Wimbledon


If I wake up in the morning and think, “I’m spending a lovely day at home with my family,” then I’m fine. If I wake up and think about the future at all, I feel despondent. If I think, “This?! Till July?!” my counting brain starts doing the math and it makes me edgy and snappish. That brings me to my most-hated cliché: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” To which I retort, “No. What doesn’t kill you only makes you wish you were dead.” 

I have adjusted to the working from home/schooling from home situation. I have kept a sunny attitude despite my great disappointment over the cancellation of the NBA season, the MLB season, and my 10-day trip to the Baltics. I survived quarantine. I have put up with my neighbor’s bullshit. I make meals. I morale-march. I stiff-upper-lip-it. But today, as inconsequential as this might seem, when my son told me they canceled Wimbledon, I had to strangle back a sob. It was enough. I had reached my limit.

My son and I watch Wimbledon together every summer. Ever since he was born, we have had “Breakfast at Wimbledon”. We eat strawberries and cream. We have tea. We sit on the sofa and root for people we have never heard of, as well as our favorites. When my son was very small, he loved playing balloon tennis over the back of the couch. He would be Federer. I would be Nadal. He would be Murray. I would be Nadal. He would be Djokovic. You get the picture. We would bat the balloon back and forth with our hands and try trick shots. He would laugh hysterically and say, “Good one, Mommy!” We would call out the score, “Love, you!” When my son was older, there was one special summer when we were in London while Wimbledon was on, and we went from park to park, watching it on big screens at venues all over the city. We would watch the crowds on the lawn and think about taking the Tube out there, but we never did. We said, “Next time.” We are not tennis fans by any stretch, but my son and I always had that one summer week where we pretended together. 

I know that there are seniors who have missed proms and commencements; brides and grooms with canceled weddings. I know there are bigger life-moments than a few days of tennis, and it’s silly to be sad about it. But I can’t help it. Wimbledon is apparently my limit.
And as I typed this, with tears in my eyes, my son came in to show me something on his phone. He said, “Mom! We might not have Wimbledon, but we’ll always have this!”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kn271kr_ks0
Not the same, but it did make me laugh.

Comments

  1. LeslieApril 2, 2020 at 9:48 AM

    I, too, hate whatever doesn't kill you blah blah blah. Your version is much better. Another thing I don't like and disagree with is that you're not allowed to feel disappointed/angry/whatever over something just because there's someone somewhere who has it worse than you. Using that logic, only that one most downtrodden miserable person in the world has any right to feel bad. Bullshit. Feeling bad over missing something you absolutely loved and enjoyed doing is fine!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sad news

My stepmother, Renee, died a few days ago. She had late-stage Alzheimer’s and had been suffering in a nursing home for several years. Whether she died of COVID-19 or something else, I do not know. I met Renee when I was four years old, when she and my father were dating. They moved in together a year after that and got married when I was ten. Renee didn’t like the Cinderella connotation of being called stepmother, so instead she and my father came up with MamaHaha—the word for stepmother in Japanese. Renee taught me about birds, art, opera, ballet. She was always reading, painting, bird-watching or doing a crossword puzzle. I have no memories of her ever raising her voice or being irritated. She nicknamed me Daffodil when I was little, for my yellow blond hair. She used to pat my cheeks and kiss my forehead, and she always wanted to hold hands with me, even when I was an adult. She frequently mailed me postcards, cheering me on through tough times and offering me sage advice. She
Read more

More about dinner

I wish I could blame it on the pandemic, but my husband and I have been arguing about food for 17 years. ”What’s for dinner” is *the* fight of our marriage. He wants to not be involved at all, with any of it. He wants me to make something and serve it to him. Meanwhile, I’m rarely hungry, and I have this stupid idea that he should tell me what he wants so I can provide it. He says, “Just make what you want!” I say, “I’m not hungry! I don’t want anything! You’re the one who’s hungry!”  He grits his teeth, “Just make whatever!” I shout, “Tell me what you want and I’ll make it!” (For the sake of wordcount I’ve left out about a dozen f-bombs that would have peppered this conversation.) In the marriage-counseling world this fight is known as an impasse. We are both looking for the other person to fix it, and we are both resentful because we believe the other person could fix it if they wanted to, but they’re just being a jerk. Usually, when my husband says, “What’s
Read more

Less Anxious

While many people are experiencing heightened anxiety, I am experiencing less. For the foreseeable future, I no longer have to endure many of the situations that used to cause me stress: Turning left on busy roads; driving at night; driving in the rain;  going to Wal-Mart; crowds; making sure my son gets to his rehearsals and lessons on time; making sure I remember to pick up my son from those places; wondering when my husband will get home from work; being jealous that he spends more time with “work-wife” than he does with me; being alone too much, wondering what I’m supposed to be doing with my life; Huzzah! I don’t have to look for a job!            All of my general anxiety feelings--and the occasional terror-sweats, panting and heart palpitations--have vanished. I honestly don’t remember a time when I’ve been more relaxed. My husband’s quarantine hasn’t been *fun*, but aside from worrying about microbes and the banana supply, I have it pretty easy these days.            Now
Read more