The emotional brain

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Los Angeles, CA

I received a text earlier today from my Mom letting me know that Mema has finally passed away. She had been struggling with multiple heart issues for the past few months and died peacefully in her sleep the night before.

Currently I am driving home from work and call my Mom to check in.

I have been prepared for this day for many years, but the second I hear my Mom’s voice, tears flood out of my eyes. I’m always surprised how the intellectual brain and the emotional brain can be so out of sync. In the wake of this rush of emotion, I try my best to focus on logistics.

My Mom is currently by herself in Abilene. The plan is to gather Mema’s few personal items and drive over to San Angelo to make arrangements for her funeral and burial. Mema is from San Angelo and has specific instructions regarding her services.  

I ask multiple times when Dad and my brother are coming up to help her and she explains that they are both busy and will not be coming up until the weekend. I confirm one more time that my Mom will be handling all of this alone and then ask if she needs help. The answer is a weak no and I commit to flying to San Angelo right away.

It’s about 6pm currently and I am able to find a flight that leaves LA at 1am and lands in San Angelo at 10am tomorrow morning. I know this seems dramatic, but I can’t let my Mom do this alone. Also, I shell out the extra money to fly first class. I am not a total martyr.

I spend the next few hours packing, showering and letting my boss know what’s going on. I drive to LAX, park in Lot C and make my way to my gate. I am intermittently crying, but am also keeping it together enough to not cause a scene.

I board first and settle in for the 4-hour flight to Dallas. After a few glasses of wine, I drift off to sleep. Ah man, this is going to be rough.

Goodbye Florida.

Wednesday, September 21st 2016

Destin, FL and Los Angeles, CA

It’s around 9am CST and I waking up after an amazing night’s sleep. I still have sand in my bed, but I am so well rested that I no longer care. We have to leave in the next hour, so I quickly get dressed and pack up my bags. It is our last day and there is no coffee in the kitchen. It’s okay though, I remain grateful for past coffee.   

Eventually we begin to load up the truck. We literally have an entire luggage cart full of stuff (as it turns out, old people need a lot of stuff!). After we are all packed up, we make a coffee stop at McDonalds. We all chat happily on the way back to my Grandmother’s room at her assisted living facility. My Dad has left a large time buffer to hang out at Grandmother’s home and chat with all of her friends. As it turns out, she has a lot of friends! After about an hour of chatting with almost everyone in the building, it’s time for us to head out. We say our goodbyes and are off to the airport.

The drive to the Pensacola airport takes longer than expected, but we still arrive with plenty of time to spare. I say goodbye to Dad who will be driving back to Austin solo. I have about 2 hours to kill and spend my time playing plants vs zombies.

The flight home is uneventful and before I know it I am back home in LA.      

We'll have another round of blue margaritas.

Tuesday, September 20th 2016

Destin, FL

It’s 9am and I am waking up with sand in my bed. Actually, there is sand everywhere; it brings me great nostalgia from childhood vacations in this place. It takes me about 30 minutes to get ready and wander into the common area where my Dad is starting to cook and my Grandmother is watching Fox News.

Dad has acquired another box of Starbucks coffee and I love him for it. My Grandmother and I relocate outside while our breakfasts are made to order. We spend most of the morning lounging on the balcony before my Dad announces that it’s too hot and we move the party inside.

Around noon we all gather in the kitchen for the official birthday celebration. Dad has brought us all birthday hats, whistles, paper plates and napkins from home and special ordered an ice cream cake. I find all of this preparation adorable. After a few selfies and a (pretty bad) rendition of Happy Birthday we dig into the cake.

For the rest of the afternoon we all sit in the air conditioned living room intermittently watching Fox News and gazing at the ocean. Dad still seems mad about Grandmother calling him am idiot. He is picking on both me and her out of both boredom and spite. I can tell that my Grandmother does not have the energy to go back down to the beach and I can’t figure out a way to stop this dynamic. I take this time to zone out and contemplate how I will never understand the complexities of a relationship between an only child and his single mother. Eventually, I decide that my best course of action to ignore everyone.

Around 5pm the conversation turns to our birthday dinner plan. We eventually decide that Mexican food would be fun and we all gather into to the truck to go out to eat.

On the way to the restaurant we realize that my Grandmother forgot her cane at the condo. My Dad insists on immediately buying a new one (though he is simultaneously grumpy that he has spent too much money on this trip). I can take a hint offer to pay for the cane. Dad accepts.

Finally, we land at Don Pedro’s. We order a round of blue margaritas and I immediately know that this will be very bad or very awesome. There is some strange initial conversation about whether or not it’s appropriate for a man to have a trophy wife. I know it sounds weird but I find this conversation fascinating and my Grandmother to be delightfully feminist. Soon we are on round 2 of blue margaritas. I am definitely drunk. We stumble through more conversation about the role of women in society and are way too full of chips and salsa by the time our food arrives. We all make valiant attempts at eating our food and then decide to head back to the condo.

Once we are back inside my grandmother decides to go to sleep immediately. My Dad and I hang out for a little bit longer. We mostly talk about my other grandmother, whose health is not good. The conversation is dark and I dread the day when I have to watch my parents lose their parents.

Eventually we go to bed. Tomorrow is our last morning in this lovely condo.