thank you

(I'm so so so tired ... I have no business trying to write something coherent that is going to be published and heretofore retrieved by the general public. And yet, this is me, doing it anyway. So, for the typos and glaring inconsistencies you come across in this post, I offer my profound apologies. I just can't seem to stop myself. I seem destined to write this post and use verbose hyperboles along the way ...)

I have no idea why this week, of all weeks, I've been thinking about this song or this period of my life. But I've had "Thank You" by Alanis Morisette in my head for several days now. Mary mentioned a few weeks ago that sometimes a song can express our emotions better than we can ... it's true for me, too. It's like sometimes a song or a poem or a line from a movie or a story looks me in the face and says YOU. THIS IS WHO YOU ARE. And when they do, I cling to them ... There's some higher lesson here, about needing something outside of ourselves to identify us, but as I've said, I'm too tired to delve into such things. Instead, I'll share one of those times and songs with you ...

Fall 1998. I'm at Auburn, living with Amanda and two other girls in the apartment that had the blue carpet, the Jewish neighbors, and the HUGE bedrooms. I was dating (but not yet engaged to) Brian. I'm in school, I'm in love, I love my roommates, life is good. Except that my grandfather was dying. His was not the sudden gasp of death like my grandmother's, which came later - it was, rather, a series of lasts, and it was horrible to watch. And I was doing my best to avoid the horribleness of it - the death that was taking over his life - by just avoiding him and my grandmother as much as possible. It worked ok for me, but it wasn't very good for my family. My mom kept wanting me to see him at the nursing home, call my grandmother, come home more often - annoying responsible things like that. I kept not doing any of them.

I don't remember what made me give in, but I finally went to see him one weekend in the nursing home. It was all of the horribleness that I'd been trying to avoid, sitting in front of me, silliness invading my dignified grandfather's body. I don't remember what I did when I saw him (I probably cried. I bet I cried). What I remember is driving home, and hearing "Thank You," by Alanis Morisette. I heard the lines "How about unabashedly bawling your eyes out / How about not equating death with stopping" and felt a release. That was exactly what I needed to do - I needed to cry, because it was sad, but I already knew that death wasn't the end. I needed to be reminded of that. The song gave voice to my emotion that afternoon. I listened to it over and over, and cried the whole way home. When I think of losing my grandfather, I think of this moment first, not his actual death.

Thank you, Alanis Morisette.

How about getting off of these antibiotics
How about stopping eating when I'm filled up
How about them transparent dangling carrots
How about that ever elusive kudo

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How about me not blaming you for everything
How about me enjoying the moment for once
How about how good it feels to finally forgive you
How about grieving it all one at a time

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How about no longer being masochistic
How about remembering your divinity
How about unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How about not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank you silence