Teacups

I do not tend to get emotional – bitchy? Yes. Emotional? Not so much. When I do show emotion, it is usually frustration. Frustration most often displays itself when I am exhausted. Yesterday, however, I displayed emotion. Today, the same irritates me.

In our household, Christmas is a rough time. We do a lot of running around and making merry while trying to deal with the emotional burden that persists secondary to J’s brother’s death. Whether we talk about it or not, each of us spends a lot of time thinking about him on Christmas Day. We wonder: What would he be like if he was still alive? How would he be dealing with his mother’s illness? If there is a heaven, will he be there to receive his mother when she passes? Does he watch us? Does he see us at the grave when we go visit him each Christmas morning? How about the other times?

Sometimes J and I discuss these thoughts. Sometimes we do not. The contents of the conversation do not vary much – even with time. We are both still sad. We both wonder. Of course, our feelings are different. J lost a sibling. I did not. With that said, we both have great memories and feel a void in our lives. Yes, it is better than it once was, but it is still there. This year, J and I discussed why we are sad and if his brother would want that. We concluded he would not, but are at a loss regarding how to change our feelings. I think feeling sad is okay—even years later—provided that it does not consume our lives. I think to deny one’s feelings is silly.

This year, we celebrated Christmas with J’s family at his mother’s house per her request. We passed the site of J’s brother’s accident on the way there. By the time we made the tri-county commute, we were both tired and hungry. We enjoyed a wonderful meal prepared by J’s sister and visited with his relatives. Overall, it was a nice experience.

After dinner, J’s mother had his father empty her curio cabinet, which holds her teacups. Her teacups are all different and the collection as a whole is her prized possession. I’ve always admired it. J’s mother is no longer able to speak. She is, however, still capable of writing. She wrote that she wanted each of the women in the family to take turns picking teacups from her collection until they were all gone. She indicated that the cups are special to her and she wants them to remain in the family. She wanted to see which ones we picked, etc.

I respect her wishes and understood why she wanted us to partake in the process, but it was a little more than I could handle. It was too emotional. I walked out. J gracefully took my place.

I accept my mother-in-law’s illness. I also understand the prognosis. Each time I see her, the illness is more apparent than the last time. Overall, I am able to accommodate the challenges of the illness. I am also willing to care for her as time progresses. She and I have talked about her illness quite extensively. Although I wish it did not exist, I recognize that it does. I find comfort in the knowledge that although her body may be giving way; her mind and spirit are not. I also find comfort in her reports that although her body can be uncomfortable at times and very frustrating, it does not cause her persistent ongoing pain. For the most part, I have been okay witnessing the illness's progression as well. Even with all of the changes, over the past several months, I have admired my mother-in-law’s acceptance of her diagnosis, her grace, and her passion for life. With that said, I do not want to deal with her death – not yet. I certainly did not want to deal with it on Christmas. I was not ready to consider her absence from my world yesterday. I am not ready for that yet. When she does leave, not only will I losing my mother-in-law, but I will also be losing a friend, mentor, and the grandmother to my children. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that idea.

Today I find myself emotionally exhausted again. I feel bad for not having the strength or ability to complete the task she asked of me. I feel bad for taking that moment away from her. In many ways, I feel like I failed her. More devastating to me, I feel like I failed J.

We have several teacups now that do not match our others. Although they are beautiful, at this moment, I hate them. They currently represent a sort of failure to me. I am hoping that after I apologize to J and his family for my inadequacies, I will like them again.

Afterall, they're only teacups.