Ritual Sadness
“Come on dad,
hurry up, I really gotta pee”, “Can you use the bathroom downstairs please
Ross?”, “No, I can’t dad, Delia is in there.” Ah hell, I can barely handle this, and I don’t think I can even shave
this morning. “Dad, come on please,” “O.K., O.K., I’ll be out in minute
Ross.”
My name is Grissom Miller, and I have two children – a boy and a
girl, and one helluva a hangover. Karen, my wife, died five and a half months
ago – she was 36. She died of an aneurism in her sleep. At least it was
painless and peaceful. Our ten-year-old boy, Ross, knows his mother will not be
around, but he cannot really comprehend fully his loss, nor do I blame him. On
the other hand, our sweet little girl Sasha, who is four years old… well … she
is four.
After relenting the upstairs bathroom, or the lav’ as Delia likes to
call it – I guess that is short for lavatory, I made my way downstairs to the
kitchen to have a quick chat with Delia. “Delia, yah, you too, good morning,
could you please make sure they both eat their breakfast, and then take Ross to
his school? You can use the Esplanade today. I’m going back upstairs to the
master bedroom, and I don’t want to be disturbed, so make sure the messaging
service gets all the calls forwarded to them as well,” “That’ll be no trouble
at all Mr. Miller, will you be needing anything from the LDB today?” Delia always asked me that
question; she knew I was going through a tough time. I looked at Delia, and wished
I was twenty years younger, and not so in love with my dead wife, but things
are what they are, “Yes, I would like you to pick-up my usual,” my usual being
two bottles of Alberta Vodka, and two cases of VB,
and one bottle each of Mondavi Chardonnay,
and Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon Wines. I have always been a big John
Lennon fan, and I began taking on the point of view that I would do what ever
it takes me to get through the night and day. One afternoon, about three or five
and a half weeks ago, Delia started a conversation with me, and began to talk
to me about what might be happening to my family if I kept drinking the way
that the drinking was starting to head, but I stopped her short, and told her
to never speak of it again. Classic denial I guess.
I work as a contractor. Actually, I started an engineering company
that operated in contracting and construction. Today, I am one of three
partners in Miller Engineering Company. Miller Engineering is a successful medium-sized
firm with almost 180 employees that are recruits from an assortment of various
trades – from our Design department, or the Legal department, to on-site
caterers and Port-A-John transporters. When my partners in the office heard
about my wife’s sudden death, they urged me to, “Take all the time you need.
The company isn’t going anywhere, and it’ll all be here when you get back
Gris.” So, for the last five and a half months I have been taking care of my
children, and things at home.
The first month or two became so trying that I hired an au pair.
Delia Smith, twenty-two, is from England on a work visa, and she
really loves Ross and Sasha. Delia takes amazing care of them when I am not
around, which is becoming increasingly more frequent.
I cannot get the thought of Karen out of my mind. She is my last
thought when I fall asleep, and my first thought when I open my eyes in the
morning. After the fog of sleep clears, I am alone again, sitting alone in our
bedroom fingering through the photo albums, or sitting at the computer staring
at the hundreds of pictures we burned together onto DVD. There are other times
when I will just sit picking and plucking numbly, aimlessly, at one of my four guitars that I have sitting next to our computer, in our bedroom. I
find that I am not even interested in the Blues anymore.
I stopped drinking socially. I found that two or three drinks helped
me fall asleep; I slept more soundly, and when I woke, I felt refreshed. In the
mornings, I would see Ross off to school, and I would spend time with my Sasha
reading, playing a game, or we would watch her favorite morning T.V. together.
My little girl takes after her old man because one of her favorite shows is
“Bob the Builder”. On the weekends, I would usually have a game of footy out in
the backyard with Ross. He really loves the game, and all bias aside, I really
think that he has a real talent for the game. I love watching him play during
regular league season play. Nevertheless, I honestly don’t think that I have
played soccer with Ross more than eight or ten times since Karen died.
I have my moments when I feel that I am losing my grip. The grip
that I have on myself, the grip that I have as a father, and the grip that I
think I used to have with reality in general. I catch glimpses of Karen out of
the corner of my eye all the time. She strides across the background until I
look up, or over, or across. It can be nothing else but the background that
sits in my grief.
At first, I did not even notice how I was helping myself to a couple
of drinks earlier, or how they went from a couple to a few before bed. It just
seemed to happen. This change in ‘habit’ also led to me staying up later and later.
Now, I was thinking of Karen in these quietest moments the way I would spend my
mornings remembering her, and I was going to bed sadder, and sadder, just as
alone as when I had that first drink that evening. There have been some nights
where I have gone to bed staring at the ceiling, and being so angry that she
left me – abandoned me. I spend hours staring, occasionally muttering to myself
at what a bitch; what a fucking trollop she was for doing this to me – to our
family. I was angry that she had abandoned me, and my children – our children.
My 12 years of utter devotion were all gone, and were, day by day, hour after
hour, becoming more and more a memory. Why couldn’t the Sun become a Red Giant
now and swallow this Earth, and all the pain that it contained? Other nights, I
would pick up my Rotring, and my little book ‘o’ stuff I use for writing, and
write about her;
BLUE SKIES UP
ABOVE
SHINING WITH
STRONGEST LOVE
COME DOWN AND TALK
TO ME
FREEDOM IS WHAT
I FEEL
ANGEL OVERHEAD
VISIONS IN MY
BED
PAINFUL,
DISTURBS ME
WITH YOU SO FAR
THIS SPACE
BETWEEN
I OUGHTTA KNOW
YESTERDAY, I
SAW THE WORLD FLY BY
I SAW INTENTION
THE MOTHER OF INVENTION
LIKE REVENGE IN
YOUR EYES
LIKE THE LOVE
FROM A CHEAP RED WINE
THE BITTER ACHE
WAS THE CANDLE FLAME
WAS IT MY DISGUST
OR YOUR SHAME
THAT COULDN’T
MAKE YOU STAY
AND SEE MY
EYES, AND WATCH THEM SELL
YEARS TO THE
GROUND FOR YOUR LOVE
OOOOOHHHH, WHAT
A BLUE AFTERNOON
BUT ALL I GOTTA
SAY
YOU STAYED, YAH,
LONG ENOUGH
TO CHANGE THE
WEATHER
Eventually, I was not even getting up in the mornings, and, half
awake – half-pissed, I think I saw … no, I would see my little girl standing at
the side of my bed, just standing, standing and staring at me with her bright Irish
green eyes asking me, “Do you want to play with me today daddy?”
This night, like the too many that have already run their course; I’ll
start by sitting down in front of our bedroom’s stereo. With some Vodka by who
or whatever I told Delia to grab for me earlier, and pretty much naked, start my
ritual listening of U2’s One. With
the stereo set on repeat, One will
play over, and over, and over, until I “fall asleep” on the rug in front of the
speakers, with my Fender La Brea in Karen’s spot on the bed. It’s pretty much a
ritual, and for better or worse, and for now, and selfishly, gets me through
the night and day. It is my little ritual.
