Field Notes: Time Travel, Low Points, and a Belated Eulogy

Let's take a trip back to the fall of 2002

Time travel is real. I experience it every time I find an old mix CD that I made during high school or college. Even if I haven’t heard it in decades, synapses start firing and as one song fades out, I know exactly what the next track is going to be and can suddenly recall all of the lyrics.

And because each CD represents such a specific moment, I can also remember with stunning clarity how I was feeling and what was going on in my life. I’ve also kept journals since middle school and although re-reading them can certainly be powerful, there’s something about it that almost feels anthropological. With music, I’m not taking a bird’s eye view of a memory… I’m inside of it.

I’ve been converting these mix CDs into Spotify playlists and organizing them chronologically. I recently came across one from October 2002 and the vibes were definitely very early aughts. It kicks off with Linkin Park’s “Pnts.Of.Athrty” remix. There are also a few one-hit wonders on there from bands like TRUSTcompany and The Apex Theory. And the rest is a pretty eclectic mix that includes Tori Amos, The Ataris, Godhead, The White Stripes, and System of a Down.

I debated whether or not I wanted to preserve it. Not because of my possibly questionable test in music, but because the memories it was bringing back were not pleasant.

That was the fall I had dropped out of college to focus on my band. So… you can probably imagine how well that went over. But the thing is, that wasn’t the whole truth. It’s what I was telling myself for sure, but deep down I just felt so utterly lost and scared. About everything. So I started making a lot of mistakes. And burning so many bridges. I was stuck in this terrible limbo where I was surrounded by the pieces of the life I’d just blown up, but had no idea how to crawl out of that crater or where I would even go if I could.

The world felt very, very big and I felt very, very small.

I wound up living with my grandma & grandpa for awhile. It was a moment where compassion was in understandably short supply, but Grandma fit that Italian grandmother stereotype to a T. She was always my biggest fan and even as I battled demons (and frequently behaved like one), she treated me like I was an angel. Back then and to this day, I wish I was more like the person she thought I was.

I had to wake up really early for a job I’d picked up, but it didn’t matter - Grandma would always be up first. She’d have a pot of coffee brewing and a Boston Kreme doughnut from Dunkin Donuts waiting for me on a little plate. She knew they were my favorite and I found out later she had bought them in bulk and was keeping them in the refrigerator. I eventually had to tell her: “I love that you did this, but I can’t keep eating donuts for breakfast every morning.”

There wasn’t much to do when work was over. Sometimes I’d sit on the floor of the guest room I was staying in and respectfully play my guitar as quietly as possible. I was still on the hook to write two more songs for the EP my band was recording. But that wasn’t going well. Nothing was. So mostly I’d just lie in bed, listen to that mix CD over and over, stare at the ceiling, and surrender to how hopeless everything felt.

One afternoon I discovered that the cabinet full of coloring books and art supplies they’d kept for my sister and I as kids was completely untouched. It even smelled exactly the same: a combination of pencil shavings, crayon wax, and mahogany.

So much of my creativity was fostered right there. Those pens and colored pencils were how I made some of my first comic strips. I’d sit at the table scribbling away and Grandpa would occasionally look over my shoulder, pat my back, and give me a nod. It may not sound like much, but he was a man of few words and those small gestures felt like winning the lottery.

Grandma was not nearly as reserved. She had such a thundering and colorful personality. One of my favorite encapsulations of her is a moment from my sister’s bridal shower many years ago (sorry sis, not that many!) - my wife, who was just my girlfriend at the time, was approached by my grandma, who said: “How’s my grandson? Are you taking good care of him?” Before she could answer, Grandma added: “You better be. Or I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

Grandma was a true force of nature, which was no small feat considering she was only 4’11’’. It’s funny, though - I never really thought of her as small. Even as I grew older and eventually towered over her. Because I had always watched her navigate the world like she was eight feet tall.

So as a kid, maybe that’s why it had never even occurred to me that height was anything to feel self-conscious about. I was small for my age throughout all of elementary school, but I’d never had a problem with it. It was all of my classmates that suddenly seemed to.

And that was just the beginning. After that it was my nose, my freckles, the way I dressed, on and on and on. I began collecting insecurities like they were baseball cards and by the time I reached middle school, I had a complete set. Honestly, I’m still holding on to a few of them. And somewhere along the way, I started going through life as if I’m perpetually apologizing for the fact that I exist.

But that wasn’t Grandma. No way. She was a wrecking ball.

If the time I spent living there was in any way a burden on her, she never let me see it. In fact, when I was finally able to move into my own place, she was uncommonly reticent. Happy to see me back on my feet, for sure. But also perpetually concerned with my well-being.

Which sort of became a running joke, actually. Especially a few years after that when I left the suburbs and moved to the city. No matter how many times I told her Lincoln Park was a safe neighborhood, she just couldn’t let go of all the terrifying scenarios her imagination would conjure up. She’d often tell my mom how worried she was about me and although I’d laugh it off, the truth is it made me feel good. It was nice to know someone was out there thinking about me.

Grandma passed away in 2020. Because of the pandemic, we couldn’t have a proper memorial service for her until last fall. October, actually. So she was already on my mind before I came across this CD. Maybe finding it wasn’t as random as it seemed.

When Grandpa passed in 2013, it left a great, big hole in my heart. With Grandma gone as well, I was hollowed out. Gutted with that awful recognition of all the things that were now and forever going to be in the past-tense.

I didn’t write a eulogy for Grandma. I think maybe my family wanted me to. I just couldn’t do it. I tried several times, but I was so shaken. By grief. By the circumstances. And by my own refusal to even accept it.

I’ve felt awful about that every day since.

If I had prepared something, I might have said that absence is the greatest form of presence and now that she’s gone, I feel her everywhere. I’d joke about how impossibly stubborn she could be or how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of her spitfire temper. I could have shared that her favorite song was Moon River and that sometimes I listen to it when I miss her. But mostly I would have expressed regret for all of the things I never got to say to her.

Like how she helped lay the foundation for the type of person I’d become in ways I’ve only recently been able to fully appreciate. Or how reassuring it was to know she was always there if I needed her (God, I took that for granted.) I’d thank her for picking me up when I fell, for reminding me to laugh whenever I took things too seriously, and for giving me the sort of love and support that makes you feel gigantic and invincible.

And I probably would have admitted how impossible it felt to try and do justice to who she was or what she meant to me. No draft of that eulogy felt right. No version of this post will either.

But I would have concluded it on a more hopeful note by describing how comforting it is to see so much of her spirit live on through my mom and my sister. They have her strength and that same take-no-shit attitude, her wonderfully juvenile sense of humor, and a fierce dedication to their family. Grandma broke the mold, but she also set a template.

As for me, I think one of the best ways to honor her is to remember that she lived in defiance of people’s perceptions of her rather than succumbing to them. Maybe I can try to do the same.

So by the time this mix CD reached its final track (“The Ground Beneath Her Feet” by U2), I’d decided I was going to preserve it after all. The memories of this turbulent time in my life had been replaced by thoughts of my grandma. The woman who taught me that the world might sometimes feel very big, but I am not small.

Take care, friends. Talk to you soon.