I started a new television series today. It’s called The Leftovers on HBO. It’s based on a small town that has a paranormal event on October 14th wherein several hundred people of all ages “depart”. They vanish from the earth with no further trace and we are left to view how those who are left behind cope in their absence.
This would be an everyday occurrence — starting a new series, on a Sunday, in my jammies. I’m low on energy. I am rarely low on energy. Let me correct that statement. I am an over doer who currently exercises 90-120 minutes 5 days a week, trying to lose 20 pounds that I gained at my last job which I lost 4 months ago. I’m looking avidly for employment while continuing progress on my book, a loosely written memoir which is what my blog is – a tidbit of what to expect, plus much much more. As I’m known for, I digress…….
Today was a bit different. Today is the 22nd anniversary of my 2.5 month old son’s death. It’s also a reminder of all of my other losses – both sets of grandparents, my uncle, my mama, countless relatives, my three very favorite cousins, most recent cousin who passed of a sudden heart attack at 44, leaving behind devastation – Leftovers, in the form of her husband, three beautiful children, her parents, brother, cousins, friends. She was loved by all.
We are all Leftovers. Left behind to muddle through the remainder of what is our everyday life. Many of us have staples. I refer to staples as the precious things that require us to get out of bed every single morning to do average every day things. When my son, Grant, died, I had Alex and my husband and many people looking out for me. Truth be told, it was really Alex that kept me moving forward. He had barely turned two. He was so little. He depended on me for all of his every day needs. He brought joy in huge hours of darkness. His dad was important, too. However, he was gone at work for 10 hours a day. I was home for an additional 8 weeks after Grant died and Alex was what kept me moving. Husband, friends and family checked in regularly. This was not to be dismissed – their involvement and their guidance was huge. Case and point – friends calling at odd hours when I was on my knees, in tears, buried in condolence letters and my child’s hospital burial gown. My husband asking me to put Grant’s baby blanket away because I had been sleeping with it under my arms for weeks. Keeping my mama afloat – she took Grant’s death extremely hard.
The remarkable thing about us Leftovers, is we can spot each other out of a crowd. It’s almost like an aura. It was one of the few things that bonded me with my mother-in-law. It wasn’t consistent, but it was there in moments. She happened to be watching after Alex she week after we buried Grant. We had escaped to Mendocino for a few days of R & R which I had no idea how we were going to pay for, but away we went. The Disability Office showed up at our door step to verify my extended disability and Inge literally shamed the representative off our front porch, wagging her pointer finger, screaming “she just lost her child.”
I have a dear friend who lost her son at 12. I have another who lost her husband before 50, with twin boys under the age of 5. My sister-in-law who lost her husband at 30 while pregnant with her second child and the direct and ripple effect is had on his parents, his brother, Roger, and a multitude of relatives/friends. My grandparents who lost an infant child, my other grandparents who lost their son to over two decades of a heroin addiction, which affected his children and his siblings. Multiple friends who have lost parents…..years too early. I have another dear friend who just lost her father. I remember spending weeks at Children’s Hospital while Grant was sick, fully expecting a recovery. Watching children come and go. Some went home and some did not – it was the luck of the draw. It had nothing to do with statistics. Friends who have family with dementia, Parkinson, cancer (like my mama). It’s endless and it comes way too soon. To think I was a leftover at 25 with my son was unthinkable. However, we are all Leftovers. We live on with our own story and it is never simple.
Leftovers also don’t necessarily come in death. They come in addiction, separation, misunderstandings. They can leave you equally crippled.
So what do we do with ourselves. Us Leftovers?
We breathe deeply. We turn to each other. We attempt to practice grace. I personally never bring a lasagna to a wake. We got close to 10 lasagna meals when Grant died. I used them all (and am thankful to all for their wishes). I froze them and used them throughout the first year when cooking at the end of a horrendous day was just too much to think about.
We play music. I wondered for months after I went back to work why I cried so many tears in my car by myself and I never saw Roger cry. Until I climbed into his Honda civic one afternoon and saw that he had a recorded tape of music in his player from Grant’s funeral. Just because I didn’t see him cry, didn’t mean that he didn’t do it. It was just in his own private space. So, we also allow for our family/friends to grieve in their own way without judgment.
We talk. We share. We hope it helps. We lend an ear. We ask more than “how are you doing?” We ask “what can we do and for how long do you need me?” We ask, “when, where and how”. We volunteer. We also try to share our story – Our Leftovers – because someone always needs to know they are not alone. They have a friend, a support system, someone who tries to understand someone else’s Leftovers.
So if I have to tell you, to be perfectly candid that when someone tells me they don’t like leftovers….That begs the question have they just never had a metaphoric need for leftovers–for nourishment, as a staple, to get yourself from point A to point B? I don’t mean this statement as a judgment, but as a consideration.
As a Leftover, I value every morsel – whether it be human, emotional, sustanance – in the form of food (when you need it and you don’t have the energy to make anything else) or a repeat friend who is just checking in for the 5th time in a week. If I can pass my Leftovers on to someone who needs them at any time of any day, you can bet 100% of the time, I’ll help The Leftover.
