Maybe you don’t get over it

Last night we took my father-in-law out for his first Indian food.  We were sort of urging him to try something tame like a chicken tikka or butter chicken or something like that but he jumped right in there with a goat curry.  I was impressed!  I’ve never eaten goat so I tried it and admittedly, it tasted fine but I thought I was going to be sick because my mind just kept screaming, "GOAT! GOAT!  GOAT!  GOAT!  GOAT!" 

And then my father-in-law said, "You know, this isn’t baa-aaa-aaa-aad" like a bleating goat, and although it is somewhat difficult to reproduce in type, it was actually very funny.

We drove by Il Fornello on the Danforth on our way to the restaurant and my father-in-law commented that it looked like a nice place, sort of upscale and probably expensive.  I replied that I liked the brunch there, it was more laid back than the exterior would lead you to believe and is fairly reasonable in terms of prices.  Kev said, "Yeah, Les has been there, but I never have."

That is when I realized exactly how differently two people can process the same information.  We were eating a lovely Saturday brunch at Il Fornello on the 13th of November, 2004 when I was struck by the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, the pain that would terminate my pregnancy later that day (it would be confirmed that Monday).  It had been Kevin’s idea, to take my mind off all the tests and emergency ultrasounds I’d been through in the preceding weeks.  I remember everything about that day.  For example, that I was wearing my hair in two Pippi Longstocking braids which were secured with tiny blue elastics, that I was wearing the blue sweater Uncle Ed had given me the preceding Christmas, how I saw my supervisor and her daughter shopping for wedding dresses and I silently prayed she wouldn’t notice me and want to chat as we rushed back to our car, that it was kind of overcast and chilly but still warm enough that a winter coat wasn’t necessary and that later that night we went out for dinner with my parents after I woke up from a long, nearly comatose sleep. 

It doesn’t upset me that he doesn’t remember eating there.  It’s just how he dealt with it.  I deal with things by hanging onto details.  It doesn’t always benefit me.  What bothers me is how such a mundane little conversation can trigger so much, so quickly.  After almost two years, I do feel better but I’m going to give up the idea of "getting over it".  I don’t think, anymore, that you get over these things.  I’ve never gotten over my best friend’s mom dying, or my grandfather dying.  I don’t expect to get over my uncle dying so why put that expectation on this?  Time passes and you carry on, but no matter what you tell yourself, these things are missing from your life forever.  Your heart swells to accommodate the pain that is in there, and maybe that is all you can really ask for.

One thought on “Maybe you don’t get over it

  1. Well put Leslie. I agree with you 100%. People all seem to say you’ll get over it in time, but it was one (if not the) worst days of my life for me, and it is extremely hard to forget. My Oma died 15 years ago this year – I still cry about her. In fact, I was getting off the subway today and riding up the escalator, when I noticed an old woman in front of me, with a silver hair cut like my Oma used to have. I kept saying in my head “I wish you were Oma…”
    I completely understand what you’re saying here, and feeling. *Hugs* (and I just rememberd that I never wrote back to that email you sent to me through Theresa. I’m awful 😦 )

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