Mama – Day 72

The tennis courts in our condo development are once again open. My son and I played this afternoon. We had fun, but while we were out, I was dismayed by how many teenagers were congregating in large groups. It’s as if things are back to normal and fraternizing is no longer a problem. None of them were wearing masks and they were standing awfully close to each other. I don’t understand why people are not taking the virus more seriously. On the news, they showed clips of crowed beaches and lakes from Memorial Day weekend. Are people not watching the news? Are they unaware that 99,000 Americans have already died? Maybe they think they are invincible. But at this point, the data is out there. Science has spoken. If you refuse to listen, if you refuse to be cautious, shouldn’t there be consequences when your actions make some one else ill, or worse, kill them?

I need to get out of this condo. The landscapers are out this afternoon and the noise is awful. Painful. As soon as the motors start, I begin shaking uncontrollably, and I feel as though my insides are being sliced to pieces. My mental health was shaky at the beginning of this pandemic. Now, after the last two months, I’m worse, not better. I won’t survive living here with this noise. I am a happier person in New York. I am a happier person just about anywhere.

A friend of mine commented about how I could be kinder in my view of New Jersey. Here’s the problem. I moved here for the wrong reasons. I moved here because I got married. Not because I fell in love with New Jersey. Not because I was offered a dream job. The original agreement was that we’d start out here, but move to New England. My spouse had just graduated with a MBA and planned to look for a job further north. But then, once we were married, she decided to became a teacher. Our plans to move disintegrated. Instead of moving, we bought a condo and had a child which I was too naive at the time to realize was condemning me to a longer life in New Jersey. And now, I feel stuck. There was nothing inherent about the state that drew me. It’s crowed. The taxes are high. It’s not even pretty. And even the hiking is mediocre. Worst of all, I can’t find a full time job. Not here. Not anywhere in New Jersey. So what is there to be happy about. It’s a place I moved to because I had dreams of something better and I thought this would be a stepping stone, not a death trap. But dreams — like always, in my case — turned to ash. And here I am. This condo has only exacerbated my dislike of the state. The noise has driven me mad. It’s hard to love something when you feel it has sucked your soul dry. When you feel escape is impossible. There is nothing for me in New Jersey, nothing except disappointment, unemployment, poverty, and misery. I do not foresee ever finding happiness unless I can move elsewhere. 

And now, when I’m miserable, I can’t even call Dad. He was the only one who could make me feel better. The only one who knew how to navigate my emotions. One of the few people who seemed to understand me. When Dad died, I not only lost a father. I lost my best friend. So here I am, one of the worst days I’ve had since his death, and I have no one to call, no one to help. But as I sit here on the couch writing and crying, my son sat next to me and wrapped his arms around me. At least I have him.

Snapshot Rewind

Sometime in the late 1970s or early 1980s: I couldn’t sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night scared that the house would catch fire and that we’d all die. It wasn’t a usual fear and I have no idea what prompted it that specific night. But I woke Dad and told him that I was worried. He didn’t get made that I woke him up — which was unusual, Dad always got grumpy if woken up. Instead, he took my hand in his and guided me through the house. Together we searched every corner, every possible place a fire might start so that he could assure me that everything was fine. That we were safe. When the entire house had been examined, he brought me back to my room, tucked me back into bed, and sat on the edge of my bed until I fell asleep. Only with him there, only with him watching over me and promising to wake me if a fire started, could I fall back to sleep. Daddy always protected me.