Loosening the Grip

On failure, forgiveness, strange coincidences etc

My boyfriend is not one to ever talk about his dreams, or entertain mine. Yet there I was, apparently, having dinner with my ex. Which ex? I didn’t ask. I’m delirious and didn’t get the opportunity to dream — our son was up all night with a fever. All I know is that there were handwritten letters involved. The past continues to interfere with my Tuesday when a group chat reignites feelings from an unresolved family feud. I often convince myself that my one-sided attempts at forgiveness have worked — until they haven’t.

The best time for something bad to happen is when multiple bad things are already happening. Minimum of three. If it’s only two, you’re just bracing for the third. Once more than three bad things get going, you can find peace.

Marcello picks up french fries for me on his way home from work. I’m bleeding and everything hurts. Come to find out our order was swapped out for two chicken salads. You cannot order fries and then get a salad. It’s an omen. I tell him I am going to be an adult about this and not cry and he eats the chicken off the salad.

Later that evening, I open my snapchat and see a memory come up. Several handwritten cards laid out, from an old anniversary, from an old relationship, from many years ago. I remember receiving multiple cards to make up for the neglect that accompanies the end of a failed relationship. I remember reading those cards and knowing it was already over.

Lauren talks about forgiveness, on Gaby’s new show, Irregardless. I run errands while I listen to my friends. When I get home, I make a list of all the people I need to forgive. Ten total. Eleven, if we count the ex that’s bothering my boyfriend in his sleep. Is forgiveness the same as indifference? Or can you be over something but still need to energetically fulfill the forgiveness ritual?

On Thursday, Mateo seems to be getting worse, but I’m enjoying having him home from school all week. I watch the episode of Grey’s Anatomy of the plane crash. Not the one that killed Mark and Lexie. A commercial flight from Baltimore to Seattle, where the only survivor was an unaccompanied minor. I’m pretty sure that’s the title of the episode: unaccompanied minor. Hours later, the first commercial flight since 2009 crashes into the Potomac. Marcello calls to ask if we’re okay, tells me to look out the window.

I’m dreading going to bed. Because we haven’t slept all week. Because everything is scary at night. Because the fire is still burning.

I pray over the cacao I’m making and recognize this is the first intentional ritual I’ve given to myself all year. Mateo begins to cough and cry. Marcello is next to him. I resist the urge to join their suffering but it’s torture either way so I ask the cacao to wait. I can’t focus when he cries. He stops. I sip. I watch the cats play. When I think of who the cat in my relationship is, we both are. There is no golden retriever in this house. Not even our son. We’re all cats.

Over the next 72 hours, my son vomits into my hands and pees on me in our sleep. We take him back to the doctor and get antibiotics. Bronchitis, again. I am simultaneously rejected from a fellowship I had been praying for since September and let go from my main copywriting gig. Higher self me sees the vision, she’s thrilled. Mateo begins to improve with the medication. I’m thrilled. I will wake up sick tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter.

“Ever thought about loosening your grip on the material world for a second?”