Back in July 2002, my grandmother died. I was depressed for months... I knew we were close, but I didn't know how close, until she was gone. I had a much stronger bond with her then the 5 other grandkids. I frequently took off on a 3-day weekend, leaving my home at 10pm, driving 8 hours....bringing bagels for breakfast. I'd knock on the door to surprise her. She'd open it, drop her jaw....and then slam the door closed. I'd knock again. We'd spend the weekend watching movies, eating great chinese food, maybe a lobster roll... My grandmother was awesome...when she did know I was coming, she'd have a cold beer waiting for me.
Anyway, after she died, I was miserable. My friends were around. I had my old Yamaha and would go for a ride, but there was no real comfort in it. Nothing was snapping me out of it. I started sneaking into my roommates Rx of Percocet. At that point, I knew I needed help. I started seeing a therapist and she put me on Zoloft. I also wasn't sleeping, and she put me on Ambian. (and thats a story for another.....story?!) I had never dealt with that type of loss before - my first significant death. We talked about lots of things, but I stopped seeing her shortly thereafter. I weened myself off the Zoloft, and muddled through it. I'm not sure how talking to the therapist helped, but I know that after talking to her I found my voice. I found that I could express my emotions and embrace them. It was scary, but I've learned a lot about myself and continue to learn.
Eventually, I felt I was ready to come out of my funk but didn't know how to do it. I was laughing again, and hanging out with my friends, but needed that one last push to get myself back to....myself. That normal, fun-loving, happy-go-lucky person who I liked being around... I was done w/ the mourning and nothing anyone else could do would help with that. The last push had to come from within.
One random Saturday, a good friend packed me up and took me to Eastern Market. Eastern Market is a famous open-air market in Washington DC. It was nice to be outside. We walked through the fresh meat section...and the push occurred. The meat man....had chicken feet for sale. I asked "How much for one?". My friend was looking at me cautiously. The meat man replied "25 cents". "One please" and I paid my quarter. In return, I got a chicken foot in a baggy with a red twist tie. I put it in my pocket and we continued our walk through the market.
I got home that afternoon and wondered about my purchase. Not wondered WHY? I wondered WHAT? What am I going to do with this? Well, I'm going to dry it....for starters. And then I'm going to hide it in the house. A practical joke was needed to snap my funk. So I spent several days salting and drying this chicken foot. I showed it to someone while it was drying, "look....I have this". The expression I received in return was not priceless, but wonderment = "McGinn has flipped".
A few days later, after finding the proper little sealable jar to store my chicken foot, I started hiding it around the house. I started in the kitchen, in front of the cereal bowls. I heard after the fact that my roommate, Jen, expression......was priceless. At that point, there was laughter again. And, my friends got in on the action and we all started hiding the chicken foot. I remember spotting it in the fork drawer and the medicine cabinet.
A few months later, the chicken foot left my life. Jen was packing to move out, and I was mad about that. I didn't want her to move. So, I thought - "Jen is taking the chicken foot!" I was alone in the house one day and feeling a momentary sadness, decided to pack the foot in one of Jen's boxes. I found the perfect hiding place....in a wind breaker. You know...one of those ones that fold into it's own pouch... So I open it all the way, place the jarred chicken foot in the pocket, refold the breaker, reclose the box...and forget about it. We move Jen out.
A month or two goes by and I'm talking with Jen, and I ask if she ever found the foot. She looks at me with one of those "What have you done?" looks she's good at. I told her about my hidden treasure and where I put it. She starts laughing....and tells me that box went to Good Will. Somewhere, someone thinks there is a voodoo curse on them.
Fast-forward to this month, and it's been a heck of a month. More so for my friend Jen. I've been rather sad too, by whats effecting her and dealing with my own separation issues related to what she's dealing with. Jen and her g/f broke up and Jen is staying with me for a while. At least that deserves a "Hooray!". (the temporary living w/ me gets the hooray, not the breakup)
Jen, her friend Dube's little sister and I were having dinner the other night, and somehow the subject of Jen being a big Winnie the Pooh fan came up. She told how her mom made a Pooh bear for her, and she slept ON the bear (its flat now). I told Jen to bring her Pooh to my house, so she could have a little comfort of home. She declined....
Driving home from dinner, I remembered...I have a giant Pooh bear. I've used it on charity events, he rides behind me on the motorcycle. He really does cheer people up. So, last night, I dug him out of storage and put him in her bed. She'll be home late tonight. I hope she doesn't wake me screaming...
At least it's not a chicken foot under her pillow.
/postscript - I wasn't home when Jen saw the bear. But I got a text message...."yay pooh".
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