Garlic

I'm a clove of garlic.

Encased in a hardish shell, a thin layer of dried up peel on top, lumped together with a bunch of other cloves, smelling up the fridge, making the ice taste weird.

Maybe in a way we are all just cloves of garlic.  Some of us prefer to stay clustered up close together, wrapped tightly in that paper-like covering, hidden beneath layers of other cloves so we can blame the smell on someone else if we have to.

Not me.  I'm the clove that got broken off and set aside.  My nice cozy dried-up peel has been stripped away and there I lay, naked, waiting to be smashed or peeled open or chopped up or heaven forbid, pressed into some kind of sauce.

I know.  We are all supposed to be Salt and Light, adding flavor and illumination to the world around us, but most of us are just garlic.  We cling together as if our lives depend on it, terrified of spending time alone, anxious that somehow we're going to be exposed--that people will figure out we stink on the inside or that we are too weak to withstand the pressure of life.

I am the garlic that stands alone.  Not that I'm complaining.  You see, there are times, when you are at your garlicky worst, that you're doing yourself and the world around you a big favor by staying away from everyone.  Times when you just aren't good company.

This is one of those times for me.  I have not forgotten from whence I came, and I know how to find my way back to my people--my cluster, if you will.  However, this is one time that I feel like keeping to myself is best for me and for them.

Stress sometimes makes us unpleasant to be around, and grief and illness compound that unpleasantness.  I just wish I could get other people to understand this.  I am not lonely, I don't need to be cheered up.  I need to be alone with my thoughts and feelings.  I need some time to iron out all the annoying wrinkles that are making my life complicated.  Things like broken down cars, and issues with the DMV and insurance nightmares and medical decisions and paperwork that the government needs even though they already know the information they're asking me to provide for them.  I need time to stay the heck home and not spend money so I can pay my bills because I missed a week of work last week and a day of work this week.  I need time to learn how to feel about not having parents anymore.

The grief is bigger than me right now and I'm finding it paralyzing.  I'd rather sleep than problem-solve, but when I lie down to rest, sleep doesn't come.  Instead I am flooded with memories and thoughts of what it will be like for my kids when I die.  When I do dream, my dad shows up, doing regular things like fixing the boat and fiddling with fishing poles.  My mama is there sometimes, being the gregarious woman she sometimes could be--pointing out some knick knack she'd like to add to her collection.  My dad shows up to tell me he can't find his guitar, and asks me if I still play piano.  He's like he was 20 years ago--robust and red-faced, his memory intact.  He laughs and teases and I just want to reach out and squeeze him.  But they are just dreams and waking up from them is the absolute worst.

Then the morning sunlight dares to force its way past the curtain by my bed and remind me that it's time to start over again.  Another day to pretend that life is the same, business as usual.  That pile of papers on the kitchen counter that shame me because I still haven't dealt with them make me shake my head at my own inadequacy.  Then there's that blinking battery light in the car that taunts me--"You just thought you solved the car problem."  And my boy, worried about his grades, missing school because he's sick, his teacher likely thinking I'm the best candidate for worst mom of the year.

I feel like I'm in a garlic press.  All these little things putting more and more pressure on me, trying their best to squeeze me out and make me into something more than what I am.

As my father lived his life, I want to live mine; with the wisdom to know that on my own I am just a smelly old clove of garlic, but when I'm pressed and squeezed and chopped--when my tough exterior is stripped away, I can be something more.  He gave flavor to his world; instead of odor, he was an aroma, instead of clinging tightly to his place in the world, he allowed himself to be broken off and transformed.  I want to do that too, but right now, I think I need to be left alone for just a while, so I can marvel at my own stench and figure out who or what is worth being transformed for.

I wonder if my dad ever needed this, and then I know he did.  He had it, early mornings in the woods, sitting in the cold quiet of nature in a tree stand.  He had it on a lake all alone with just a fishing pole and the sound of water lapping the sides of the boat.  He took his time, and he still gave himself away.  So please understand that I am not shunning anyone.  I'm just trying to get my balance.

People keep saying, "If there's anything I can do...."  and I always just answer "Thank you" because really, what can anyone do?

Nobody likes the garlic when it's withered up or too strong; and I am just a clove of garlic.

If you will give me some time, I will spare you my stinkiness and everything will be okay again.  Eventually.