The Wide World of Dirt

Since I launched this site back in the unprecedented times of 2020, I have elected to forgo talking about my personal life very much on this platform or really any platform.

I find that letting anyone that logs into my site or my social media profiles have access to my real life can be a slippery slope, something I used to have less hang-ups about when I was younger.

That said, having this place be just a place for my takes (and my friends’ takes) makes it feel less like a home for me. I feel like this place has less of my heart while containing a solid chunk of my brain’s contents.

So, let’s get vulnerable.

Last year, I lost my grandmother, Mamaw Jennifer. Today would’ve been her 74th birthday.

2020 shaped up to be a big year for me when the ball dropped on New Years.

With just a semester to go before securing the two degrees I worked my ass off to earn at WVU, I was excited to enter the professional writing era of my life and take a job at a publication willing to give me a shot out of school.

I’d begun dating the woman that eventually became my wife in November, and we’d spent the holidays together for the first time. I was living in a fantastic movie that was beyond my wildest imagination.

For a moment, think about how you met your most recent romantic partner.

Now, imagine explaining how you met them to someone your age in 1924.

It would sound utterly insane.

“I met the love of my life on NASCAR Twitter.”

To translate for those a century behind: After a series of fond letters sent to one of my pen pals, I travelled across the country to meet her and developed an unbreakable bond with her.

To an extent, that was what it was like explaining how I met my wife to my family the first time I brought her up to them, and they were all born in the latter half of the 20th century like me!

Somehow, someway, Mamaw understood though.

The term “unconditional love” gets thrown around a lot on social media these days because people will literally post different conditions they have for being their partner.

In fact, there’s an ever-growing list of things on Twitter that women say men aren’t allowed to do because it appears to be gay. How silly is that?

But, my Mamaw had unconditional love for me, warts and all.

No matter what I did or what I said, my Mamaw stood behind me 100% no matter what, even if she disagreed with me.

There was an immense amount of trust between us because Mamaw never made me feel afraid to speak my mind or be myself. She actively encouraged every dumb little thing that I wanted to do, even this blog.

I wanted to be a musician, so she’d listen to my songs that I’d write with a big smile on her face. She would listen intently to the bits I’d write when I was trying to construct a tight five. She would read my articles if I remembered to send them to her.

No matter what, she just loved me and enjoyed my company as I enjoyed hers.

There isn’t a blueprint or a manual that you can read when it comes to grieving because everything is specific to you and what you lost. Would totally rock if there was!

After being displaced in Phoenix because of the timing of the pandemic, I stayed with my wife rather than going back home. My school was fully online anyway, so it didn’t matter where I lived as long as I had WiFi.

I finished up my education over the last five weeks of the semester online and earned my two degrees, fulfilling the promise I made to Mamaw before moving up to Morgantown for school five years earlier.

It was an especially proud but hollow moment.

I was supposed to walk across the stage twice with my mortarboard and gown and walk away with my two pieces of paper to be embraced by my family later after the ceremony concluded.

What happened instead was a Zoom meeting where nobody’s names were shown or listed, and Brad Paisley sang “Country Roads” to us all.

I wasn’t with my family, just my girlfriend and her pet lizard, Penelope, another little friend lost in the past couple of years. But, it was enough, at the time.

I haven’t returned to Morgantown since leaving in March 2020 to take a couple of interviews in Phoenix before a pandemic threw our entire world for a whirl.

Hell, I wasn’t even able to return home until June 2021 when I got to give Mamaw the biggest, longest hug I could possibly give. Felt so good to be reunited with her.

But, things had changed with her. I could tell her capacity to hold a conversation wasn’t as strong as before. Sometimes, she’d lose her train of thought mid-sentence, but that’s just something that happens when you’re above 70.

We returned to WV the following summer, and that week would be the last time I’d talk to her in-person.

I played a lot of Mario Kart 8 Deluxe online during this time of my life to blow off steam from work, and I racked up VR pretty quickly.

Between matches, I looked over to Mamaw across the room, reading her book per usual and said, “You know, this is all your fault, right?”

“What do you mean, bub?” she laughed back.

“You got me that damn GameBoy for my fifth birthday with Mario Kart: Super Circuit, and now, here we are, 20 years later. I’m playing Mario Kart on what is basically a bigger GameBoy.”

“Some things never change,” she said before diving back into her book.

“Like, how you’ll always love me?” I shot back at her. She smiled, nodded, and held my hand. Her hand was always mildly bruised in later years. Her skin was like the most sensitive banana you’ve ever come across.

“And, how I’ll always love you,” I continued before putting my Switch down to give her a hug. I disconnected from my next match, which bugged me a bit, but I knew I was never far away from racking up the points necessary to rebound.

I showed Mamaw the engagement ring I bought earlier that day and told her my plans for getting engaged to my girlfriend. “She’s gonna be my wife someday,” I told her, and she hugged me again, telling me how happy she was for us both.

I remember asking my mom how long she thought Mamaw had left the previous summer, and she said she didn’t know. Since her passing last year, I’ve brought this back up to her, and she’s continued to deflect.

My mom has unconditional love for me too; she just has less tolerance for my listlessness and goofy questions.

I believe she knew the whole time Mamaw wasn’t doing well. Lying through omission was Mom’s way of protecting me from what we all could sense was coming but didn’t want to admit.

A week before her passing, I was at the NASCAR race at Phoenix where my favorite driver had an eight-second lead with 10 laps to go before all of that was spoiled by a pointless caution that put him in midpack for the restart.

Unable to make up positions, Harvick finished fifth, yet again denying me a chance to see him win. Turns out, it was his last great shot to win a race that year.

While we were trying to leave the track, Mom called me, which was never good when it was unprompted. I just figured she’d seen the race, knowing I was there, and wanted to see how I was feeling.

Instead, she was calling to tell me Mamaw was in hospice, showing signs that The End was coming much sooner than later.

I spent the week trying to book a flight to see her, but by Wednesday, Mamaw had stopped talking and became unresponsive. I told her I was trying everything I could to get there, but having a full-time job makes life more complicated.

On Friday of that week, I was gearing up for the opening night of the Eras Tour in Swift City (Glendale) when I got a flurry of phone calls from my brother then Mom. Something was happening, and I hoped it was good.

When I got out of the car, I called Mom back, and she told me Mamaw had passed about five minutes before I called.

I was devastated, crushed, deflated, empty.

I entered the day full of joy, and in just a few quick sentences, it all evaporated.

I still went to the concert because getting those tickets was an arduous battle waged by my wife and her best friend, both of whom were with me at the time.

I held it together for most of the night, but then, Taylor played “Marjorie”, a song about her own grandmother.

Bawled like a damn baby with a full diaper.

I flew home for her funeral the next week where I was greeted by friends and family, everyone knowing I was in rough shape. It was nice to see familiar faces that loved her like I did, people that she loved like she loved me.

Each of her six grandkids had the option to include something to bury with her in the coffin. Since most of my stuff wasn’t with me, it made figuring out what to put in somewhat difficult.

I defaulted to what I knew: Mario Kart.

By this time, I’d risen up to about 85,000 VR on MK8DX, a titanic achievement for just one year of online play. In some small way, my strive for max VR was an attempt to pay tribute to my Mamaw, silly as it may seem.

So, my contribution to her casket was the owner’s manual for my copy of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!

When I was 10, I made my first significant purchase: an indigo GameCube with two controllers along with Super Mario Sunshine and Metroid Prime for $40 I’d saved from my last birthday nine months before.

We went to GameStop after that where I (foolishly) traded in Metroid to get DoubleDash and Mario Party 7, and I’m here to tell you I played the absolute hell out of that cube all the way into college.

That owner’s manual probably looked absurd to everyone else there, but it made sense to me, to us.

When everyone else in my family got annoyed by my love for racing and video games, Mamaw always encouraged me to lean into my passions. We only have one life to live after all.

Here we are, 621 days later.

On Kobe Day last year, I finally made it to max VR in Mario Kart 8 Deluxe after snagging a win at Los Angeles Laps. You couldn’t have possibly scripted it any better in that way.

Since then though, my desire to play is less than ever before.

I got what I wanted, but it didn’t make me feel any more full. Over 17 months and 11,000 races online leading to max VR was something I thought meant something until I attained it. Then, it was just something I did. It was over.

I got married to my wife this year back in June, and that was probably the happiest and fullest I’ve been since my Mamaw passed.

I accepted a second job as a writer at Pit Box Press last September, and after losing my main job this year, working there has kept me sane during this prolonged period of unemployment.

I’ve sent in numerous applications and sent out a myriad of emails to no avail, but in order to keep getting unemployment, you just gotta keep hammering away as senseless and soul-crushing it is to keep getting those dreaded rejection emails that are simply a template with your name pasted into it.

As hard as these last few months have been, it’s part of an even longer, tougher period dating back to March of last year.

What I’ve been lacking in this time is my Mamaw’s caring voice and ear, my biggest cheerleader pushing me forward even when I don’t believe in myself.

The worst part is: that voice is gone now.

I don’t have any recordings of her talking saved on my phone or anywhere else. I’ll likely never hear it again, and I regret that immensely with each passing day.

My relationships with my family changed after I got displaced in Phoenix during the pandemic. While I hate that that is the case, I’d never lived more than three hours from anyone and made it home at least once a month, even in college. I never had to keep up with anyone, and no one had to keep up with me.

There isn’t a big moralistic takeaway to have from this piece; I’m just sad.

I keep digging in my heels every week, hoping for an interview somewhere that never comes. I wouldn’t say I’m desperate to work, but desperation is certainly lurking around that corner. UI benefits only last so long!

I know that if I stay the course, something will work out eventually, but damn, the idle time can eat away at you if you let it.

But, the one thing outside of my wife, friends, and family that keeps me going is knowing that somewhere in this universe, Mamaw can see me.

And, if she can see me, she’s loving me, even if I can’t see her.

Here’s to things getting better going forward. I’ve gotta go chop some onions.