how to deal with the eventual death of your parents
So you’re finally 26. You went to film school and because that wasn’t enough you went to film school 2.0 (AKA grad school). Then, you moved back home to live with your parents because, well, let’s face it— you can't afford to buy a home and no one is hiring a 26-year-old with an MFA in Screenwriting. Especially in Southern California. And the only people that are hiring other people with MFAs in Screenwriting are definitely going to hire someone who’s got a lot more career experience under their belt than a 26-year-old living at home with their parents. But hey— enough about you. Let’s bring it back to your parents.
They’re getting older. Your dad is starting to say things to you like, “this is probably going to be the last TV I’m going to buy” or “this is probably going to be my last road trip”. This troubles you because you're used to seeing them as invincible, like they had all the answers.
You start to notice that the only things your mom watches on TV nowadays are game shows. This Friday night is like all the others. Your mom regularly shouts at the TV to help out the contestants, and gets excited when she correctly answers a question on Jeopardy. This makes you smile. You also start to notice that more of the hairs on her head are starting to become more gray than black. This makes you sad. You start to tear up and have to get up from the couch and say you shouldn’t have eaten so much for dinner because now you have a bad stomach ache and have to take a massive BM (this is a lie, you actually don’t).
You leave the room and go to the bathroom. You think about how your time with them is limited and even though they'll probably still be here in 10 years, they probably won't be fully here in 10 years. And even if they are, they won't be able to physically do all the things that they want to do. I mean-- where are you going to be in 10 years?
The crazy part is, you're not even that close to them and still, all of this makes you break down into a hard, ugly cry. You hope the sound of the bathroom fan is just loud enough to cover up enough of your sniffling. You look at yourself in the mirror and try to calm yourself down. You tell yourself that your parents are going to live forever. You know that’s a lie. You know that parents don’t live forever but maybe it’ll be different this time around because they're your parents.
Somehow it’s enough to get you to wash your face and level out. You’re about to walk out the bathroom but suddenly grab your stomach and realize maybe you actually do have to take a massive BM. While you’re taking that massive BM, you go on your phone and scroll through your feed and see that all of your friends are out living it up, while your Friday nights consist of watching Jeopardy with your aging parents. You get a little sad. But then, you realize you don't even like going out that much, and that you’re proud to spend time with your parents, and that you actually like hanging out with them on Friday nights (at least sometimes).
You finish your business. You realize you’re out of toilet paper. You have to yell and ask your mom to get another roll for you. She grabs the toilet paper and tries to explain to you through the door that you would’ve gotten an answer on Jeopardy right because the category was about filmmaking; the question was about Transformers.
You hold in a sigh because even though you've explained to her that you want to make independent films, filled with artistic expression and freedom from dumb MBA-holding studio execs that wouldn’t know Woody Allen from Woody Harrelson. You want to make important movies. Tell stories that matter.
But you know your mom. And you know that this is her way of trying to say “I was thinking about you.” You settle and reply, “that’s nice, but can you hand me the toilet paper?” Your mom gets a little embarrassed as she hands you the toilet paper and leaves, offended almost. You can sense it because... well— she’s your mom. And that’s just something you pick up if you spend enough Friday nights with her.
You take care of business, wash your hands, and return back to the couch just in time to witness your mom shout an incorrect answer at the TV with complete conviction as a force of habit. Your dad shushes her for being too loud. Your mom quiets down again but can’t hide her excitement behind a smile. This makes you smile.
You forget about how you felt like you were missing out on anything else— and that maybe you’re okay with where you are. Even though you’re not where you thought you’d be where you were at this age in your life. Because right now, you are right where you need to be. This makes you happy. But like a sad-happy. Or is it happy-sad feeling? Some sort of melancholy. You start to tear up again.
Your dad notices, because let’s face it, he always does even when you don’t he does because he’s your dad. He’s about to say something to you but your very loud and extremely enthusiastic mother shouts out another incorrect answer at the contestants who once again, cannot hear her because this is a pre-recorded show on TV. Your dad quiets her down but when he turns to check on you, you’re already halfway to your room.
More or less, this is how you spend your Friday nights and deal with the eventual death of your parents. Me on the other hand? All that couldn’t be me. My parents are gonna live forever.
by
Nate Velasco
NOV 2023
artwork by casey ticsay of malahayasf
