What the repairman made me realize...

A simple encounter taught me to embrace the fluidity of existence

I’m starting to sign my art pieces now. :)

Grandma reminds me of a queen bee now, since she’s lost her daughter and her husband within four months of each other.

Everyone hovers around, keeping her company or her mind busy.

So as I smoothed the comforter of the bed in the guestroom one morning after spending the night with her, I heard her usual repairman talking to my grandma in the kitchen–both rooms connect by a door that always remains shut and barricaded by a bed on one side, and a built pantry on the other.

He’s an older, small, and kind man who’s straightforward with his pricing.

As I finished fluffing the pillows, I heard him give her a status report and some price ranges to tweak and upgrade her air conditioning unit.

She then tells him that her husband had passed, and she’s hoping to move out of the house by August.

I knew this. I always have after grandpa passed. It just felt so shocking to hear her tell someone outside the family this declaration.

It seems easier to make empty promises to family, because they know what you will and won’t stick to.

A big life change like moving? Something we were waiting for them both to do for over a decade, but grandpa was the only thing holding back the decision… is now here.

They keep talking in the kitchen, slightly muffled by the door, as I turned away from the closed door and really took the room I’m in.

It wasn’t always a guestroom. My mom and I stayed in that same small room on and off for almost a decade. My mom decorated that guestroom. Inspired by sandy beaches and coastal living, she chose a sage green to cover the walls, crisp white furniture for clean simplicity, and a light sand-inspired beige to pull any extra pieces, rugs, and pillows together.

This house was where we’d always go for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Where my cousins and I would play Sega Genesis and Dreamcast in the basement. Where we’d have water gun fights as kids, and shoot off fireworks during the 4th of July.

It was always a second home. A place no matter how enticing as a child or overrated as an adult where you could unclench your fists, unravel your worries, and just relax as easily as you could in your own sanctuary of a home.

And by August, tangible access to that whole chapter of my past will be closed.

My cousin and I standing off during a super soaker fight.

I look at this picture of me and my cousin in my grandparents’ backyard now in awe. Seeing these two kids’ futures that I’d never dare share with them.

One where my cousin (who’s aiming his water gun at me) would be voluntarily holding my hand nonstop as I stood next to a hospital bed and watched my mom die.

One where I learn that right behind me… right behind the one white door that led us in and out of the house thousands of times… would be exactly where my grandpa took his last breath.

Imagine telling a child their future. Exactly how the scary parts would play out and when.

Would they continue to enjoy their life as they were, while now knowing the inevitable?

Would you?

There’s a lesson here about “living each day as if were your last”, but less adrenaline-filled.

Less, “let’s yell that motto right before jumping out of an airplane”, and more about living life gently and presently, making the most of taking it all in.

I wrote a piece a couple months ago when I was in one of my deepest journeys of despair where I wondered what do you do if it never gets better?

The conclusion was a twist that readers enjoy, and it still stands true even now: we don’t know what the future holds. So why do we advocate so fiercely for the worst-case scenario?

Of course, the worst things could very well happen in our lives. But what do we plan to do in the meantime?

Will the worst times into fruition? Sit and twiddle our thumbs until the unthinkable happens?

We can, but we shouldn’t.

This isn’t a declaration for anyone who’s had the worst things happen to them to brush it aside and pretend it didn’t happen so they can move on to living a better life. But it is a call to make a choice–when the time comes– to believe that the future gets to be different than our current despair.

Or any possible horrors that could potentially await us on our timelines.

The moment you’re living now, can you find someone or something to treasure about it?

The worst things don’t have to happen for your life to be shaken. Change–even for the better–can cause the wobbliest of knees and pretty punchy grief.

But it’s necessary.

Life’s timeline stops for no one, but we have the power to choose how we handle it, and how we perceive our reactions to everything life gives and takes.

Knowing the chapter of “going over to grandma’s and grandpa’s” will eventually come to a close is almost unbelievable, but we’ll shift to make it make sense in a new way.

By the time I was nearly finished mulling over my initial thoughts while standing in the guest bedroom, the handyman’s heavy boots clunked their way back onto the kitchen’s linoleum floor.

He needed to talk to grandma one last time before he left, his voice humbly appreciative and quiet:

“Once again, I’m so sorry for your loss. You’ve been a great customer, and I wish you luck on your future.”