Day 413

Since Dad died, I’ve often found myself in a position where I feel I have to choose between being a good daughter and being a good mother. No matter which I choose, at any given moment, I end up feeling guilty. I’m the type of person who often tries to do the ‘right thing,’ but I’m learning that the right thing isn’t always black and white. To complicate things even further, I often find myself asking, “What would Dad want me to do?” He taught me to be present and doting parent. But he was also a doting and caring spouse and I know he’d want me to take care of my mother as best I could since he isn’t here to do it.

Yesterday was one of those days when I felt torn. I couldn’t be both the filial daughter and the present parent. I had committed to taking my mother to the Queens COVID Remembrance Day, an event that I also wanted to attend in honor of my father. As luck would have it, it was also the Tournament of Champions — a qualifying tournament to mark the end of the taekwondo virtual season — and my son qualified in both forms and weapons. My original plan was to drive him back to New Jersey on Friday night and then return to New York the following day. All of his other tournaments were early in the afternoon, and I had hoped this one would be early as well. But as you know, luck is rarely on my side, and he was slotted the latest time he’s ever been given. The late start time would not give me sufficient time to battle traffic over the bridges to make the 7:00 candlelight vigil. My son wanted me at the tournament, and I wanted to be there. But I also really wanted to go to the COVID Remembrance event. I suggested that I drive into New York early and watch the tournament on Zoom. When it ended I could go with mom and then return to New Jersey late at night. My son didn’t like that idea, and my mother didn’t want me to miss the tournament. She was adamant that she could walk up to Forest Park and attend the event on her own. But I was still torn: Do I take my mother to honor my father? Or do I go with my son? I couldn’t decided what the right thing to do would be until Mom said, “Your father would be angry with you if you missed the tournament. Your place is with your son. I’ll be fine going to the event alone?” She’ll be fine. The last coherent words my father spoke to me where, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Those words now haunt me. But ultimately, I decided to take my son to the tournament and then tune in to the live stream of the vigil.

Maybe it’s a good thing I decided to attend the tournament. My son did not do as well as he had done in previous tournaments. He didn’t place in the top three in either event and when the tournament ended and he bowed out, he cried as he hasn’t cried in years. There was no consoling him. He felt like a failure despite our telling him we were still proud of him. I love being there to see him do well, to celebrate his victories, but it’s it just as important that I’m there to hug him and try to pull him back up when he loses. But a part of me wondered, if I hadn’t been there, if I had opted to be with my mother and father instead would have done better? Was his poor performance a result of me not making the right choice.

As for Mom, she did go alone to the Remembrance Event, but she wasn’t alone very long. Okay, maybe I need to back up a little bit here. If you remember, I reconnected with a friend from high school when Dad got sick. He had brought me ginger when I was battling COVID and he offered to pick up groceries or anything else Mom and I might need. Tragically, his father got sick and died shortly after Dad died. Much like I have holed up in my study to write and pour my soul out onto the screen in an effort to deal with my grief, he has found a far more admirable way of handing his grief. He’s thrown himself into advocacy, bringing attention to COVID and the losses so many of us have suffered. He and his mother, along with other grieving families, planned the Queens COVID Remembrance Day. When Mom arrived and found the picture of Dad on one of the many empty benches, it was my friend’s mom who found her and sat down to chat with her for awhile. My friend also talked with mom for a bit. Then, when the vigil started, a Columbian family sat with mom, one of the woman — who lost a sister  to COVID — held mom’s hand as they swapped stories about their loved ones. One of the speakers commented that last year we were all grieving alone, but at the remembrance event they all mourned together. I’m glad — since I opted to be the dutiful mother instead of the dutiful daughter — that other people were there to share Mom’s pain and offer her some support. When it ended, my friend’s mom kindly drove Mom home so that she didn’t have to further tax her bad legs. 

Today, we went on a family hike. Last month we drove south to Cape May and stood on at the Southern most point in New Jersey. This morning, we drove to the northern most point and went hiking at High Point State Park, which is also the highest point in the state. We were going to take a short hike, but inadvertently ended up taking the longer route — opting for the lollipop instead of turning around and retracing our steps once we reached the monument. Despite the ominous dark clouds and the treat of a downpour that materialized in nothing but a drizzle, we had a pleasant day. On the way there, we once again listened to the Hamilton soundtrack. My spouse hasn’t taken it out of her car CD player in over a month. It plays on an endless loop — she has completely redefined the word “obsession.” She knows most of the lyrics and sings along. While she sang, I read, still picking my way through Hamilton’s biography. And it’s really hard to read with the music blaring in the background. I might have gotten through five pages in an hour. Anyway, when we started hiking, my spouse was still singing, and in between songs, I filled her and my son in on the Whiskey Rebellion, a rebellion launched by residents in Western Pennsylvania who were pissed off at Hamilton’s Whiskey tax. My commentary, mixed in with my spouses rapping, prompted my son to comment, “I find it really funny that Mommy is the one obsessed with Hamilton, yet Mama is the one reading his biography.” I must admit, the most fun part of it is being able to correct the facts in the lyrics my spouse sings. I suppose that’s the teacher in me. 

While hiking, I have long joked that my son is a mountain goat racing up hills, bounding from rock to rock, and gracefully skipping over streams. My spouse is a turtle moving slowly, at times awkwardly navigating through treacherous terrain, and occasionally getting stuck. Always, I’m in the middle offering assistance to the turtle while trying to convince the mountain goat to move move slowly and take more caution. But today, I finally figured out what my spirit animal is on the trail. I’m the pack mule, carrying the oversized rucksack filled with water bottles, lunch, discarded sweatshirts, camera, and everything else we might need. It’s my one assent — strength. I think that’s why the keep me around.  I lighten their load. 

We stopped to each lunch on a small wooden bridge that crossed a tiny stream. It was a quiet peaceful place to eat, and since the clouds had finally dispersed, we could eat without the fear of getting drenched. 

Back in the car, my spouse turned Hamilton back on and my son commented, “You know what I love best about listening to this CD. I can sing along with all the curse words.” Okay, I thought we were teaching him history, educating him about the one man who had a greater impact on our government than anyone else, but no, my son decided to embrace the lesson of curse words. I suppose I can file this one under the category “Parenting Fail.”

On another note, the spring issue of Ovunque Siamo was released today. Within the issue is my review of the book Dispatches From Lesbian America which was edited by Xequina Berber, Giovanna Capone, & Cheela “Rome” Smith. You can read my review here: https://ovunquesiamoweb.com/spring-issue-2021/reviews/