Sweet Relief

My dad hates to be late. For this reason, he almost never goes to church with my mother and I since my mom is the exact opposite. My dad goes to bed at 10 PM and gets up at 5 AM, no matter what day it is. He always has and always will. He's always gone to the 7:30 AM mass, which he usually arrives for at 7 AM. Getting there early insures a good parking spot, a place to sit, and saves him the “embarrassment of walking in late.” Going to parades with him has always been particularly stressful, since he reminds me at 15 minute intervals throughout the day what time he wants to leave. And when we do leave and I ask why he's driving so fast since I was ready on time, he usually snaps back with something like, “I told you I wanted to leave at 3:15! It was 3:17 when you came out! You're just like your mother; I don't know why you people never want to go anywhere on time!”

I'm definitely more like my mom in the regard of time. I'd rather stay up late than go to bed early, and prefer sleeping in. It's a struggle to leave on time for work no matter when I get up. If I get up a half hour earlier, I somehow end up taking a half hour longer getting ready, and leave at the same time I always do. Over the years, my dad has yet to realize that incessant nagging isn't much of a solution. In fact, it sometimes has the opposite effect. When I was a teenager I'd slow down out of spite; these days it's not spite but a lack of motivation that slows my progress.

I tried to do my shopping early but in typical fashion, time slipped through my fingers. I did do the majority of shopping for my parents a month ago and had gotten toys for my cousin's kids a week ago, but had put off the rest of my family until this week, finally settling on Old Navy gift cards. Still, I felt I should get them something small to open to attach the cards to, and so set out shopping on Christmas Eve of all days. My mom tipped me off to some stores in the area, and I managed to get hats, socks, scarves, picture frames and other suitable ”chachkas”. I had that nodding off feeling while driving, even short distances, and began formulating a new theory that I was subconsciously holding my breath. It made sense, since I was worried about breathing fumes in my car, that I would stop breathing. I did some reading tonight and though it feels like I'm not breathing, it may be the opposite. It might be a form of hyperventilation even though my pulse is slowing, not quickening. Working on breathing through my nose and relaxing seems to be the way forward. I even found a spot-on description of what I've been feeling the past few months: ”... they are experiencing symptoms that feel life-threatening. They go to numerous doctors and are told there is nothing wrong. They conclude that they have some mysterious condition that will kill them any day and the doctors aren't smart enough to find it. With each treatment that is unsuccessful, their conclusion is strengthened and their fear—and panic attacks—get worse.”

Knowledge provides relief. Relaxing and avoiding stress does as well, but stress is a family trait I've inherited. Tonight being Christmas Eve, my family was going to an 8 PM mass together. There was an earlier one at 5 which my dad would have preferred to go to because it was earlier, but my mom didn't want to go that early. All day long he would ask us, “We're leaving here at twenty to eight, correct? You people are going to be ready?” It's about a 5-10 minute ride, but as I've said, he hates to be late. Despite the nagging, I managed to get myself ready with minutes to spare. My mom, on the other hand, was still getting ready as of 7:30, and so every five minutes he was calling in to see if she was ready yet. At one point he suggested to me that he might just go and have us meet him there. I tried to be the voice of reason, pointing out that it was more important to arrive together as a family than be on time, and that there was no penalty for being late. It wasn't a sin, and he didn't know anybody to be embarrassed. No one was going to point and laugh, and there would be parking spots as well as places to sit. He was silent and pensive, and I really thought logic had reached him. He then calmly walked down the hall, opened their bedroom door and yelled, “HOW ABOUT I GO MEET YOU PEOPLE THER--oh, you're ready.” As she was putting on her coat my mom, clearly miffed, told me if I ever get married “make sure you help your wife on with her coat.” I hate when I get put in the middle of old couple bickering. Sometimes we're like the Barones(sans Raymond since I'm an only child).

We raced to mass which was frightening since my dad's vision and judgment is bad enough during the day. At one point after the fact of drifting half in to the right lane he asked me if anyone was there and, terrified, I said yes. We got to church on time and the mass itself started at 8:03. I could sense him fidgeting next to me at that. I was also nervous when the priest cracked a joke reminding people what day it was. “I bet ya forgot, but it's Christmas eve.” He has a very nontraditional stand-up comedian approach which my dad hates so much he actually started going to a different parish where the priests were serious, solemn, and traditional. I'd have him read Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery”, but I don't think he'd get the significance. Early on in the mass I felt like I was passing out, and I unzipped my jacket and loosened my collar. As the service went on, the feelings subsided. Afterwards, I offered to drive. My dad held the door and helped my mom in to the car, and it was a pleasant ride home. He was glad that the priest only made 2 or 3 jokes and it otherwise felt sacred, like we had attended a mass. I mentioned my theory to them about holding my breath, which I was considering while having those feelings in church. When I got home I went online and found those articles I mentioned earlier.

This is probably the most stressful time of the year for me. But with shopping, wrapping, and now mass behind me, there's definitely a significant sense of relief.