Annihilated

I recently watched Patton Oswalt's Annihilation show on NetFlix. I read many positive reviews and remarks on Twitter. Almost unanimously, the show was described as powerful - certain to make you laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously. Being a fan of his work, and knowing a little of his personal loss (as he's eloquently related in interviews), I was compelled to watch for myself.

Most of you reading this blog know my personal story (let's be honest - most of the people reading this blog are relatives or close friends of mine). You know that when I was thirteen I lost my father, unexpectedly. He lived to the ripe old age of fifty-five. I am now fifty-five myself, and I realize even more just how young it is. His death stunned and shocked me. In an instant we went from being just another "normal" farming family to something else, a single-parent family. Before long, we'd moved off the farm to town. Losing him also meant losing a way of life, part of my own identity. I think it took years to come to terms with all of this and, to be honest, I still consider myself a farm kid.

You likely also know that my wife and I lost our son when he was five months old. Five months is right in that window of when babies really start to become people. They smile and react when they recognize you. They show a preference for one toy over another. From the moment he was born, everything we did was an attempt to express "I love you" to this dear boy. Now, at an age where he could finally let us know that he thought we were pretty okay too, he was gone.

I bring these losses up as part of an explanation for why I was compelled to watch Annihilation. In an attempt to understand my own grieving and emotional survival, I'm drawn to see how others do it. The loss of my father was devastating but I think my thirteen-year old self was too deeply in shock to really cope with it. I was an adult when my son died and his death was excruciating. When you have a child, you can't help but dream about their future. If you're like me, you hope they grow up to be happy people who are kind to others. You run through all the possible careers, all the possible outcomes, except one. And then they're gone and all the dreams die with them and you're left with nothing but the "what might have been". It sucks big time.

And so, I sat down to watch Annihilation with anticipation and a fair amount of trepidation. I accept that everyone grieves in their own way but I really don't get what some people find helpful. I felt a rush of relief as Patton bashed the "everything happens for a reason" sentiment. That one, along with "he's in a better place" are two statements that I have found the least helpful and sometimes hurtful. If anyone reading this happens to be someone who has said this to me, I'm sorry. Please know that I know your intentions were pure and to be honest, offering condolences is hard. None of us possesses the magic words to make everything better. The best you can hope for is to not add to the pain. At least you said something. Not acknowledging a loss sends a pretty strong message as well. So, really, it's a no win, hope to break even sort of game where not playing is the same as losing.

Patton Oswalt opens his heart and does an excellent job of expressing the complex emotions associated with grief and loss. He takes us along with him to glimpse some of the darkest most painful moments and then masterfully uses humor to pull us back from the brink. If you haven't watched Annihilation, I recommend you do so (Except maybe my sister Melody, as some of the language may be too blue for her. 😏)

Home Repair

We've had contractors and their workers at our house off and on over the past few weeks. An undetected roof leak had been slowly soaking the walls of a small closet near our front door. Eventually, things got bad enough that the walls began crumbling away. In our defense, we rarely use this closet and don't routinely go around inspecting every nook and cranny of the house.

As long as we had the workers there, we also pointed out another issue with water that we've noticed at the back of the house. Again, we weren't quick enough to avoid some amount of water damage but at least it wasn't as bad as the front closet. The root cause of both problems is a pair of pine trees with annoyingly long needles. The trees are on our neighbors lot but they insist on leaning over our house. The needles have always made keeping our gutters clean difficult but in recent years the amount of needles has increased significantly. Looking up at the tree, one can see a number of dead needles - a sign, hopefully, of the trees' imminent demise.

I used to hate having people around working on the house. Not so much because of the intrusion although that is a little bit of a pain. No, I disliked having them around because I always felt like their presence was somehow a judgment about me. Why didn't I notice the problem earlier? What was I thinking with the repair attempt I tried? And finally, why on earth can't you just fix this yourself? I could feel their eyes watching me - "Look at him. Soft. Helpless. Inept. A real man would have taken care of this himself."

Thankfully, I don't feel that way any longer. I'm old enough now that I feel like most of the workers assume I probably made these sorts of repairs when I was younger. Now, as a middle-aged man, my time is too valuable to be spent on home repairs. I can afford to let the young whippersnappers hang the drywall instead of doing it myself (I've never hung drywall).

When I was younger and would ask a question, I swear I would get a look of condescension - like, "This guy has no clue, I can't believe I have to explain this to him". To be honest, they would have been correct in that assessment. Now that I'm older, I know a little bit more but still not very much. I've learned that if I just ask vague questions or obvious statements (e.g. "So, you took off three rows of siding."), I get a much more thorough explanation. Often, as they are explaining, I sense they are watching my reaction to see if I agree with their course of action. I always do since I really don't have a clue about most of it.

The New Refrigerator

A week ago, our refrigerator died. There were no obvious warning signs, no strange noises. One day it just stopped keeping things cool. To me, this felt too soon but I've been told ten years is about the average life span of refrigerators these days. We scrambled to salvage what we could, filling three coolers. What we couldn't fit in the coolers we cooked. A large lasagna used up the frozen hamburger, the fresh spinach, and much of the cheese. Leftovers were discouraged so we ate like gluttonous kings.

The search for a replacement began immediately. We discussed desired features and began researching consumer reviews and retail options. After realizing that the perfect fridge could only be had if we were willing to endure a five to thirteen week wait, we scrapped most of our data and instead went with a model that could be delivered and installed in three days time. We packed on some extended warranties - a tacit admission of our lack of knowledge about our latest major appliance.

Our old refrigerator was white but not really. To see the white you'd have to look behind the school pictures, artwork, and other miscellaneous papers deemed important. The magnets used to attach these items also held their own unique and varied story. Some items, such as class pictures might get replaced with more recent versions but often both the old and new would coexist together. Our old fridge was kind of a scrapbook page of stuff going on in our family. In that way, the old fridge felt like a part of the family. Like that distant relative that the kids barely know, it held each class photo or art drawing dearly, treating them like the treasures we knew them to be.

I've spent many an afternoon staring into that fridge, looking for just the right snack. There was never any judgement when I grabbed a cheese stick intended for a kid's school lunch. If I was indecisive, it didn't matter. Even though my lingering at the open door meant more work cooling things back down, the fridge waited patiently.

I don't think our new refrigerator is destined to become a member of the family. Its stainless steel doors reject all magnets, as if it is determined to keep some distance between us and it. The water dispenser on the door is a nice feature but it also sends the signal that if you just want ice or water, get it here - don't open the sacred doors.

Speaking of doors, lingering with them open is discouraged. If a door is open for more than 60 seconds, an alarm sounds. This refrigerator expects you to not bother it unless you know what you want. It's like we've hired a crabby kitchen helper. It will do its job and do it well but don't expect it to fawn over your child's latest piece of artwork. It's simply not part of its job description.

I never thought I'd say this but, in some ways, our new refrigerator is too cold.