A Lawnmower Named Despair

I haven't been able to incorporate all of Steve's chores into my chore list yet without dropping the ball on something else. The workload of two people now on one person, along with the heaviness of grief, simply means not everything gets done. I like the house to look like me: put together on the outside total chaos on the inside. Thus, I decided I'd get the front yard mowed before calling it a day.

That's when the trouble began.

I've gotten past the place where I bemoan the fact Steve's gone and I have to do something he once did. (I still don't like having to do it.) Past the place of thinking I didn't appreciate enough how much he did or how the work is difficult. (I still say "thank you, baby" in my head each time I do something, for all the times he did it.) Now I'm at a point where I'm trying to keep up with what he did, to hell with what has always resided on my to-do list.

I topped off the gas tank, pushed the mower to the side of the house, and let 'er rip. Ten feet later I glanced beneath the tank, on the deck of the mower, and saw a spreading pool of gasoline.

I have two things I really prefer not to mess with: gas and electricity.

So you can imagine I freaked. Since I couldn't tun it off and yell "STEVE," I turned it off and yelled "SHIT." More than a few times. Pretty loudly, evidently. Cause out the side door of his house, my neighbor came running. There I am, dancing around the mower, wanting desperately to look it over for a fix and yet frantically trying to stay away from the spilled gas next to the ticking engine that could, oh, I dunno, explode and eat my face.

Brandon immediately started looking for the leak, cleaning off the gas, running it for awhile, doing the man things that fixes the man things. I, meanwhile, hunkered down behind the bumper of the car and tried not to cry. By the time he figured out that the gas cap needed the threads cleaned off to make a proper seal and I wouldn't need to buy a new mower, I had given in to the cry. I sat full-out on the lawn sobbing with my face buried in my hands.

During the ten minutes it took for Brandon to look the mower over all I could think was: "How am I gonna keep doing this?" There were no additional or explanatory thoughts behind it because that one question encompassed everything I face in the months and years to come. So I sobbed in front of this man I barely know. I sobbed with no desire to try and lock it down and get myself under control. I cried with no embarrassment and no apologies. I cried until I was done crying.

I always thought that Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire was a fool when she said her famous line "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." Depending on strangers may leave you waiting a very long time and still not getting the things you need. But as I wiped at my eyes and hiccuped out my last sob, Brandon cleared it all up for me: "You don't have to go through this alone."

My lawnmower is fine. The front lawn is mowed. The house is a mess, so am I, but we're both getting better. And maybe, Blanche had it right. Brandon most certainly has it right. Accepting kindness from strangers keeps me from going it alone. It certainly beats the hell outta squatting behind the car fearing a fire that may never arrive.

Thanks, Brandon.