etcetera, etcetera

the voice after the tone sounds as if it hasn't spoken words it understands in a very long time. "h-hello? hello. i - gosh, nancy? is this you? i hope you've kept the same number, but it sure has been awhile. this is mark.. maria's husband. i was just.. well. i'm calling because.. i mean, of all people, you should know. it's.. she.. AHEM. maria has passed away. it was alzheimer's disease. dementia. i'm sorry. i hope this finds you well. i'm sorry." *click* apparently mark was never particularly good with words. not a thing like maria, who taught my grandmother how to fold and starch clothes in the basement of woolworth's department store. nanny's first week as a working woman was saved by her new friend's endless advice, her easy laughter, and her affinity for american hamburgers; a delicacy she had never seen in puerto rico. nanny found this endlessly amusing, mostly because she couldn't imagine having the money to orde

this morning i opened an old journal i’m trying to fill, and found a blurb i wrote to nanny in the winter of 2017. it was penned just two short months after i made the decision to move home and be her caregiver. i had no way of knowing just how much pain would be tied to these words. today, i’m reading them all all again on my partner’s back porch, 874 miles away from my grandmother, because these past two years have had a lot to teach me. the tear smudged words that muddy the pages are still as true as they’ve ever been — but in the time that’s passed since i wrote them, it’s been harder than i imagined to keep up with both my promises and myself.  2017 was for idealism + cock-eyed optimism; a setup for 2018 to come and wrecked me deeply. facing lessons about burnout in real time taught me that if i want to take care of anybody, i have to take better care of myself. empty pitchers can’t fill up any cups, so i learned how to make my own peace. and when i “failed” a