This comes to me while I’m putting a bottle of water into the freezer to chill quickly.  I’m on my way to my storage unit so I can perhaps remove some items with the new perspective gained by going through my mother’s stuff.  Namely “if someone else had to decide what to do with this item I’m hanging on to, would its presence in my storage unit make *any* sense whatsoever?”

Anyway, for whatever reason I was thinking about how refrigerators work.  Cold isn’t a thing.  Heat is a thing.  Refrigerators work by absorbing heat and discarding it.  Cold is essentially an absence.  The space between stars is unimaginably cold because there’s nothing there.

Love is something.  Life is something.  This is why we associate them with heat: instead of absence (which is just as likely as anything else) you get presence.  Metaphorically, the body gets cold because the thing that was the person you knew has abandoned the building.

At least in my experience, grief is an absence too.  I’m naturally absent-minded (or just present-minded for stuff that isn’t immediately obvious to anyone else).  But it’s really bad these days.  I stop sentences in the middle and forget what I was trying to say.  I’ll be in the middle of a conversation and someone has asked me a question and I can’t remember what the question was even though I was watching their mouth as the words came out.

And it isn’t grief for a paragon of motherly integrity.  As discussed elsewhere, the lady had her fractures and a complete blindness to the fact that she wasn’t perfect.  We were in the car two years ago, her bloodwork had come back with the cancer markers on a rising trend.  She said to me “I just want to be your good mom forever,” and I thought “listen lady, you could start by being a good mom now.”

That seems spectacularly unfair in retrospect.

She did what she could with what she had, but she preferred her version of events to the reality.  She didn’t remember or acknowledge the gross failures…  the petty selfishness that was the hallmark of her interaction with the family.  It doesn’t seem fair to recount the minute details, but suffice it to say that she’d prioritize the shine on a Mylar balloon over the emotional wellbeing of those she was supposed to love the most.   Some of the most painful examples are the most petty.  Like, really lady.  What would it have cost you to let the seven year old win in that instance?

Which doesn’t seem to cure the sense of loss – perhaps as much for what she wasn’t as for what she was.  It carries on, this feeling that where there is supposed to be something, there is nothing.  And that nothing is pretty chilly.


One thought on “Cold

  1. Entrope,

    Beautiful nutshell:

    I’m naturally absent-minded (or just present-minded for stuff that isn’t immediately obvious to anyone else).


    There are things we hang onto / bring into ourselves to accommodate that cold space. If you do the math, storage lockers seldom make sense in the long run, (unless you’re storing bars of gold) but it seems certain items do hold heat in your present-mind. Flinging stuff out to others has some terror in that “it might not be of significance to them as it is to me.” I think stuff has a way of holding heat differently as it passes from person to person…at some point it will be cherished again by someone – just maybe not the next person who holds onto it for a while.

    I had some elemental differences with my father over the years. When he died I felt most of those things couldn’t hold heat after awhile. There were many warm rememberances that could…eventually I found several awkward / sticky things between us had stowed away in the fond memories I sifted through and in doing so had made themselves fond as well.

    I let 90% of material items go to relatives and friends after Dad died, Mom even gave away several of her things. I sometimes wonder about certain items, I think it is cool they are with others in the end, even if they didn’t know my Dad, I suspect some transfer is happening…just not obvious to anyone.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s