There are about 1 million things I need to be doing right now. I haven't been to the grocery store in about two weeks. I haven't checked my work email in more than a week. I've not read anyone's blog in over a week. I desperately need to be doing research for the book. There is a stack of mail to open. I've got to pay bills.
All that can wait, I suppose. I've got to talk about what's happened recently.
You all know I love Jason, right? I mean, I don't just love him, I love him. You know? I respect him. He's my best friend. We're partners and parents and all that other crap. He sings songs to me like, "My Steph-oh-na" instead of "My Sharona". I mean, it's pretty good. Really good, even.
But his family? Would like it very much if I didn't exist at all. Except for his grandma. She thinks Jason poops ice cream. It's quite possible she loves me only by association, but I don't care. I'll take it.
I am as good to Jason's grandma as I possibly can be. We call her regularly and send her pictures and letters. We've never really visited her a lot. At first it was because she lived in New Hampshire. Now, it's because she lives in North Carolina.
My great-grandmother just died though, and I'm feeling really sad about it. Not necessarily because she died, because she was old and ill and tired and I didn't want her to suffer. But because I didn't see her enough or tell her when I had the opportunity how much she meant to me. I can't change that now, but I can change other things in my life and other relationships.
Because, as someone very wise pointed out to me this weekend, it's all about relationships. Sure you can leave people physical possessions, but what they care about is the memories you've made together. Okay, maybe some people in my family care about the physical possessions. But normal people care about the relationships.
I care, deeply, about relationships.
Jason came to North Carolina, driving all night Thursday and arriving on Friday morning at around 6:30am. On Friday night he said to me, "Let's go pick up my grandma and take her out to dinner."
This? Surprised me.
Jason hasn't spoken to his sister or mother in nearly four years, after the huge major blow-out right before we moved. It was painful. I have encouraged him to try to re-open the lines of communication.
He's not interested.
And that's fine, you know? It's really fine. He's probably a lot mentally healthier than I am and if he needs to cut people out of his life to make it okay, well then he can just go on with his bad self.
We see her house for the first time. It's pretty big. Lots of walk-in closets. She can't find her keys and forgets to put in her hearing aid.
She looks thin.
We take her to an Italian restaurant. She's easily confused. She keeps asking if the children are teenagers now. She tells us stories about people we don't know.
We take her to my parents house, which is full of people. It's a madhouse.
She hugs my daughter and my son. My daughter sits between us and tells me over and over how beautiful she is. She wants to know the names of each person here and who they are...how they are a part of my life.
We take her home. It's late and dark. Jason asks me to ride along with him, and I think I know why, but I don't say a word.
Jason says he'll walk her in and I can wait in the car. I get out of the backseat and hug Grammie, who begins to cry. I tell her we love her and if she needs anything to let us know. We'll help her however we can.
The next morning, Jason's cell phone rang bright and early. He and I were already relaxing in the pool. Later he listened to the voice mail message and it was his sister saying she hadn't seen him in years and that she would like to see him.
He hit erase.
I asked if he would call her back and he said no, he wouldn't. I didn't ask why, but later, on our long, long ride home he said.
You are my wife. You and our children are my family. I don't understand why they can't accept that. I can't believe she would call and say she wants to see "me" and not "us". They just don't understand. They'll never understand. I've given them all these chances and they just don't understand or accept that I've made my choice and my choice is you.
And that's it, really. They see him as a separate entity, and while he is, in a way, he's also my husband. He's my children's father. He is part of my family.
I don't get it y'all. I just don't get it.