The other day I was thinking of a song. I heard it first on the Pitch Perfect soundtrack; it’s called “Open Season” by the High Highs. The line that always sticks in my head is, “You look so tired of livin’…”
I was thinking of that song in particular because I felt like I was tired of living.
The latest course project is kind of draining, I find it really hard to work with this particular group, and consistent, chronic group work is getting to me. (I literally want to bash my face into a table every time I think about this project, I hate group work so much by now.)
I still struggle with finding a good level of socializing that will keep me from feeling all alone, but will also not drive me fucking crazy from having to be ~with people~ all the time.
And I miss my family and boyfriend, and I miss living in a place where living isn’t such hard work.
Or at least that’s what I said to myself.
My mom called this afternoon to tell me some sad news.
Theoretically, my grandma has been dying since I was a junior in high school, but now the last possible drug before chemotherapy appears to have only dwindling hold on her cancer, and she has elected not to undergo the next step.
The timeline is completely uncertain, and I am halfway across the world.
She’s tired, my mom reported. My grandmother is just tired. She’s ready to go. Her husband is gone, her children are stable, and her grandchildren are 10 for 10 when it comes to being absolutely amazing.
I’m not saying I was considering suicide the other day when I was humming about being tired of living. But I feel pretty silly now for thinking that living was too hard for someone as young as I am, with so much to look forward to and to do still.
I am twenty, my body has not betrayed me, and I have so many plans. I just got bogged down in not enough sleep and too much work. I’m gonna be okay.
What with the uncertainty and all the running back and forth that this family is doing, there’s no knowing if I’ll see my grandma again. It’s also a very real possibility that she will die while my sisters and mother are abroad this summer, and my mother said, “We won’t be able to come back.”
My mother is brave, and I want to be like her.
She said to my grandma that they wouldn’t probably be able to bring me home in time if I needed to go, and my grandma said, “No. God’s too faithful for that.”
I desperately hope so, because I am very scared to miss something important with another grandparent I love because of something as ridiculous as the Atlantic Ocean.
I thought in the moment I heard that of the Bible verse, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.” And how small, then, must be the faith which will move no mountains nor cause any other topographical upheaval, but will instead just ensure that the time is right for the people who will be saddened by it, that the wave will come to them when they can withstand it. How little God asks of us for something so great.
P.S. The whole phone call just basically made me think about family and how we are all like and unlike each other, and not least among the things I realized was this: I am very similar to my mother, in that we both plan and rehearse the important things we need to say. And I tried to interrupt her so I could ask questions and process the information, and she just kept going. It reminded me of when I say to Sam or to Derek, “Shut up and let me monologue for a second.” And it occurred to me that my mother would make an excellent blogger.