A Box of Popcorn and a Balcony Seat or Comfort and Joy

I came home Tuesday after my brother’s funeral up in Alexandria, and nothing seemed right. It had been a 'good funeral.' A lot of people, my brother had many friends. I had cried and tried not to cry for too long, and I was tired. As for family, we were all together, but we've never been the most supportive family, we have trouble (like many families) with showing emotion and offering comfort.

That evening I had just enough energy to buy food and make dinner, mashed potatoes and roast chicken. Comfort food. I woke up Wednesday to an ache that felt like the flu. My chest hurt so bad. I chocked it up to holding little Audrey at the funeral, I gripped her like a talisman through my tears. At six months, she is a joy. She’s a handful now too, so I had to hold tight, and Wednesday I was sore. So I just mostly stayed in bed and I made it through one more day.

Thursday, I made myself get up out of bed. I’d gone to bed the night before with a horrible stomach-ache, and in the morning I mercifully puked. Still, I made myself get dressed and go to work, knowing that I’d see my therapist helped me haul out my sorry ass. No makeup, but I did brush my teeth. I felt like I never want to ever feel again. Going to work steadied me in the pain.

Through my sorrow, I made it to my kind therapist, mid downtown, on the 16th floor. He is wise and caring. His insight was to tell me this sorrow was not just about my brother, but about the comfort I never got in my family growing up. The comfort that wasn’t there at the funeral, and the ache I have for wanting it. Neither of my parents knew how to accept emotions or to comfort us in our pain. I grew up being ashamed of my tears and my need for comfort.

My therapist wondered when did I get comfort in my life? I did have some comfort in my relationship with my ex-husband, Steve. In my session, I recalled the story of being about 18 and I’d had a huge fight with my dad, and I’d run out of the house in tears. Steve and I had just started dating then, and I took the bus to the Orpheum Theatre, where Steve was assistant manager and I found him in the office.

He gave me a hug, bought me a box of popcorn, and found me a seat up in the balcony. He told me to just watch the movie and wait until he was done with work and then he’d talk with me. Later in our relationship, when I’d have a hard day and he knew he wouldn’t be able to be there; he’d tell me he wished he could keep me in his pocket.

There’s so many things we need as kids. So many needs that we humans should have met to feel safe, whole and complete. I’m making my way trying to know what I’m missing, and to fill in the gaps. I’ve surrounded myself with caring friends, and I know now why I’ve had this weird anger about life. I’ve been mad, really mad about missing out on having a family that held me, that nurtured me and supported me and my feelings.

As I left therapy, it was a comfort to remember that Steve was able to offer some small comfort, that a box of popcorn and a balcony seat seemed so huge a gesture of concern to someone so bereft of it. Comforting to remember, that in my life where love has often seemed so conditional and fragile, I’ve had moments of acceptance and comfort. Moments of feeling safe inside someone’s shirt pocket, next to their heart.

"We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families and our friends, and even the people who aren't on our lists, people we've never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe."
-Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close). Which, by the way, if you haven’t read, you should read.

Postscript: Over the weekend, when I talked with my mom on the phone, she broke down in her grief and cried; and then apologized for crying. I was able to tell her, “Mom, it’s ok to have feelings.” She said, “I was brought up that its selfish to have feelings.” I replied, “Mom, I know” and gently said, “I was too.” I continued, “Mom, what’s so exciting to me to be studying emotions is that I’m learning that they are necessary, and useful, and they give us information that we need. What these tears are telling us is that we need to remember to cherish life. Our emotions are good, it’s ok, it’s ok to cry.” She said that she’d hoped that she wasn’t as harsh on us as her parents had been, and I assured her that she wasn't. I let her know it’s the best we can do as families, to make progress on what doesn’t work, and to celebrate what does. I was able to offer my mom some comfort in this sad, sad time for us.