Day 93

I have been interviewed, in regards to my writing, for the first time. It feels huge, as if I’ve taken another step — albeit a small one — in my literary career. It’s exciting. But sad because Dad isn’t here to celebrate this milestone with me. If he were here, when I woke up this morning and saw that my interview had been published on Capsule Stories’s website, I’d have immediately walked over to him, waving my hand, my phone displaying the screen. He’d have smiled, reached for my phone, adjusted his glasses and read it. “Very nice,” he would have said as he handed it back to me. Since I obviously can’t share this happy news with him, I will share it with you. As you know, Capsule Stories released their latest print magazine yesterday, which included my essay “Honeymoon.” In the interview with them, I speak about my process in writing the essay. How it started out as a cast-off segment of a different essay, one I wrote about my disastrous trip to Brazil. I also touch upon my most recent writing project which you’ve been following for the past three months. (If you’d like to read the interview, you can find it here: https://capsulestories.com/capsule-collective-elizabeth-jaeger/ )

The house is so quiet without Dad. He used to be so loud at times, especially in the mornings. I’ve never been a late sleeper, but on the days Dad woke up before me, he’d start moving about the house, putting dishes away or opening doors, his heavy tread shaking the house, his slippers scrapping across the floor. The noise would wake me and I’d be cranky. What I wouldn’t give to be woken up by him now. If he were here, I’d probably be able to sleep. I’d welcome the annoying sound of his slippers. I hate the silence he left behind.

I’m also realizing the little things he did that I never noticed. Things that don’t seem important but speak to his absence. He was always the one to lock the back door and pull down the shade. The first few times I passed by the door late at night on the way to the bathroom, I was struck by the naked glass. Now, before bed, I make sure the doors are locked and shades drawn. 

He also made sure we had everything we needed and when we ran out, he went to buy more. Yesterday, Mom complained, “We’re low on toothpaste. How come you didn’t tell me.” I didn’t tell her, because it didn’t occur to me that I should. In my own home, I take note of things that need to be bought, but not here. It used to be a different mindset. When we ran out of something, Dad replaced. Now, I need to pay attention, because I’m the one who has to drive to the store.

My son asked if we could go to Greenport again. Yesterday, he got the taco duckie, but it turns out there were four food — taco, french fries, hot dog, and burger — duckies  altogether. “I need to get the other food ones,” he informed me. Greenport two days in a row was a bit much but he was actually asking to do something, it wasn’t television, and Dad would definitely have wanted him to have the ducks. And so we went. Mom came with us. Since Mom was coming we had lunch out. We picked up Mexican food — Mom and I had shrimp burritos and my son had a chicken quesadilla — at Luncharitos. We were disappointed in the food. It did not taste good. None of us have any desire to go back. However, sitting by the water was scenic and peaceful, except for the dogs who kept begging for scraps. After we ate, we took a walk. Each step seemed painful for Mom. It’s almost like I could see her carrying the memories of my Dad, all the times we were there with him. And each memory made her shoulders hunch a little more. “Your father would have enjoyed being here so much today,” she said, as she walked passed the carousel. “He would have liked the fact that there aren’t many people around. He would have liked this day with his grandson.” Her thoughts were practically a mirror of my own. 

Like yesterday, we got ducks and ice and then we came home.

By the time we got back, I was so tired I had to close my eyes for a little bit. I’ve never been much of a napper, but between not sleeping much and the sadness, I’m often lethargic and tired and if I didn’t give in to sleep, I’d have pass out.

Mom was extra mopey for the rest of the day. Being in places saturated with my father hurts her more than it heals. She misses him and the missing seems to grow more acute each day. Sitting on the couch, petting Emma, she asked me, “If I sell the house do you want the furniture?” Being here is just too hard on her. The memories of my father and happier times are crushing. How can you be happy in a place that constantly reminds you of all you have lost? How can you smile, when you keep waiting for footsteps you’ll never hear? 

For dinner, Mom and I made zucchini parm and then my son and I went to watch the sunset with Lily. Emma didn’t want to move. She was curled up next to Mom, her eyes sad. She’s old and we don’t think she’s been feeling very well. Her energy level is really low. At the beach, my son and I sat down to watch the sun sink, but an army of sand fleas attacked, and so we had to stand. But my son wouldn’t stand too close to me, because apparently, being out with your mother isn’t cool.