Dearest Rachel –
Another insanely early morning (I fell asleep before ten last night, and found myself waking up at three; this whole circadian rhythm thing is beginning to be a self-perpetuating problem), and I step outside to discover the streets are slick with moisture. Evidently, it rained overnight, and I don’t recall hearing any of it. Mind you, this isn’t a complaint, merely an observation, as this is barely enough water to get my shoes damp.
In fact, as I make my way to the gym, I wonder if this entire series of letters is a little bit overblown sometimes. I tell you about how much I miss you and what I’m trying to do to cope with your absence and all that, but it doesn’t amount too much, now, does it? Before leaving the house, I did my usual scrolling through my newsfeed; the things that are going on in North Carolina in the hurricane’s wake are absolutely appalling. Entire families are being swept away into the raging torrents that pour through mountain valleys unaccustomed to such a deluge, homes are being destroyed – people are being left with nothing. For me to be complaining about your absence when I have so much still here to help me cope with it is kind of like complaining about the damp soles of my shoes, when someone else’s house has been literally flooded, or worse.
I don’t know if you would tell me in so many words, but it’s times like these when I realize I’m being a little whiny to complain about your absence, when I have so much left here. I still have family and friends; the house, and Daniel; I even have much of what you left behind (not all of it, of course, but that’s due to deliberate purging as opposed to some act of God that destroyed things willy-nilly), including what had been left to you by several generations of your forebears – and which you were supposed to get a chance to enjoy yourself, as well as tending to you in your old age, which will never come to pass now.
All I really lost four years ago… was you.
Compared to what these people are dealing with – including the fact that apparently, the government isn’t doing all that much to help out ($750 doesn’t go much farther in Asheville than $700 to each citizen of Lahaina, Maui did a couple years ago with their wildfire losses and attempts at recovery there), and indeed, is reported to be outright preventing certain citizen groups from getting into certain areas to try to help – what I’ve had to deal with is as nothing. For all that it hurts to be without you, there are others that have lost so much more, that I have no right to complain.
I wonder if this is part of the reason guys tend to bottle up certain emotions like grief. Whatever it is that hurts us to have lost, it isn’t hard to find someone who has it that much worse, and all of a sudden, we realize we sound like whiny little weaklings to complain about our own situation. It may do the soul good to let out a certain amount of emotion, but it doesn’t take long before it gets to be too much, especially given the yardstick we measure ourselves against. And so we stop long before we reach that point; we figure that, if we’re aware of what we sound like, everybody else is just as aware of it, and then some. No sense in embarrassing ourselves that much further.
Then again, I may be overthinking this, or at least giving my sex a little too much credit for consideration. What do you think, honey?
Man, I wish you could answer that.
But again, I’m not the only one who’s missing this these days. Even on a smaller scale – when whole communities are wiped out, who’s left to mourn them, anyway? Not to mention, some of this seems to border on the “a million is a statistic” level – we’ve had three families we know lose sons in the past month. Yes, the relationship is different, so the pain might not be comparable, but children are supposed to outlive their parents, and to have so many lost in so short a time? It’s really strange.
So perhaps it would be best if I were to close the whine celler, and stop complaining about my situation, when there are so many out there facing so much more than I am. Then again, I feel the need to keep you appraised about what’s going on, so…
…man, I wish I knew what you’d do in this situation, honey.
Still, if you could at least keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, I’d appreciate it, honey. I’m sure that, while what I’m dealing with is negligible in comparison, I could still use it.
Letters to Rachel 