LJI prompt: Happy Place

[fruzicle]

It's a Cold World

We visited the family home in the bitter Northeast this week.

The frigid world was locked in a solid block of frozen ice. Snow crystals strangled the earth, the trees, the homes and the souls. To step outside the house required a snug knit hat, four layers of wool shirts, knit long johns under corduroy pants, and wool socks. Survival also included donning water-proof boots and swathing the face in ample quantities of merino wool. Little could be done to protect the hands beyond a pair of red possum wool gloves. Shoving said hands into pockets, or better yet, armpits, improved the chances of avoiding painful freezer burn.

One room of the house glowed with excessive warmth. Ninety-two-year-old Grandfather sat in his chair enjoying the too-loud blare of the gaudy images on a massive television. His sixty-two-year-old wife moved silently into and largely out of the room, occasionally delivering pills and fortifying vitamin-laden drinks.

For twenty-five years she has attended to his needs, assisted him in ever more increasing ways with his projects. She put up with the quirks of his Asperger’s personality. As Grandfather sank deeper and deeper into his solitary world, he relied ever more heavily upon grunts and nods for communication. Frequently requests were made by gesture, for example waving of his hand in circles in the direction of the pepper, which he wanted delivered, but didn’t deem it worth the expenditure of breath to speak about.

In spite of the solitary nature of his mental state, he was adept at bringing out the full arsenal of charm when greeting young, attractive female strangers. In a far too loud voice, he would lavish ridiculously overblown compliments upon an unsuspecting waitress or receptionist. He was good at it and they lapped it up. His family would mentally roll their eyes. Afterwards, he would go home and plop down once again in front of the massive television and point at something he wanted delivered to him.

The younger wife would retreat as often as possible upstairs to the chilly second story of the house to meditate and study. She conscientiously emerged to feed the cat and to meticulously clean the house. She kept the larder stocked with high fiber, all-organic, non-GMO foodstuffs. Grandfather dutifully ate these things but supplemented his diet with chocolate whenever possible.

Perhaps spurred by memories of a long- ago love, or perhaps an effort to make a display of normalcy, the wife would reach out to pat the cheek of the difficult husband where he sat in front of the TV.

Through the years, the wife became increasingly fed up with his boorish behavior. She would harangue him for slights suffered decades ago as well as the recent ones. In defense, Grandfather would promise to change and then go right back to his previous habits.

Throughout our visit, the wife would drop in to whip up a batch of vegetable stew and then disappear to plan her lessons on communication. Oddly, on several occasions she would engage in a conversation with me and then provide completely unrelated suggestions to my dilemma. Had she been listening at all? She would then leave for a meeting on communicating in the afternoon and be evasive when asked when we might expect to see her again. The neighbor’s cat was on its own in her owner’s absence, so the wife would leave to spend the night at the neighbor's house with the cat.

We know the two parties involved and so are not surprised at the roles they play. Nevertheless, the undercurrent of tension was the unidentified actor in this play. It’s hard to fully relax when staying in another person’s home, all the more so when accompanied by this awkward dynamic. The living room is too warm and too noisy, the upstairs is too chilly. Stilted feelings inhabit every room. Going outside is beautiful and sparkling, but oh, so cold. It necessitates an entire wardrobe change.

I flew back home to California yesterday. The hills are lushly green; the sun warms my back even as a refreshing breeze invigorates me. I gaze with happiness at the puffy white clouds in the blue, blue sky. I breathe a deep breath and I smile. I am in a happy place.

While not my usual idea of my favorite kind of place, which would include high altitude lakes, soaring mountain ranges, and a sense of adventure, for now, I am released from the prison of someone else’s unhappy marriage.

I revel in the freedom of having time to myself to do the things I want to do. I walk outside enjoying the comfortable temperatures and vibrantly growing native trees and plants. Small insects and pollen blow past gently and randomly like a river of plankton in the sea. While I bask in relief, I realize that one’s happy place is more than a favorite destination. It is a state of mental comfort and joy. I begin to feel guilty for my pleasure at being away from someone else’s pain.

I heard yesterday that she is asking for a “compatible divorce.” (Is that an oxymoron or what?) I hope she will be happy. I doubt it. Will he be happy? Undoubtedly not. Who will pat his cheek? Who will bring the juice when he waves his arms in the direction of the refrigerator? Who will make sure he takes his necessary pills? Maybe she will drop by to bring him the non-GMO, vegetarian stew. On the other days, he will visit his favorite diner. However, at ninety-two, he is increasingly likely to forget how to get to his usual haunts.

His sons will visit with ever-increasing frequency. It’s hard to care for someone from thousands of miles away. Yes, he could end up in a care home. That would solve the problems of getting lost driving through a previously familiar neighborhood. But it appears Grandfather’s happy place is far, far behind him, even while his younger wife hopes hers is in her future.

Comments

[adoptedwriter.livejournal.com]

I hope everyone finds a form of peace.

[rayaso.livejournal.com]

I feel so sorry for your grandfather and his wife. She must have put up with so much, given your grandfather's Asperger’s personality. It's a shame she wants a divorce. You painted a very vivid picture of their marriage, as well as the painful cold outside. I can see why you were happy to get back to California (my state as well).

[itsjustc.livejournal.com]

Oh yeah! I think that we all must have know someone just like the Grandfather at some point in our lives!!

I think this was a lovely read. I love how coming home was the Happy Place rather than going away.

"I realize that one’s happy place is more than a favorite destination. It is a state of mental comfort and joy. - great point!

[d0gs.livejournal.com]

This was so well written and captured the emotion and conflict to perfection. Awesome job as usual <3

I too loved the line "I realize that one’s happy place is more than a favorite destination. It is a state of mental comfort and joy"

[dmousey.livejournal.com]

This is sad. Poor grandfather. 🐭✌🐁😊🎀

[halfshellvenus.livejournal.com]

Ooh, bittersweet and so vivid. I'm not sure if this is your father or your husband's (not an actual grandfather, surely? He's a little younger than my mother!)

That relationship so sad, on all fronts. The wife is tied to being a nursemaid for her husband, and she no longer finds him lovable (which is not a surprise). But if he could expend just a little of that charm and appreciation for her, rather than pretty strangers and acquaintances, maybe she would feel more of what caused her to marry him despite the age difference. They would both be happier.

There's irony in her being communications-focused, but then again... good communication requires both parties to make the effort, and it sounds as if grandfather doesn't want to try.

I've been missing your non-fiction lately (and thinking back to some of the pieces earlier this season and from past seasons that I still remember)! That last sentence is absolutely perfect for this whole vignette.