Phlox & Zinnia

Someone told me off-hand in that blur of a week that I'm going to have a lot of firsts.

I didn't think that grief would look like Dad picking me up a Boston Red Sox World Series Winner 2018 shirt from BJ's and me trying it on and thinking “Mom will never see me in this shirt.” I didn't expect it to come out after I read Nic Stone's phenomenal novel Odd One Out, but suddenly I said, “Gosh, it sucks that I can't give this to Mom to see what she'll think about it.” After some questions from my housemates, I realized I don't even know if she had ever read the Harry Potter series due to her distaste of fantasy.


I was doing some Black Friday shopping with a housemate and noticed this journal called something like “My Dad's Story.” Its tagline said something along the lines of “Give this to your dad to fill out and cherish in new memories/knowledge.” I picked it up and considered it, because I'm realizing how much I don't know my parent's childhood stories (does that really matter though? I know them as my parents and have stories from that. Childhood stories are a nice added bonus but not essential to my overall view of Mom or Dad). I put it back because it's silly for me to give a book to my dad and say, “I want to know more about you. Fill this book out.” It was only after putting the book back and scanning the shelves was that the mother's version of this book had already sold out. It made me realize how much we depend on mothers, on women. I wondered for the fourteenth time that week what I had missed/am missing due to my mom's death.


I didn't want this to be another Serious Alex™ post. If you had talked to me this week, you may have been surprised that I'm still doing my thing—doing homework, talking about homework, reading YA, cooking not-fantastic food. Life can't stop for me just because it stopped for Mom. Is that selfish to say? Am I not honoring her because I'm wrapped up in my own life? Who's the model for this—Jesus at Lazarus's grave? Joshua after Moses? God the Lord Almighty between the cross and the resurrection?

I didn't want this to be a Serious Alex™ post, but maybe it has to be because Happy Alex™ and Coping Alex™ can only handle the day-to-day interacts. This isn't to say that I need to be sad in my interactions throughout the day; actually, I don't think I can do that. It would be too much. I need to process bit by bit in my space mostly, which probably means this blog. I would apologize, but hey, you clicked the link.


I thought I had it all figured out when I accepted that Lori Vander Klay Johnson is in heaven and is more delighted and loved than she ever was down here. But really, does that comfort me when I'm starting to realize that memories of her will be slowly pushed out of my brain? That a good number of important people who haven't come into my life yet won't know half of the most influential force in my life? Despite all my brave faces during the whirlwind week from November 7th to 14th, I'm not so sure anymore.


I guess I want to leave you with my immense gratitude for every action, big or small, that you've done for me or with me over my short life so far. It seems silly to say and artificial because of the circumstance, but it's genuine.



Happy Alex™ wants to recommend Odd One Out by Nic Stone, arguably the best YA love triangle story ever written, and Reply All because I love those guys. They feel like my podcast uncles who I only see on holidays but to whom I owe lots of useless knowledge and hours of meaningful and silly entertainment. Thanks Alex and PJ. Here's to good hold music (see Episode #33 “@ISIS”) and weird Discord reporting (see Episode #130 “The Snapchat Thief”). She also wants to let you know that lentils are a great easy meal to make and that Newsroom is still a fantastic show, even if it was recommended by your ex-boyfriend.

My mom died, and some days I can think and write and say that sentence without crying. Other days tears spring to my eyes and sadness places its fingers in the valves of my heart.


There are so many directions I can take this. There’s the uplifting route where I say that I’m happy she’s in heaven and happier than she could ever be on earth, which is truly how I feel. There’s the relatable route where I say that I’ve been on the other side of this kind of grief before and know how helpless people feel when they see me. There’s the reality route where I say that honestly, even getting out of bed this morning and psyching myself up to face my first full day of school back was rough.

What I really want to say is I don’t know what I’m doing or how I’m supposed to feel or how to let other people help me. I know that everyone says that everyone has different ways of grieving and all are valid, but some days I don’t even feel like I’m grieving. I just feel this apathy to life, justified that no one will give me crap about anything in the first month after my mom died at the age of 53. A part of me wonders if I’m just checking out of things because I can, or if I’m checking out because I need to.


I don’t know how to relate with people outside of my close friends and communities, who all know and understand me and can pick up where we left off before. Classmates, somewhat friends, professors I had a couple semesters ago, church people whose children I grew up with, church people who I just met—they are a grab bag of reactions. Some just apologize and offer platitudes about how difficult this must be for me, some just give me a hug and offer condolences, others check in, and others must avoid, although I haven’t noticed this one yet. Like I’ve said, I’ve been on the other side and I know what it’s like to see this person you somewhat know at the bottom of this unknown chasm and want to help but cannot decide between throwing down a rope to help them climb out or a blanket to comfort them. It’s just a different experience being the student whose mom died.


In some ways, I’m delighted to be back to my normal life. Schoolwork feels a tad more oppressive than normal because a week and a half of my life was just sucked up by the void of loss, and I’m less focused than I normally am, but the little fire that burns in my ribcage is satisfied with completed readings and turned in assignments and could not stand another week at home. I missed my housemates and my coworkers when I was back in MA, and I had so much fun dancing at the wedding of a dear friend to pop songs that reminded me of high school.

But in some ways, it feels like I’m avoiding my grief. Last night I was having trouble getting to sleep, and I had this tightening in my chest (cliche, I know, but it becomes a cliche for a reason, right?). I started thinking about what I wanted to write, but I knew I needed to get to bed because my 6:30 am alarm could not be avoided like my last two weeks of alarms. I shoved my feelings into a corner because now I have a lot more pressing demands.

I know if I told most of my professors this, they would tell me that schoolwork is not as important as my need to process this major life event of my mom’s passing. And I know that during my career I’m going to have students that go through the same thing that I am going through right now. But it feels like I need to complete all these assignments so then I can rest. So then I can process. So then I can grieve. But really, what this is reminding me of is all the times that I said, “Oh, I’ll do that for Mom next year.” Like buying her a really funny mother’s day card. Like giving her a draft of a cover letter for her to look over. Like making her tell me her tips for sample lessons.


If there’s anything I learned about my mom in these past two weeks, it’s that other than retirement and a trip to Greece, she didn’t wait for the “so then.” She did what she needed to for work but also did what she needed to for pleasure and relaxation and grieving.


If she can do it all, maybe I can too.