Should have known that I was tempting fate by sounding all calm and zen in the previous post.
Some background: I have this habit of picturing things in my head, whether it’s the perfect gift or the perfect wedding or the perfect event. I map out “The Way It Should Be According To Sarah.” And I’ll spend an insane number of hours trying to create my vision, no matter how insignificant to everyone but me.
So I’ve been picturing the packing up of Mama’s clothes with great reverence. My mother placed those items in the drawers, she hung those clothes in the closet. With her own hands. It’s one of the few things (maybe the only thing) that’s still EXACTLY as she left it. And once it’s moved, that will be that — almost like another, smaller death, another door closed & sealed permanently. I know it has to be done, but I want to fully acknowledge the emotional impact. I don’t know if that even makes sense?…
I purposefully chose to go Friday (tomorrow) instead of Saturday (which was the “deadline” imposed by my dear father) for no other reason than Daddy’s working on Friday. I don’t want him there. I don’t want him watching me, talking to me about her things, acting like he cares when he’s the one who’s insisting that Mama be removed from the house. You know that funny way that people treat you after a loss?… they kinda watch you out of the corner of their eyes like they’re waiting for you to freak out? He does that — he watches me, waiting for me to cry. Because he’s so emotionally deficient, he absorbs emotion, studies it, examines it and tried to make it his own. I feel wooden and defiant around him, like I don’t want him to see what I’m really thinking. It’s a ridiculous power struggle that probably makes absolutely no sense to anyone else. I just wanted to have the house to myself, so that I could cry and talk to Mama and be myself without worrying about having an audience.
And guess what? Yep, that’s right… he took the fucking day off. He explained to Jennifer that he was “worried” about me because I don’t come to the house that often, so he didn’t feel like I needed to be there by myself. And the truly fucked up thing is that he actually BELIEVES this reason. In his conscious mind, he is telling himself that he took the day off to “help Sarah.” Subconsciously, he’s terrified — absolutely scared shitless — that something will be out of his control, that I’ll take something of Mama’s out of the house without his knowledge, that I’ll steal my mother’s belongings from him. And don’t misunderstand — Mama’s belongings mean NOTHING to him personally. But if he senses that an item’s important to me and/or my sisters, the value of said item increases instantly. He has a pervasive mistrust of everyone, especially me. In his mind, every action, every decision made by others revolves around him — he’s that important.
Believe it or not, I’ve tried — really, really tried — to not let my anxiety about removing Mama’s belongings manifest itself as anger toward Daddy. It’s so easy to be angry at him… he just lends himself to it. Susanna said it well this evening — Daddy is a permanent obstacle blocking the easiest path. He makes everything harder, more difficult, more complicated.
And if I ask him if I can have some time to myself tomorrow, it’ll be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The paranoia will strike, telling him that I’m up to something, that I’m hiding something from him. Because obviously everything revolves around him.
I know I’m building this up in my mind. I know that I’m making it bigger than it should be. I just feel so anxious, almost panicked. I’m worried that I’m going to lose another piece of Mama tomorrow, that I’m going to wake up Saturday morning and feel even more lost, if that’s even possible. Right now, I know that I can go into her room and feel her — although I rarely do, I know it’s an option. But one day, sooner rather than later, I’m going to realize that I don’t remember her smell and I can’t hear her laugh. And that frightens me.