i’ve written before about how debo is essential. and about how, when i was in grief therapy and the guy who’s mother had died kept going on about how it had unhinged his writing process because his mother was so integral to it, i thought OH NO, because debo is so integral to mine.
and because, in all of their concern about estate management and cremation and the feeding tube and making my life as easy as possible after their deaths, my parents have never once made allowances for how their deaths might derail my ability to write.
in a family that allows for everything, this seems a glaring oversight.
debo and garebear were in nashville for her pre-birthday. they’ve developed this obsession with exhibitions on vintage cars. (do not ask me. i do not know.)
nashville, evidently, is the one place their cell reception is worse than it is in their home, so i’d not spoken to debo for days and when debo returned, she’d much to tell me. so it was a solid hour before i could interrupt and ask, may i please bang on about my corrections for awhile so you can say something that will jar something that will get me going again?
and, ever patient, she said, yes, yes. and out came a torrent of words and debo’s aforementioned quote about learning from pain and also something possibly profoundly helpful as i continue wrestling with this nonsense about the public sphere and private lives and biography and women’s lib.
and i’m struck by how easy this is. i am also struck by the fact that, in this conversation, i’ve somehow accidentally convinced debo that jackie was a horrible mother, suggesting i perhaps need to work on my talking points.