A series of essays....
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| ONE OF OUR FIRST DON JUAN ROSES OF THE SEASON SHEDDING TEARS AFTER A SUDDEN RAINFALL! |
....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
I admit to being a very selfish person, especially when it comes to people I feel I know and love. I want them around me, helping me feel good about my life as they make me laugh and see myself for who I really am. I like it when people offer a dry sense of humor and are able to make fun of themselves; when they can confidently share their knowledge and expertise on subject(s) of interest that include some of my own passions, and do it with ease and panache.
Anthony Bourdain could do all of that. Anthony made us feel like we knew him; he drew us in and had us believing we were his close, intimate friends!
Guilt can be one of the primary motivators of our selfishness. Guilt equals sadness and can turn the purest of intentions into a holy nightmare of dark dreams and possessed emotions. I, personally, can relate to this.
Leaving my youngest daughter up at Michigan State University at the beginning of her sophomore year was my personal recipe for guilt, shame, and profound heartache. I recall being beyond myself and would cry for hours while feeling imprisoned in our apartment in Orlando. Good mothers don’t abandon their children, I thought. A good mother wouldn’t leave her daughter up at college so far away and at such a vulnerable, young age. Oh, that guilt thing was eating me up inside! Outside, I didn’t care about my appearance one iota; even if I washed my hair or brushed my teeth that day. It was not a struggle to stay in bed all morning; it was a struggle to get out of bed at all.
I was a hot mess.
I recall feeling this deep, dark funk for many weeks. Dan was gone Monday through Friday at job sites in such (exotic?) places as West Virginia and Mississippi. I would drive him to OIA (Orlando International Airport) for his Monday morning flight out and then pick him up from there on Friday afternoons....week after very long week.
In the meantime, I would spend most of my days unpacking the boxes we didn’t have stored in a climate controlled storage unit (including our baby-grand piano) and worrying about the fires that smoldered just to the east of us, between Orlando and the Atlantic coastline. Muck fires, as I call them, are created from marsh gas, swamp gas whose principal component is methane that’s produced naturally within some marshes and swamps. Often, when fed by the Floridian heat, fuel, and oxygen, it will allow for spontaneous combustion and underground fires will smolder for a considerable time.
Looking out through our east-facing windows, alone in an unfamiliar place, imprisoned by stacked moving boxes and a guilty soul, I felt I’d been moved to hell and its intense fire was rapidly approaching!
As I’ve said before....I was a hot mess! Fortunately, I do not recall ever feeling suicidal.
Thinking back, other than the abrupt passing of my Mother at the young age of sixty-two, I had never felt so lonely, sad, and guilt ridden as I did in those early weeks here in Orlando. I missed our youngest child with so much passion that life itself seemed futile with all efforts to remedy the situation proving to be nugatory.
Dan’s distant job sites, eventually, became more local and the threatening muck fires were tamed, only to rage again another day. Corinne and I would e-mail one another as much as possible and talk on the phone whenever we could. Dan and I utilized his frequent flyers miles and made long weekend trips up to East Lansing to spend as much time with her as possible.
Eventually, I cleaned-up enough to participate in several job interviews and with two fantastic prospects at my disposal, chose a construction themed job over a prominent law office opportunity located in downtown Orlando. I sometimes question the wisdom of my choice but, that decision is far behind me now. The point is....I survived. Corinne survived without me as, deep down, we all knew she would.
My maternal guilt, like a cloud of smoke, had dissipated for now. But, muck fires are dangerous things and can smolder and burn slowly with smoke and no flame; the mist spreading across the landscapes of our mind with flare-ups unexpected and, potentially, dangerous to ourselves and those around us whom we love.
As more facts appear in dribs and drabs from France, where he died, and from CNN, where he worked his latest gig, Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown, I have to ask one thing, “What in the hell was he thinking?” Or, more precisely, was he able to think (rationally) at all by this point in time?
Strasbourg, France will never quite be the same. It will, however, remain one of my most beloved places on earth. The pure happiness it once contained, however, was squeezed out like a ripe piece of fruit is for juicing. Early last Friday morning, when I first heard the news, I recall a primal scream being emitted and then the hairs, literally, stood up on my arms, and a tingling feeling took over my entire body. I know I wasn’t alone with this particular reaction to his, apparent, suicide near Strasbourg.
What in the hell were you thinking.....? Well, that’s just it, I don’t believe you were able to think at all! The state of depression robs you of rational thinking and exchanges it for a sadness that consumes you. Was it about feeling guilty, not being worthy? Your superego absorbs your thoughts and exchanges you for the stranger you will become to yourself. Anthony, you have left behind so many who love and miss you. I wish we had all been enough for you.....! Rest In Peace, sweet man.
Looking back on those early days of residing here in Orlando continues to grip at my heart. It will forever remain a low point in my life. Training my mind to feel good about myself and worthy of all the goodness life has to offer was the most difficult task for me. I do admit to reverting back to that sad person every now and again but, I try to snap out of it as quickly as possible and carry on with living.
I leave you with a quote from the bestselling Irish author, Cathy Kelly, who captures the feeling of growing older, learning to live with our acquired knowledge, as well as our foibles, while attempting to retain a certain balance in our life:
“What was the point of being old enough to have worked out what life was all about if you couldn’t act on what you knew? Then again, how could you sort out someone else’s life when you were still trying to figure out how to live your own?”
Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
