I stumbled upon this particular mountain about five months ago. I couldn't get it off my mind. Everest? Kilimanjaro? Denali? Nope. Nope. And nope. This mountain was known to just a few and it's one of the biggest mountains I have ever seen - Lowe's Home Improvement Store. This is the place where I stood by my dad as he was dying. I am angry at Lowe's. I feel like they failed me. They failed my dad. They weren't prepared enough. I hope they are now. And yes, I understand most of the anger is misplaced - though there are a couple of specific moments that I am angry with them about. I am forever intertwined with that place.
When? When would I climb this mountain? I knew I wasn't ready. In fact, I didn't know if I would ever be ready. It was too big, too much, too monumental. I thought about it and it seemed, maybe, I could tackle it in about a year. That seemed the generally accepted timeline of grief. Would that be enough time? Enough time to get ready? Enough time to prepare? How would I tackle it and how do I even prepare?
I hadn't been able to go there. In fact, just driving by often brought up pretty strong emotions. There were days I would become overwhelmed waiting for grocery pickup and seeing it in the distance. One day I started to really spiral. It hit me, for the first time, it really hit me - that day changed everything. My dad and I both walked in, with one life, full of hope and plans. We were picking up lunch afterwards. But, only one of us walked out, and I was completely changed. That was the initial moment that inspired me to think of all the "walks" that day and in the following days.
What a mental and emotional mountain. It became this thing. Early on, none of us could even think about going in there. It was too hard. It held too much. It was too much. Did it even really matter? There were other stores to get the same things. So we avoided it.
I cannot figure out how to describe the enormity of this mountain for me. It is such an ordinary place and moment. It means nothing except to a select few of us. I remember thinking what I would do if I ever did go in again. Some thoughts included me sitting there on the bench and talking to him. Maybe I would close my eyes and pray. Maybe I would relive the whole experience in my mind, sitting there, as the world passed me by. It was a place to be respected. But no one knew. And I wouldn't have the luxury of treating it with such reverence. Or perhaps someone would recognize me and remember what happened. Would they give me the space I needed? Maybe they would offer condolences. That's a dumb thought. Of course no one will recognize you. It's funny how small you can feel in grief.
I thought about it a lot. Did I even need to overcome it? How bad is it really? How bad would it be? Would I panic? Would I weep uncontrollably? Would I even be able to walk in there? I remember everything about that day. I know exactly where we parked. I know what aisle we went down. I know the jokes and the laughs we shared. I can still hear the words that changed it all - "sir, are you ok?" For the first few weeks, I would replay every moment. My heart would race. My mind would race. My arms became tingly and light and oh so heavy. I tried to understand what was happening in every moment. I analyzed every moment. I remembered every movement. I remember the questions. I ruminated on all of it. I second guessed all of it.
I placed blame, mostly on myself. I felt intense guilt. This will absolutely destroy you if left unchecked. Do. Not. Let. It!!!
It was a Tuesday - my day off. I had appointments. We were also expecting an ice storm to pass through. I was trying to prepare. We knew it was coming for several days, so I had already done most of my shopping. But for some reason, I still felt totally unprepared. I tried to wrap my head around what I still needed to buy. I could not focus. I tried to make a list. I could not. My mind was all over the place. I was having to fit this prep in with all of these other appointments. I wanted help. I wanted my dad's help. He would know what to do. He would talk it out with me. He always brought a sense of calm, comfort, and security.
I don't feel like I had fully grasped how dark it would be if the power went out. And so my thoughts, flitted back and forth. "I need more light sources. I need more batteries. What else might mom need? What food do I need? More water? Will I be able to cook that? I need to salt both of our driveways. We both have salt in our garages. But I could probably use more. Yeah, I need to go get more. How much time do I have? Where do I get it? It's probably hard to come by at this point. Lowe's should have it. I'm right across the street."
So I decided to climb my mountain. I decided I would never have a moment where it clicked - a moment where I would definitively know I was ready. There is no moment that mystically arises. There is nothing particularly special about the one year timeline (I haven't arrived there yet-so subject to change I guess). I decided the longer I waited, the bigger the mountain would become. This was a mountain of the mind - my mind.
I drove up. I saw the parking space. I parked far away. I paused. I took a deep breath. I fully expected to become completely overwhelmed. I didn't. I did feel tears and had a few trickle down my cheeks. I could not keep up with all the thoughts - the thoughts of what happened here, the thoughts of what is currently happening, and the thoughts of what should I be feeling. Shouldn't I be breaking down about now? I am in the very place where it all happened. Can anyone tell? Do they see this battle that rages inside of me? I could feel the turmoil exuding from my eyes.
I paced around. I could not find what I was looking for. I walked from one end to the other. And I did it again. And again. I walked by the same spots three, four, five times maybe. I had a little bit of tunnel vision. Why, Lowe's, why are you making this so hard? Do you not understand what I had to overcome to even walk in here?
Where are the dang flashlights? And why is the ice melt not front and center? Obviously, people are coming in for it. I got on my phone to find out the exact aisle for the flashlights. Not there. So I asked one of the workers. He told me the only ones they had were those up front. I saw those. They weren't what I was looking for. Fine. I picked up a little head lamp. Figured this could be useful stumbling around in the dark. I pulled up the aisle for the ice melt.
Why, Lowe's, why? Why are your aisles confusing? Maybe they weren't but my mind was not quite thinking straight. I still could not fully focus and had a lot of thoughts and mental congestion. I was getting anxious. I walked by some lady at a table for the billionth time. I saw the aisle numbers before and after the one I needed. Where the crap was this one? Forget it, I cannot stay in here anymore. I have another mountain to climb and things to do and your stupid layout is getting in my way. I will just not get the one thing I came in here to purchase. Eh, I'm a little stubborn. Aaand, those are probably not the most healthy or the most rational of thoughts but it's what happened. At least I kept the Karen moments in my head.
I walked to the registers and purchased my little head lamp. I had to face one more spot. I looked around trying to figure out if this was the register or if it was the one behind me. I took my bag and headed to the bench. I took a breath. I looked around. It looked so different. It looked so small. Everything looked so close. That day, everything felt so spread out. The walk from the register to the bench felt like it took forever. The space I gave him felt like I was so far away. There was a time when the only person I could see in that whole store was my dad. Where did everyone else go? As I sat on the bench, I didn't know what to do. Do I cry? Do I talk? How long do I sit here? What is the protocol when you face your mountain and then get to the top? Shouldn't I feel some rush, some sense of relief? I didn't feel any of those things. I picked up my bag and walked out. I felt a little confused, a little deflated, and a little accomplished - at least I did it.
I climbed a mountain and no one noticed. No one met me at the top. No one met me at the bottom. No one met me along the way. Grief is a lonely place. It is an arduous journey through the most ordinary of places. It is filled with mountains every day. We face them. We climb them. All the while, the rest of the world continues as if nothing has changed. No one sees the mountains.
Comentarios