John Brandon, the great governor of the Warrington Hotel, was the first English person to truly confuse me with a question.
“You alright?” he’d ask, his voice rising up lightly. He was from East London, proper Cockney. His “you alright” was was one of the few things I could actually understand him saying.
Except that I didn’t.
“Yessss…,” I’d answer, puzzled, as I arrived to work. “Why?” I always had the impulse to check the mirror to see if a gash in my head was spurting blood. Head wounds don’t always hurt right away.
“Good, good,” he’d toss over he shoulder and serve another customer. Don’t interrupt now– he was adding prices in his head.
Later, Colin and I sussed out the meaning of John’s question. He wasn’t asking me if I was all right, concerned for my health or emotional well-being. He tossing me the Cockney equivalent of our American throwaway: How are you? Only the Brits had refined it, natch. No open-ended, answer here: A simple yes or no will do.
Fine and Lovely
Chris asked me if I am alright. I am not sure what the answer to that is. Yes. I have my faculties. Yes, I’ve been traveling and I’ve seen the world. Yes, my family is well and healthy and I am in good, happy financial standing. As Jann Arden would say:
I’ve got money in my pocket,
I like the color of my hair.
I’ve got a friend who loves me,
Got a house, I’ve got a car.
I’ve got a good mother,
and her voice is what keeps me here.
But in the last three years, I’ve lost two babies. I’ve lost the last chance to ever have my own baby, and now, it seems, to give birth at all. I’ve lost the chance to even give my husband his children. And reassurances throw me like relentless waves against the rocks.
I’ve had my share of philosophy and I know. These items, on The Grocery List of Tragedy, are salt and bagels. 22,000 are dead in Myanmar, what do I know? But still it’s hard to get up out of bed some days. It’s hard to chat on the phone to my sisters and hear the voices of their children ringing in the background.
Cold Comfort
I long for the simpleness of “you alright” a bit.
After the doctor left us alone with our news, I thought it would be just fine to climb on a bit of iceberg somewhere in the warming polar ice cap, to float adrift in the quiet until it melted. It would be just fine, to wait about that long to speak again, to function normally again, to talk to anyone about IT, to answer the dastardly “How are you?” that would inevitably come. Oh how I longed, for a time, for sunlight through the Warrington windows and the Guiness pint glasses to fill one after another and John’s warm arm pressing into mine at the till.
When I younger, I used to batter my friends and my reflection with the anger and the bitterness of my pain. I don’t know what has changed–whether a door has shut, or a window opened– but lately I feel so close, huddled in. When my mouth opens with words, it seems the hurt turns to ash. I’d rather pin it like wet laundry to the line and sing quiet songs.
So , am I alright?
The answer is grey and spliced and hanging on the wind.
Come on Come on… It’s getting late now.
Come on Come on… Take my hand.
Come on Come on… You just have to whisper.
Come on Come on… I will understand.
9 Comments
I’m so very, very sorry for you and Colin, really I am. My heart aches for you both. I’ll never understand the mysteries of why things happen or why they don’t. Just know I love you both, and my tears are yours.
Hello Elizabeth ~
Rod (grinder) sent me.
I quickly read your blog, but will be back to read more. And Rod’s right ~ you are a very good writer. 
(I have a final paper due today, that is why this is quick, but wanted to take the time to let you know I stopped by and will be back).
Hi Elizabeth,
I’m another ‘Grinder (Rod) groupie’ and wanted to stop in just to say ‘hi’ and to let you know you are NOT alone. There are no words to help you travel the path you are on but there are friends to help you on the journey.
I enjoyed your writing. It’s very thought provoking. I like how you intertwined the lyrics. Do you mind if I ‘bookmark’ your site? I would love to read more.
Hello Elizabeth, I’m back:)
I just read all your blog and although it is small thought with what you are dealing with, and I said it earlier - you are a good writer!!
I’m really sorry to hear about the cards you’ve been dealt. I don’t know of any words that could take the hurt, the pain, the sadness away.
but as long as you write, I will be here to read your words.
I love the fact that you have added lyrics from songs of Mary Chapin Carpenter. She is a very good poet/writer and musician as well.
I’m sending hugs and prayers your way.
C
gentle hugs
Dear Elizabeth,
I have a friend on the Northern Cheyenne reservation in southeastern Montana—his name is Mike Running Wolf. He is a Sioux man married to a Northern Cheyenne woman named Florence Strange Owl. One morning at dawn Mike found me walking around the sage-and-rattlesnake expanses outside of his little village of Birney, soaking in the quiet before my 16 teenagers woke up to start another day of frenetic community service work.
Mike is not a preachy man. In fact, he is quite the opposite. He was stingy with advice, even when asked directly. But on that particular morning Mike must have seen that I needed something. He fell in step beside me and we just walked quietly along. At some point in the walk Mike stopped and said, “You want to know how I start each day if I have the chance?”
I did.
“I stand outside, face each of the four directions (and up and down too) and I think the words, ‘Good morning. Please watch over me this day and help me keep my heart at the center of all I feel and say and do today.’”
I have no belief in God or any sort of caring creator, but this prayer rang true to me. When I get the chance, I try to start my days this way, too.
It sounds like you have your heart at the center right now, guiding you through your days. Only, your heart is broken and your truth is pain. I know there is nothing I can do to help some lightness come in, but I do want you to know that my heart is sending out waves of care and peace for you and Colin.
Beth-
I wanted to add my words to those above. I have faith in you, and I believe you will be fine. Your family may not be what you pictured in your mind, but still, you Will be fine. Eventually, anyway. I am thinking of you all the time.
Do you ever check email at ebethgrace? I’d like to touch base again with you, and see if you are going to go the AHS reunion.
Meg Raatz
Ok I get it you had bad things happened to you and now you’re sad and we feel sad with you. The past is the past you need to move on and dwell on the future for you and those close to you.
Look at all the goodness that is holding me up… I am very content with that indeed. (-:
Love and Peace to my friends near and far.
E
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