Still Life with Presents

Before I thank everyone for all the things they've kindly brought us since we got home from the hospital, I have something to confess.  For the first week or so after Mr. Food Musings fell, I kept many of our far-flung friends and family up to date via email, and I got around to posting here once or twice. No matter who I was writing, I stayed on message: Mr. FM is fine, we are overwhelmed by the show of support, we feel so thankful and so blessed that things aren't worse. Well you know what? Fuck that. I've had enough.

I'm sick of being positive. Sick of talking about luck and blessings. Sick of chanting "rah rah, this isn't so bad!" That phase is gone, my friends, and now I have both feet squarely planted in the feeling sorry for ourselves camp.

No -- that's not right either. I'm in the pissed off camp.

I just wanted to come clean on that little point. See, the recovery is expected to be long -- as in, nearly a year. What that seems to mean, so far, is that not much is going to change at all until all of a sudden it does. Suddenly, this strong, lean, athletic man who used to go on long sweaty runs up and down the hills of our neighborhod walks down the street with a cane and a hobble. Suddenly, he who stood so tall -- really tall, something like 75 inches off the ground, way too tall for any hospital bed -- hunches over because the vertigo is so bad that he can't stand up straight. I won't kid you that the man had tons of rhythm to start with -- we white folks, yo -- but watching him walk around the house like a toddler, unsure of his balance, relying on momentum to get him from point A to point B, bumping into walls and armoires and doors along the way is heartbreaking.

I hate it. I hate it all. I hate that he has to go through this. I hate that he's so stuck and so sad. I hate that he's so cut off from all his friends, his work, his life. And I am really fucking sick of slapping on a smile and celebrating our "blessings" when what I really want to do is scream and shout and punch a hole through the walls. I want to hurl his stupid ugly cane down the staircase and never see it again. I want to stand in the kitchen and take every single one of my dishes from the cabinets and smash them on the floor -- the hideous, ugly floor that we were ready to leave behind but now cannot -- one by one by one. I want to slap people in the stores who look at us funny. I want to tell everyone who calls and asks, "How's J*** doing?" that he's doing shitty, thanks. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. And then I want to hang up the phone so violently that the stupid plastic base shatters and shards go flying everywhere. I want to collapse in a heap in the middle of our living room and cry for a long, long time.

Maybe one day I will do that. The truth is, though, as much as I hate it, I don't think it would make me feel any better. I'd just feel like a failure because that would mean that the one thing I can do for him, smiling when I am all crumpled up inside, was somehow beyond my reach. And that is unacceptable. Until the day he sits down in the middle of our living room and cries, neither will I.

Mostly what I want is to be able to do something, anything, any small, teeny, inconsequential thing to help him. The best I have come up with is to feed him. That feels pretty paltry. But that's all I got. It is so small compared to how big I want to help, how big I want to change things, and I get it -- I get that the most our friends and family can do is feed us, too. So even though I really, really want to stomp and shout and wail, I guess I'm right back where I started. Saying thank you.

To:

~ R. & B. for the enormous bowls of chili and cornbread;
~ T., T., O. & L. for the chicken noodle soup, chocolate chip cookies and fresh raspberries;
~ R. & G. for the pretty flowers;
~ Mr. FM's office for more pretty flowers;
~ Mr. FM's sister for his favorite cookies;
~ C. & C. for a Thai food feast;
~ P. & L. for enough pasta to feed our whole building;
~ E., G., & I. for filling our fridge with milk and broccoli and yogurt and homemade enchiladas;
~ A., S. & K. for the luscious pineapple cake;
~ J. & J. for their hilarious late-night guitar-playing phone call;
~ T. for so many bananas I fear there must now be a shortage in Sonoma;
~ A. for the macaroni and cheese and strawberry cupcakes;
~ S. for the most chi-chi gift basket ever -- Michael Recchiuti fleur de sel caramels, homemade truffles, and St. Benoit yogurt;
~ M. for a healthy dinner in the midst of the Roman orgy that my kitchen had become;
~ K. & C. for bringing Jacque Torres to us when we couldn't get there ourselves;
~ R. & G. for a few night's worth of entertainment;
~ S. for the reading material and constant presence on the phone;
~ Mr. FM's parents for letting me go home and take showers, for a year's worth of reading material and for buying out the Odwalla cooler;
~ countless friends and colleagues who have called and emailed and reached out to us;
~ The children in my mom's fifth grade class for their very sweet and wickedly funny get well cards;
~ My parents for letting me call them at 5 in the morning or 12 at night and always finding something to talk about;
~ L. for everything, so many things, so much fruit (!) but most of all for making me laugh when absolutely no one else could, or should even have tried.

Comments

[MM]

Hey, you are totally entitled. Scream. Shout.
Let it all out. We all need to once in a while or we'll go barmy.

I'm so sorry to hear about what's afflicted Mr. FM. And you. Let me just say that never, ever take what the doctors tell you at face value. Without going into details, someone I know was told by her doctors that she would never be able to walk again and that she might not live to see past 35. She not only walked again. She managed to stage on dance again. And she just passed her 35th birthday, still dancing.

Have faith. I did. Big hugs and well wishes.

[Mom]

Hang tough; eat chocolate!

[Catherine]

MM -- yes indeedy, faith is good. It's when it deserts you, if only for a day or a moment, that you kind of don't know what to do. So me, I write crazy posts with lots of bad words. Bad words make me feel better!

Mom -- I have SO MUCH chocolate it's crazy! And at a certain point, I have to watch it; no sense getting fat on top of being in the situation I'm in. But a bite now and then, absolutely.

[Mom]

It must be in the genes: bad words make me feel better, too! I especially love the word shit---just invigorates me whenever I say it (especially on Thursdays--ha)!

[Tracy]

Oh Catherine! I'm so sorry that things are so rough right now for you and Mr. FM. I thought his accident was just a slight fall with minor injuries. I'll keep both of you my thoughts!

Have you seen the movie Steel Magnolias? There is a scene in the movie where Sally Field's character says 'I just want to hit something.' Olivia Dukakis's character responds by pulling Shirley MacClaine over and says 'Here hit Weeza.' SM's character gets angry and runs off and the rest of them start laughing hysterically. If breaking something might make you feel better, then break something.

Tracy

[clare eats]

Catherine
When you need us, we are here for you.

[Catherine]

Tracy -- one of my faux Chinese pottery plant pots almost bit the dust today, but instead I just banged my fist on the wall. But who can say about tomorrow? ;)

Clare -- I know it and it is still so nice to hear you say it...xoxo

[Beth]

I hope it felt like a release and a relief to let all that out. How shitty that must have felt to have kept all of that inside for so long now....

I'm so sorry that it's so hard. It's not fair.

[Joy]

You are my hero. I don't have anything to say that could possibly help you but you are nothing short of amazing. Let us know when you run out of food.

[Catherine]

Beth -- yeah, writing it down helps. I guess I'm sort of a "silent scream" kinda gal.

Joy -- oh honey, you'll hear my hunger holler all the way in Tahiti ;)

[Melissa]

I've just been bringing myself up to speed with your tragedy. I'm so sorry for the both of you, and I think that you, having the immensely difficult job of caregiver, certainly deserve to be as honest with everyone as you like! I'm happy to hear that he will recover, though - however painful and long a process it may be. Don't forget to take care of yourself too, and I'm sending all the healing thoughts I can your way.

[Catherine]

Melissa -- thank you for your healing thoughts. It can only help. I must admit, I started feeling a bit more even-keeled after writing all those things, and we are appreciating each good day that we have while just gritting our teeth through the bad ones. Eventually life as we knew it will return, even if we see it through changed eyes.

[Tea]

Oh, Catherine. What a heartfelt and heartbreaking post! Having just survived the hardest year of my life, I can really relate. It sucks, no two ways about it. It's maddening and frustrating and just feels so bloody unfair. Stomp your feet when you need to--here or in your kitchen (though be careful of the glassware, you will want to use it again at some point).

At the same time (and I really don't mean to be overly chirpy here), now that I'm on the far end of the tunnel, I can see that the darkest days taught me the most. I know I'm a stronger, wiser, better person for it, and I do cherish that.

But yes, the process of getting there sucked. Big time.

Let me know if you need anything. You two are in my thoughts.

[Chef Anne Napolitano]

I feel for you. I just discovered your blog and I am really enjoying it. I am currently feeling somewhat sorry for myself as I sit on the couch with a broken ankle. The good part is that I have discovered so many food obsessed people like me and I finally have time to write on my blog and update my website. The bad news is that my business as a personal chef is suffering. While my clients have been great, I am not making any money. I sit here and wallow because I have nothing but time on my hands and I can't cook! Best of luck to you. Everone keeps telling me, "this too will pass" but while you are going through it, it seems endless.

[Catherine]

Anne -- if misery loves company, you've come to the right place. If you'll permit me a moment of optimism, though, you might not be able to cook but you could research recipes, brainstorm menus, and brush up on your food magazine reading. Other than that, I can also highly recommend eating french fries and balling up or ripping paper to release frustration (and in lieu of permanently breaking things...)

[Chef Anne Napolitano]

Thanks for the encouragement, that is exactly what I am doing. I have piles of cookbooks and magazines that I am pouring over plus websites and blogs galore (which is great) but reading all of these wonderful food ideas really makes one want to get right into the kitchen and cook. In addition, my wonderful husband who has been busting his butt taking care of everything doesn't like to cook so many nights we have been subjected to pizza, Chinese and Italian takeout. The repetition alone has forced me on my feet and back into the kitchen. By the way, I haven't broken anything yet; I just wallow instead!
I hope your husband gets better soon and your life gets back to normal.

[Catherine]

I get it -- you can see all the pretty, yummy things but don't get to eat any of them. The Takeout Trifecta sounds really monotonous; after a while, sometimes you just really want a homecooked meal. Good luck and bon courage, Anne.