RWRR: Notes From The Trenches

October 9, 2024

It’s been a while, not because I haven’t wanted to write but because I haven’t had the time or the words to share what’s happening.

My mother-in-law is dying. She battled uterine cancer a few years ago, and it returned with a vengeance in August. Now, in October, she’s entered hospice because there’s no cure. She could do chemo and radiation and fight again, but there’s no chance of it going into remission.

Gaining a mother-in-law when you’re 35 means that there’s very little mothering to be done, not only because I have my own wonderful mom but also because there’s not much mothering to do. The zeitgeist is rife with mother-in-law jokes and horror stories, but I experienced none of that with Donna.

My mother-in-law is unconventional: an unabashed feminist hippie who unapologetically followed her creative pursuits and interests. From the first time we met, she was easy. She accepted me for who I am — no baggage about her child being queer or opinions on my marriage or invasions of any sort. She is unlike any woman I was raised around (and that is not a jab at either — but being raised in evangelical Christianity limits the paths you see in front of you), and it is refreshing and fascinating to see someone who has wholeheartedly taken her own path. We aren’t close in the ways most of us see presented as what it means to be a tightly-knit family: there were no daily or weekly phone calls or texts, but rather genuine joy when our paths crossed on visits.

It’s not shocking to me that she’s handling her impending death with pragmatism and straightforward acceptance. Most people I know are terrified of death and illness, and Donna has handled it with a focus on reality and practical choices.

Watching your spouse grieve for what is happening and what’s to come while also knowing that there’s not a damn thing you can do is agonizing. I was in Southern California this weekend with Amy and her mother and grandmother, and while I am not a medical person, I project managed the hell out of the little tasks that needed doing. It felt good to show up and do what I could, but watching someone you love deal with something so enormous and being powerless to stop it is devastating.

Beyond this big massive thing we are facing, there are also a million little things going on that are making it hard to be a human at the moment: work, writing, my dumb brain that makes it hard for me to experience joy sometimes, attempting to get treatment for that dumb brain, and the collective anxiety and grief in the world that is impossible to ignore right now.

I am realizing how little most of us talk about really hard stuff. Talking about death and wishes for your body and finances is difficult, but so are the moments where you’re saying all the genuine, earnest things that most of us hold back.

I don’t just mean telling people you love them or what they mean to you. I’m realizing more and more lately how hard it is for me to ask for help or admit that I’m struggling and how hard it is for me to accept love and support from others. I’m very comfortable in my little hyper-independent bubble. I’m bad at saying to the people I love that my brain is being rather shitty right now, and I’m overwhelmed and sad, and I could use some support. Even typing that makes me cringe. I’ve been moving through most days with that sense that if someone is even slightly kind, I might burst into tears.

When I think about mortality and losing the people I love, I can see that, in the end, relationships, community, and love are what matter the most. I can also see how I keep myself from experiencing that by being busy, insisting I can handle my own needs, or withdrawing. I know I’m not alone in this.

I was driving home from Escondido this weekend, and The Highwomen’s “Crowded Table” came on. I think Brandi Carlisle, Noah Kahan, and the like should be banned when you’re going through it, but Spotify disagrees. “Crowded Table” is not a sad song; it’s about the desire to be surrounded by the people we love and the fact that if we want that, we have to “sow the seeds.” I am never going to be someone who wants to like, live in a commune or intentional community or what have you (I need my own home, thanks), but this situation has reminded me of just how badly we need community, care, and connection. It’s also reminded me that creating it takes effort, and it also takes honesty.

Anyway, that’s what’s on my brain and heart right now. I’m still trying to be here, but I’m also trying to give myself space. Both/and. All the time.

Despite this being a longer intro, I do want to still share my “normal” content:

Reading

I am an unapologetic Sally Rooney fan, and this book might be her best yet. I loved the characters, loved the way Rooney built the world around them, and loved the insights and gentle ways she demonstrated what it means to allow relationships to be sad and complicated and rewarding. I absolutely loved this book.

Writing

I don’t know. I’m doing it. That’s about all I got. I’m knee-deep in the novel I’m writing and also started a new essay this week. Please clap.

Ranting

Curly-haired hive: please tell me about your products. I have tried every single thing on earth (slight exaggeration), but I am not finding my THINGS. I am not a big fan of co-washing (I like a clean scalp and I also find that my hair is so thick that over-conditioning it can weigh it down). I am also deeply, deeply lazy about my hair and people’s 50-step wash day style routines that are all over TikTok make me feel itchy. WHO HAS THE TIME?! I want things that make my hair look as curly as it is, that make my hair bouncy and soft, and that don’t stop working after one day.

So far, I’ve tried and hated: New Wash (sorry, y’all, I loved it and then my scalp got crazy and it’s a no from me), DevaCurl (it made my hair fall out!), Prose (also made my hair fall out), Moroccan Oil (best smell, actual shittiest products), and Ouidad (probably the front-runner).

I don’t know why it’s nearly 2025 and we don’t have better curl products. HELP ME.

Recommending

I was skeptical about barrel-leg jeans, but alas, I caved, and Madewell’s are VERY GOOD. I’m only five feet tall, and the petite length is perfect. They do run big — I’m returning this pair for two sizes smaller because they were that big! Also, be warned: they have a button fly, a fact I missed when ordering.

Excuse the rabid look on my face, as I was doing this at work and someone walked in so I had to Be Cool. You can see that it worked well, lol.