To Denial

They way people talk, they make it sound like you’re bad. “She is in SUCH denial about her job” or “He is in denial about his kid” as if we shouldn’t shouldn’t be in denial about anything.

They don’t see the profound psychic elegance in denial. The brain just removing whatever it is we cannot deal with, brushing it aside like a stray hair, blowing it away like a bit of fluff. Such little effort. Such a huge improvement. Denial is Audrey Hepburn of emotions. “Here, dear, let me get that for you.”

But more than elegant, you are functional. Indispensable really. How else do we get up in the morning when we know our marriages are shredded? How else do we go to work when we know our kids are in trouble? How do we drive across four states for a Thanksgiving weekend, knowing when we when return on Monday, the results will be in. They will be conclusive. We won’t be able to look away anymore.

I’m all in. I’m too old now to waste my time with all this reality-facing that gets me nowhere. Being in denial doesn’t actually change anything, just my perspective. Surely I have earned that much.

My son is in the hospital. They make us leave overnight because they need us to be strong during the day. Doctors use a wholly unfamiliar language and we see machines and numbers connecting to events we can’t begin to understand. Parenting is infinitely harder than I ever thought. We collapse without shame or thought.

One morning, my mom calls. Her voice cracks. She tells me my nephew Nicolas, 6 months old, died. My sister found him in his bassinet. I think Mom has had a bad dream, gotten confused about which grandson is sick. “Mom!” I want to say, “You can’t do this!” And it takes her repeating it over and over and until I realize this is real.

But I have to leave for the hospital. I have to go hold my son, tubes and wires falling around us. I have to go deal with bad nurse. I pour a cup of coffee and think, “I cannot deal” and like that, I push it all away. Get dressed, drive across town as the sun rises over Kalamazoo.

In a few weeks, I will grieve both the babies, and unlike the babies, the grief never dies. Denial isn’t always possible: reality has a way of pounding it to dust. I begrudge no one their need to deny whatever they must get through today. It won’t last.