The Filling

Watch any movie or TV show that has a woman giving birth and you will see: screaming, yelling, hurling obscenities towards the husband, swearing to never have sex again.  I assume this is always supposed to be humorous.  Or at very least some sort of abstinence lesson for people.

These scenes annoy me.

I have given birth a time or two, and I can tell you what you see depicted is not the norm.

I have been a birth partner for a friend and I witnessed her silently go to a place where she breathed and rocked through each contraction.

Watch any movie or TV show where someone is dying and you will see a loving family surrounded at just the right moment to hear the words of wisdom said in a pained whisper of the dying person, just before he closes his eyes an the machine goes flatline.  A nurse magically appears and shuts off the monitors, as the closest family member shuts the eyes of the departed.

Death is not like this.

Unless it is an opera, then the dying person has enough time for one last aria before collapsing of consumption.

Like birth, death is messy.

Birth and death can be slow or fast, never knowing the exact date or time of either.

People, including myself,  have put a lot of emphasis on both events.  One of joy, one of sorrow.

But what about the in between?

Do we not measure the myriad of events in our lifetime as eventful as a birth or a death? Are they not as compelling to make note of?

Sitting next to me my mother has read the Sunday paper three times already.  Fixating on folding the paper in just the right way to make her happy.  A simple repetitive act that brings her both frustration and joy.

No, it isn't a birth, or a death.  It is just an act.  Probably muscle memory, and yet she does it with so much emotion it must count for something.

When I lay in bed in the morning I can feel that the bed is so much more comfortable in the morning than it was a few hours previously when I crawled inside the sheets.  I wonder how the sheets became softer, the pillows more supportive, the blanket placed in just the perfect way to make me happy.  Complete joy.

Knowing I have to leave my cocoon is a dreaded task, I linger in joy as long as I can.

Will this be written about in my obituary?

"She loved her bed, especially in the cool crisp mornings of fall..."

Not very noteworthy is it?  But to me it is.

My mother has now moved on to removing leaves from my deck where we are sitting.  She beds and picks them up one at a time and gently throws them off the deck.  The leaves bother her now.

I want to go back to a time where leaves were raked pile high and  I would run and jump in them creating chaos and laughter.  My mother wants to organize them.

Between birth and death are so many small trivial moments that are often not even shared with others, and possibly not even noticed by the people doing them.  They are forgotten, discarded.

I was once told that my father fought his death to the very end.  I was not there.  The image of him boxing a figure in black always came to mind.  A match to the Death.

But what of his life?  I do not mean the items listed on a resume, or in an obituary.  He loved to sit with his mother on her front porch.  Much as I now sit with my mother.

What did he think about during those times?

Are our personal thoughts just as important as our actions that occur between birth and death?

I have been accused of "living in my head".  Maybe.  Does it matter if I stop what I am doing when a cool breeze passes?  Isn't it enough that I stopped and noticed it and maybe even recalled a time in my past when I felt a similar breeze?  Or do I need to document my thoughts so they take form and and matter and therefore my obituary can also say, "She used to stop to feel every cool breeze."

I had a friend who lived on a farm.  You could tell that her joy came from her animals, and the harvests she produced.  Physical actions that made up her life.  What was she thinking when she took from the earth what she planted?

I do not know what  I thought when I was born.  I do not know what I will think when I die.

I know that right now there is a breeze, a respite from the heat, albeit brief.  My mother and partner are laughing, I crack my knuckles.

We three sitting here, often in silence, or in convoluted conversations that make no sense at all.

This is life.  My actions, my thoughts, my bed, breezes, the babies I raised, the books I stopped reading because they bored me, the cigarettes consumed, the lovers I took and left, the trips to the emergency rooms, the muddy dogs I cursed at.

I do not think about the fashion shows I did, or the magazines I have worked for, or any of the things that would impress on the page of a resume.

I think about now.  Now is all I have.

Lauri Hove

"Today I woke up."  Those words were written in my very first diary.  A small one with a lock and key and Winnie the Pooh on it.  Those words began my unknown passion of being a writer, and observer.  I have had the fortune and misfortune of documenting my life, and as a result other people's lives.

I refuse to wax poetic on the recent and tragic life of a dear friend of mine, instead, I dug through my trunk and found a journal.  Just one year.  I will without comment or further preamble copy parts of these years1984- 1985.

December 28th, 1984 Thursday

In the car a song came on that Lauri and I always sing.  It's called "You and Me Against the World".  Just the perfect song for Lauri and I.  I can not wait for her to get home.

December 29th, 1984 Friday

I have to tell you, after I finished writing on the bus on the way back from the city I leaned back and listened to the music the bus driver was playing.  You and Me Against the World came on.  Weird  huh?  So I bought the album tonight.  I am going to sing it in the talent show, but not tell Lauri, I will tell her I am singing something else and surprise her.

January 13, 1985 Sunday

Bonjour! Ca va? How are you my dear sweet innocent journal?  Oh if only you could answer all my questions I would ask so many!  But I fear my purpose in life is to tell of my life and others as I try to figure out the answers myself.

Tomas and I walked over to Lauri's house and there we stayed for a few hours, she was cleaning her room.  She does that a lot.

January 21st, 1985 Monday

I cleaned my room again and Lauri came over, we laughed all night and then she slept over.  It was fun.

January 27th, 1985 Sunday

Hello Dear Friend! A very lazy weekend but I enjoyed every moment of it.

Friday night Tammy and Lauri came over and we watched a gross horror movie. Saturday, Tomas, Lauri and I watched another gross horror movie and we just hung out and laughed.

January 31st, 1985 Thursday

On a lighter side, Lauri came over after school and we got all dressed up, I mean DRESSED UP.  Then we went out and bought film and took pictures, it was so much fun!

February 10th, 1985 Sunday

Have I got a story for you!  Last night Tomas had a costume party.  Laura went as a dead Grace Kelly even with a steering wheel around her neck!  I went as Boy George (of course).

Tammy came over and we all got pretty drunk, but I was more drunk than anyone.  Laura walked me home and put me in to bed

(I want to interject here that I am going to skip a bit, no need to share everything just yet!)

February 21st, 1985 Tuesday

After school I went over to Lauri's and we had a really nice talk about life, parents, all that.  When I got home my mom and I talked for a long time.  Basically about the same things Lauri and I talked about.  I guess I just wanted a parent's perspective.  I really do love my mom more than anything else. She is my true salvation from whatever is bothering me.  She's really got it together.  I don't know what I would do if my mom wasn't here to help me out.

February 17th, 1985 Sunday

Tammy, Lauri came over.  For some reason Lauri and I got into a huge fight and she left. There was a dance at the high school and I went even though I cried the whole time.  I came home and called Lauri, we fought and she hung up on me.  I called her back, we fought an I hung up on her. This went on for about 45 minutes.

Then we finally talked it all out, thank God, so here I am happily crying on the phone.  We can't stay mad at each other for long.

May 6th, 1985 Monday

It is raining and thundering.  Laura is here and we turned off George Winston.  We decided we are in love with rain and thunder.  I guess it is weird to be in love with rain and thunder, but it is just so beautiful.  Laura said it is music that will never sound alike.

We decided we are backwards people.  We like Monday's, staying in on the weekends, and rain and thunder.

May 20th, 1985 Monday

Friday was one of the strangest nights of my life, it is way too complicated to explain.  I think I will keep this one as a memory.

(Side note, I recall every moment of that night, and am still keeping it a secret)

Lauri's little brother in 8th grade had a party and it was insane.  At around midnight it starting pouring rain.  Hard.  So Lauri and I decided to take roll up our pants, take off our tee shirts and go play and walk in the rain.  It was amazing.

I want to leave off on that note.  There are many many more stories and journal entries, but I like the idea of leaving this one on the note of us, young, stupid teenagers, playing in the rain.

It's you and me against the world.