The Cheez-It Phase
You may have noticed that I haven’t written a blog post in about a month. Usually, I don’t take long breaks like this, but thanks to an unexpected family tragedy, I haven’t quite known what to do.
I’ve written about Nana, my beloved grandmother, on this page before. She’s read every blog post, and more than that, she’s supported me through literally everything in my life. And a month ago, she was completely fine.
But then, she had a nervous breakdown. Even after my own breakdown nine years ago, I had no idea how devastating one could be, and I watched her descend further until she required hospitalization from multiple falls. Something broke in her brain, and although we don’t have a completely secure diagnosis, we know a few things: Nana has rapid onset dementia, has lost her ability to take care of herself, and is in hospice, which means she has six months to live at the most.
I know I’m lucky that it’s taken me this long in my life to experience grief like this, but it feels overwhelming nonetheless, and as soon as I got back to Chicago, I was unsure of what to do. I started researching the phases of grief, but nothing made sense. I’m certainly nowhere near acceptance, don’t think I can bargain with anyone about this, and the initial anger has faded to a weird sense of feeling out of control.
I know there is nothing I can do. Her care is already figured out, and nothing I say or do can fix her head or return her to the wonderful person she was just one short month ago. I needed to leave her, go back to Chicago, and figure out how to live my life as best as I could while dealing with all of this.
When my dog Reese died a year and a half ago, I told my therapist that I felt like everything was out of control. Everything was so sudden, and I couldn’t fix anything that actually mattered. She told me that I was right, I couldn’t control the things that would have a large impact - but I could control the littlest things in my life until I felt like things weren’t quite so out of control.
She told me to pay a great deal of attention to the fact that I chose my own outfit for the day and what I ate for dinner, how I organized my desk, and in what order I got my work done. I couldn’t control life and death, or the processes of either, but I could choose these little things and feel like I had at least somewhat of a grasp on things.
This is why, when a friend let me know he was going to visit our neighborhood Wal-Mart before it closed for the last time, I tagged along. I couldn’t control Nana hurtling towards death at an alarming pace, but I could control what was in my pantry, specifically one of my favorite snacks.
As someone who has always been picky with food, I often frustrate people by having a favorite shape or type of common snack foods, and don’t like eating others. I was upset when I heard this Wal-Mart was closing because, so far, it’s the only place where I’ve been able to find Scooby Doo stamped Cheez-Its, which taste better to me since they are crunchier and also have the cute shapes to enjoy.
It’s not that my world would end if I didn’t have the right Cheez-Its in my pantry, but I knew that something small like this was exactly what my therapist would have told me to do at that moment. And so, an hour before the store closed, I bought all five boxes of Scooby Doo Cheez-Its remaining in the store, and texted my therapist:
I told her, “I think I’m in the ‘I can’t control life and death but I can control what’s in my pantry so I’m buying all the Scooby Doo Cheez-Its in the Wal-Mart in the hour before the store permanently closes because they’re good for a long time and that’s one less thing to worry about’ phase of grief,” and although this phrasing is kind of funny, it gets at an important point:
I don’t know how much longer Nana will live, nor will I have the opportunity to speak to the person I loved for so many years once more. I know I’m the sort of person who needs to control things or I will start to spiral - it’s an OCD thing I’ve had to grow used to over my life. And although I don’t know the specifics of how this situation will go, I do know exactly how I will fall apart if I don’t take care of myself.
It feels strange to say this, but somehow, buying enough Cheez-Its that I don’t have to think about a future supply feels like putting a band-aid on the most gaping wound, but it’s somehow still helpful. I know it won’t fix the wound, but it will at least give me the tiniest bit of energy to focus on the things I need to do, and a splash of happiness in a deep well of sadness.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.