Danny died. There’s more to it than a long, heart-wrenching 17-year battle with addiction and CPTSD. But for now, he’s gone in a shitty, fucked up way. I tend to take death easier, and lately, there’s been a lot of it in the recovery community. I was not even sad, and I thought I was okay after getting the news. I called his mom immediately because I know how fast word travels on social media. She answered the phone and said, “You know it makes me nervous when you call me outta the blue like this, Forrest.”
Danny’s death was no surprise, although he was only 33 years old, and we had high hopes for a different outcome. The rotating door of addiction recovery inevitably slams closed for the lost souls that traverse it indefinitely.
I felt nothing when I got the call and nothing as I relayed the news to his mother—nothing as I set up to tattoo that day. Then a friend stopped by, asked how I was doing, and gave me a hug. I cried for about 15 seconds and then felt nothing again. Later that day, I felt pure, white-hot rage because I could not remember where I had set my cup of coffee. Okay, Forrest, sit down, breathe, and acknowledge the absence of grief while the broken parts manifest as anger. Breathe through it and move on.
The week passed, and in my friend group, we passed around the usual condolences, sadness, and irritation at the waste of another life during this fentanyl epidemic. I met with friends, exchanged stories, and heard from old friends, the usual. This morning I awoke tired and groggy. I’m not sure if the extra exhaustion is from Danny’s death, the additional tattooing, or the book stuff. I’ve been sleeping about 12 hours a day for the last three days…
As I stumbled into my morning routine, I noticed a brand-new t-shirt set out on my dresser. I’m particular about black t-shirts with cool art prints. I didn’t even stop to think about where it came from. I just grabbed it along with boxers, socks, and pants on the way to the shower.
I live with two females, and we have one bathroom in our little beach house. I glanced in the mirror and saw that I was looking kind of fuzzy with 4 or 5 days of bristle, so I decided to shave, which I do in the shower. I looked around and couldn’t find my razor refills. The dollhouse insanity of female accessories covers every bathroom surface, but my razor refills were not around. Fuck.
I got in the shower with a rusty razor, looked for my shaving cream, and it was gone too. I shaved with body wash, got out of the shower, and noticed the empty toilet paper roll on the counter. I looked in the cabinet for the bag of tp rolls, and there was none. Fuck.
I dried off and got dressed. I had precisely 26 minutes to get ready for work. I approached the kitchen, and the sink was piled over with dishes, attracting flies. As I poured my coffee, I noticed crumbs all over the counter and table. I went for the paper towels, and guess what? The cardboard tube was still on the dispenser, but no paper towels. I looked above the fridge to refill it, but no dice. As I scooped crumbs off the table with my hand and went to dump them in the trash, I noticed the wastebasket was overflowing. Fuck.
The heat was rising off the back of my neck now.
Don’t get me wrong, we all have our chores. I pay a housekeeper to come once a week, and I pay all the bills. I clean up. I’m not averse to housecleaning duties. Our family meets and discusses what our particular chores are. And I don’t mind picking up the slack wherever I can. But today, I didn’t have the time, and I felt unusually angry and resentful. Usually, it’s not such a big deal, but that anger has been rearing up these last few days. Probably that grief.
I sat down to breathe again. I love my family deeply. It can be challenging to be kind to the ones close to us. I am well aware of the damage caused when we don’t practice kindness with our immediate family. It’s easy to practice compassion and patience with people we see once a week or so. I stated aloud, “I love my family, I love my life, I appreciate the beauty and richness that my partner and daughter bring to my life.” I looked down at my shirt. I laughed at myself. I was wasting my day being angry about the state of the house, not even acknowledging the surprise gift that was waiting for me first thing in the morning. How sweet, kind, and thoughtful was it for her to get me that shirt? I had been so focused on what was wrong that I almost entirely missed what was kind and caring. I almost missed the gift.
I smiled and acknowledged the feeling of gratitude for the love that my partner and daughter bring to my life every day. Then I carried on with my day. Humbled, more present, and able to enjoy the day.