwork and probably something to do with the car, and the other full of typed histories about our family tree, both her maternal and paternal sides. i realized the zip files hadn't even been downloaded yet.
my mother has been gone two years. i still have many stones unturned when it comes to things she has passed to me. a file full of letters from her boyfriends. a big envelope full of photographs. a wicker basket full of financial history and records. a cabinet full of her silver and plates and cyprus lace. a folder full of letters i wrote to her.
other stones un-turned form a rough and winding road inside of me.
we most of us are hurt by our parents in one way or another, some more than others. and we most of us hurt our parents, one way or another, some more than others. these both. it feels important right now to start turning the stones and looking at what's underneath.
