Day 85

Being out here in Long Island is hard. None of us are happy. Perhaps mopey would be the best adjective to describe us collectively. Mostly though, Mom is really sad. She cries all the time. She’ll be cleaning or cooking and she looks okay, but then her shoulders hunch, her body shakes, and the tears fall. The dogs make my son happy, he enjoys vegging on the couch with them and taking them for short walks, but otherwise, he has little interest in doing anything. This afternoon, I wanted to take him to the beach and he didn’t want to go. In fact, he refused. Mom doesn’t want to go to the beach either. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t prefer New Jersey. I’m downright suicidal in that condo. Out here at least there is a yard and space to breathe, but it’s not the same place it used to be. Not even close. What made it special was Dad.

I spent much of the day doing spring cleaning with Mom. We scrubbed the porch from top to bottom. It’s a job Daddy used to do. My son wanted to know why I was working instead of sitting with him while he did his school work. I explained that the work was too much for Nonna to do alone. “So are you going to work every time we visit?” He asked. I nodded. Mom won’t be able to get here without me. And who knows how often I’ll be able to make the trip, especially once the pandemic ends. “Yeah, Nona won’t be able to do it on her own,” I explained. He looked away, pretending to turn his attention to school work. “Being here used to be fun.” 

Pollen was thick on the ground of the porch and it covered the walls and screens. By the time we finished, it was far more inhabitable, but my allergies are awful. I’ve been sneezing all day. Inhaling all that pollen definitely wasn’t a good a thing.

When we finished, I wanted to spend some time with my son, but he didn’t want to go to the beach. We played one round of dominoes but he quickly grew bored. Three games of Uno also ended is boredom. Even catch didn’t hold his attention. All I want to do is sleep. I’m so tired, my eyes lids feel like bricks. But I know even if I tried to take a nap, sleep would elude me. I’d lay down and thoughts of Dad would make me feel even worse. 

Even writing is a challenge. Trying to put words down and formulate sentences is taking more effort than it should. It doesn’t help that I was greeted this morning with two agent rejections in my inbox — one for the Pandemic Diaries and one for my middle grade light fantasy novel. However, an excerpt from the diaries was accepted by an online literary journal. It will be out next month. Maybe I’m simply fated only to be a small time writer. To hit the bit time, to catch the interest of an agent, I guess you need the stars to line up accordingly, and when it comes to me, they are always out to lunch. Or you need to be liked, and getting people to like me has never been a talent of mine. Dad was always quick to point that out. People skills I have not.

Summer is usually my time to reset and find some happiness. But my summer plans were put on hold with the pandemic and then shattered when Dad died. How will I face the fall without the much needed escape that summer usually provides? How will I face the fall in condo that’s killing me? How will I face yet another fall when I have no job, no income, no light at the end of this very bleak tunnel? And let’s not forget, no Dad to conjure an illusion that things might actually improve. No Dad, to call for a conversation that might cheer me. No Dad, to offer a bit of happiness in otherwise disappointing world.

Here’s what’s really hurting. The world is opening up. In every state business are opening and people are starting to get excited. Soon they can go out to eat, they can go to the gym and the nail saloon. They can hang with friends at a bar. They can return to work, see colleagues, and resume cashing a pay check. People are happy, because they are getting back the things they lost. They see the end of their misery. They can come out of hibernation. But not me. I will never get my father back. He is gone forever. The pandemic is ending, and amidst all this giddiness, I have nothing but sadness, emptiness, and loss. I have nothing to look forward to. No reunion with the man I loved. All I can return to is a state that depresses me, a string of broken dreams, and a life that hasn’t made me happy in forever.

I think Mom is going to sell the Mattituck house. She said she’ll wait a year to decide, but too many times today she’s commented that there’s too much to do, too many things to take care of now that Dad is no longer here. So I will lose my sanctuary — a sad sanctuary it might be — but still a safe place with grass and trees and the beach. 

Tonight I struggled through another zoom taekwondo class. I’ve really little desire to do anything, since nothing seems to matter any more. And it’s not just taekwondo. Even talking to friends is too much. I don’t want to pull people down any more. My sadness is too heavy. I always knew Dad would die someday, but this wasn’t a normal death. It could have been prevented. It should have been prevented. But it wasn’t.

Daddy is dead. How did this happen? Why did it happen to Dad? Why did it happen to my family? I know I have shitty luck, but this goes beyond my usual bouts with bad luck. Daddy was one of the few good things I had going for me. I can’t catch a break with anything. Nothing. I’ve slammed into dead ends and rejections so many times my head hurts. It was bad enough that I couldn’t break out of the doldrums before, why did fate have to go and kill Dad? Sometimes I wonder, what horrible things did I do in my past lives to collect such awful karma?

Between my allergies and all the crying, I’m afraid my eyes might float away.