“If my dad was alive, my life would be perfect right now.”
I said that to my girlfriend — my fiancée! — a few days after she proposed. I feel almost self-centered bringing this up again and again, but it is wild the way grief turns everything inside out. I am so happy. My life is so nice right now. And yet — my dad. My dad, my dad, my dad. “Everything is so good, but my dad is still dead,” I tell friends when they inquire how I am. I’ve had a really nice year in my personal life. I am so lucky. And — my dad is still dead. I can’t tell him about any of it. I still miss my dad.
When I was describing my life in the first paragraph I was tempted to write boring — like, my life is so good it’s boring these days — but I do not feel bored. Perhaps it’s easier to write about the dramatic pinnacles of a life, the exclamation points of pain, the periods of joy, but I do not wish to shy away from the ellipses of the day to day. The small intimate moments. The quiet scenes we stack up, one on top of the other, until we can look back and say wow, what a beautiful day. What a beautiful week. What a beautiful year. What a beautiful life.
And it is, a beautiful life, for me right now. In spite of everything, the tiny world I inhabit is softer and more loving than anything I’ve ever built before.
Parker and I wake up in a king sized bed every morning with our tiny black dog Zucchini and he wiggles his butt and wags his little tail and insists on being pet for at least fifteen minutes before he suddenly remembers breakfast exists, the outdoors exist, and then he bounds off the bed and lets out a sharp bark, begging us to feed him and take him out to pee, which we do. Sometimes I put a raw egg in his kibble and he slurps his food fast fast fast, and sometimes he decides he’s not hungry at all and leaves his bowl full until dinner. He interrupts his own rhythms and I like that, it reminds me that sometimes an action just is.
I spend my days at my computer, either teaching or writing or editing. Parker brings me food she’s made, or she orders burritos and delivers mine directly to my office, or I take a break and spend some time in the kitchen roasting beets, or opening a can of tinned fish, or heating up leftovers from the night before. I said this would be my Summer of Salads but I’ve made very few salads; instead I learned to make no-churn ice cream with three ingredients and a stand mixer, and I’ve experimented with a few different flavors: chocolate Nutella, vanilla brandy, and my favorite so far, blackberry.
In the evenings we watch television, or we meet up with friends, or I make an elaborate meal while Parker offers to help and I refuse, or we fuck, or we FaceTime with our families. We feed Zucchini dinner, and then we often feed him a second dinner. Sometimes I work late but I try not to do that so much anymore; what’s the point? We go to sleep early. We keep the screen door open to let in the cool night air, we put a fan in front of the screen to pull in as much of the cold as possible. We sleep and we dream and we wake up together and this is our life. I love it.
And my dad is still dead. That’s the part that fucks me up, the part I trip on, the part I must accept is simply the nature of growing up but wow, do I not want to accept it at all. When my girlfriend proposed we called her parents to share the news, and then we called my mom to share the news. We couldn’t call my parents because my parents no longer exist — I mean, on this plane, in this realm, it is no longer possible to contact my parents about anything. I feel furious on my mom’s behalf — it is so unfair, it is so unfair, it is so unfair, what else is there to say? A million unfair things happen every single day but this particular unfair thing happened to me, happened to my mom, happened to my family, and it doesn’t matter so much to anyone else except us but to us it matters more than anything in the whole world. Is that grief? The singularity of it? I can’t even say I know what my mom is feeling because My Mother’s Grief is different than My Grief is different than Your Grief… you know? Maybe that’s the real fucked up part of it all — even if we’re all swimming in grief, we can’t fucking see each other.
Or maybe that’s not it at all. The longer I exist In Grief the less I understand it.
I teased my girlfriend the other day, after I told her my life would be perfect if my dad was still alive. “Your dad is still alive, so congrats, I guess your life is perfect!” It was obnoxious to say, but she loves me, and it’s the kind of thing you can get away with saying to someone you’re very close with, someone who understands that you understand that their life is not perfect simply because they’re engaged to a person they love and their dad is still alive, but who also understands that collectively your lives kind of are perfect right in this very moment except, you know, your dad is dead. She laughed and then she held me, and maybe I cried, or maybe I didn’t. It’s hard to know when the tears will come, hard to remember which occasions sparked them, hard to keep track of how many times she has witnessed them leave my face wet and my eyes swollen. That is part of loving me, now, and she does it so well. That is part of our life.
We are alive. Our lives are so good. We are lucky. But my dad is still dead, and it is so unfair, it is so unfair, it is so unfair, it is so unfair.
Housekeeping Notes
It’s been so long since I last sent out a newsletter. Forgive me. I’ve been working on selling my first novel, writing my second novel, editing and teaching a lot, and also simply living my life. I hope you’ve all been well. If you’d like to write and tell me how you’re doing, I’d sincerely love to hear from you.
A few offerings that I’d like to share with you:
+ We Call It Time Travel — This is an essay about falling in love. It’s also my favorite thing I’ve written this year.
+ You Are The Expert: A Creative Nonfiction Workshop — I’m teaching another 10-week workshop with Sarah Lawrence College Writing Institute this fall. If you’ve been wanting a supportive environment to receive feedback and encouragement on your nonfiction writing, generative prompts, routine and structure, and literary community, this class is for you! Class starts on September 14, meets weekly at 3pm PST/6pm EST on Wednesdays, and takes place in the Zoom Room. Check out the link for more details and of course feel free to reach out with questions.
+ Sex and the Single Woman: 24 Writers Reimagine Helen Gurley Brown's Cult Classic — My first print publication is an essay in this anthology which came out in May of this year! The essay, “If I’m Lonely,” is not available anywhere online, so if you’d like to read it please buy a copy or pick it up at your local library — it’s about friendship, love, loneliness, and fisting.
+ One-on-One Writing & Editing Services — This is brand new and not fully formed yet, but over the past year I’ve had multiple people reach out to ask if I offer one-on-one writing and editing services and I’ve decided that answer is… hell yes! I’m currently revamping my website and will have official rates and options available publicly soon, but in the meantime if you’re interested in working together on a writing or editing project, no matter how large or small, please feel free to reach out (vanessa.pamela@gmail.com) and let’s make it happen.
Thank you, as always, for being here. xoxo, V