Sunday, December 8, 2019

It's been five years since my grandmother's death

Today, December 8, is the 5th anniversary of my grandmother's death. I spent it alone, hiking in the local reservoir, reminiscing and remembering the woman I loved very much.

My grandmother was a difficult, complicated person, a force of nature. To me, she was formidable and solid, an authority that you never questioned. She didn't knit, tell bedtime stories, or waited for us to come home from school, but she made the best ever cranberry-infused vodka and chocolate cake.

You would never dare to call her "granny", "grandma" or "nana". She was GRANDMOTHER, and that was all.

Her life was not easy; she was born in the 20s, lived through World War II. On one of my last visits after her death, my mom and I read the diary that Grandmother kept during that time. It was haunting. One of the most powerful entries read "The Germans are bombing us; I have to get home somehow because I want to die with my mother". She was 18 at the time.  I often think of that line and how it must have shaped her.

One of her friends brought her a rhino's hide from Africa, and she custom-ordered a coat: it was thick, unbendable and showed no signs of wear and tear for decades. If I close my eyes, I can still picture her coming home from work: purse, grocery bag, grey knitted beret and that leather coat.

She loved being the medical examiner. When I was a teen, she would spend hours sitting at the kitchen table with my girlfriends, telling us stories about her conquests, professional and personal.

She had a complicated relationship with my mother, her only child, but she loved me. She loved my brother too, but our bond was special. I miss her optimism and her guidance sometimes, and wonder what would she think about me now: would she be proud? Disappointed? Happy for me?

Her last years were marred by a battle with dementia and I couldn't be there for her. I chickened out, removed myself because it was too painful to watch the independent, sharp person turn into an angry, confused shell of her former self. I wish I was kinder, I wish I visited more, I wish I spent time with her and gave her an opportunity to see her great-granddaughters.

The day before her death from heart failure, my brother dropped her off at the hospital because she had some heart palpitations. She passed away in her sleep sometime during the night, and the nurses discovered she was gone during the early rounds.

Her last words to my brother before he left were "make sure you bring me my makeup bag in the morning".





Friday, January 25, 2019

Circling back and lurching forward: The dreaded D-word

This blog quickly became a neglected, cobwebby forgotten corner of my life. Events happening in real time took precedence. My marriage ended, rather abruptly and at the same time not surprisingly at all. The last couple of years for me were just postponing the inevitable. Waiting for the right moment, the right catalyst to begin the chain reaction of conversations, separation and divorce. I lost the essence of ME. I felt torn to tiny, bleeding pieces of Lida that were flying into so many different directions and I had to, for my own survival, to put myself back together.

The low point was reading the "Bell Jar" and contemplating if I can pull a Sylvia Platt. My bed became a pit of sleepless nights, my days filled with feeling caged. I raged, I drank, I cried. I spoke the unspeakable D-word. I got a motorcycle. I dumped the motorcycle. I ran a Spartan race. I got another tattoo.Then something else happened and the shit storm hit...

Divorce is fucking hard. I did everything wrong: timing, preparation, choosing a divorce attorney, dealing with my children's emotions, dealing with my own emotions. I lost weight and friends. I cried so hard I thought I would go insane.

Here's my post-divorce regret and fuckup list:

First, my divorce attorney sucked ass. She talked up a big game, but in reality she was the most scatter brained, overwhelmed and unorganized person I've ever met. Nothing happened on time, nothing happened the way she told me. What should have taken 6 months took a year. One very expensive, very emotional year. My advice to any boys and gals there: be very strategic with attorney selection. If you hear something that's too good to be true and gets your lizard brain alarmed, trust your instincts and walk away from the beginning. It's fucking difficult to change attorneys mid-way, so do it right the first time. I am still not done, by the way - certain financial arrangements are being done at a snail's pace and I've just about had it. Ugh.

Second, I gave up too easy. I didn't want to deal with dirt and emotions, I just wanted out. I also felt guilty as shit. So I got my wish: I moved out of the home I cared for 14 years into a two-bedroom apartment and left most of the furniture to the ex. Another expensive proposition. DON'T MOVE OUT. Divorce is very much a staring contest. When it came to the house, I blinked first. When it came to the division of assets, he was sneaky and cheap, and I didn't want to spend the money to get what was rightfully mine. Big mistake.

Third, custody. My ex is a spiteful and vengeful person. He saw me as his property and viewed our kids the same way. Right from the beginning, a man who barely spent quality time with the zaiki all of a sudden developed unquenchable love for them. He couldn't bare me to "take away HIS children". Not that I ever would. And, since New Jersey is a state that doesn't fucking discriminate, he got 50% custody. This move had a lot to do with the fact that he doesn't have to pay child support. A man always had hard time parting with money.

I HATE being a part-time parent. I have always been there: day in, day out, sick, healthy, happy, sad. Now, when the girls need me most, I see them half the time. There is no advice here: the setup really depends on each state so everyone has to work with what they have. It was painful to see what this 50/50 shit did to my children. I felt the blame, the rage, the fear. We are still dealing with it, but it is infinitely better than it was. Time heals and children are resilient if they feel loved and guided, and that's what I'm trying to do now.

 I do believe in letting the fate happen and watch my life unfold. We'll see where this path takes me.