The sewage ejection pump in my house failed. It’s leaking all over the basement.
What is a sewage ejection pump, you ask? Good question.
Answer: If your house has one, it’s the very most important appliance in the world. It takes all the waste water from the house – water from the washing machine, the dishwasher, the showers, the toilets – and pumps it up into the city sewer line.
Mine isn’t pumping into the sewer, it’s pouring out the top. Process that a minute.
I was so excited to move into this house. It has not one, but THREE toilets, plus FIVE bathroom sinks, and TWO showers. Today we can use none of them because every bit of water (or whatever) down the drain ends up as a slurry on my rec room floor. I’d show you a picture, but I’m kind.
I’m embarrassed to say that it took a couple of days for us to figure out there was a problem. We thought a mouse had died in the walls. By day two the smell was bigger than a mouse. Thousands of dollars bigger.
Sewage ejection pumps happen to be one of the few things are not covered by home warranties or homeowners insurance. And trust me when I say, cleaning up that kind of mess is NOT a DIY project. Goodbye carpet. Goodbye sheetrock. Goodbye boxes of memorabilia we stored down there. Gives a whole new meaning to “all that shit in the basement.”
Couple the sewage disaster with the fact that my husband is still unemployed and well, you get the picture.
Except you don’t.
Because about the same time that I was discovering that my basement was covered in two inches of sewage, a sweet friend of mine, a mother of children the same age as my own, passed away after a four year battle with cancer.
If it seems that I write a lot about people dying, it’s because it keeps happening. For many in my circle, this will make the third friend’s funeral in the last twelve months. I’m thirty-nine years old. It isn’t fair. There is something seriously fucked-up with a world that keeps snatching our kindest, gentlest, most magical mamas and papas right when their families need them the most.
I could go on for days about guilt and regret and the importance of showing up even if you come empty-handed and broken-hearted. I could yammer about toeing the line between being supportive and being intrusive. Ask, like so many others have, what you are supposed to say if, “Get well soon,” is off the table.
Those things are worth exploring. And I’ve had plenty of opportunities to explore them. The lessons keep coming and I keep failing to learn.
I could tell you all about my friend, what a tender, beautiful, humble soul she was. How much she loved her husband and her children. How hard and gracefully she fought; every awful thing she endured to try to buy more time. But I can’t make you know her, and not one word can change one damn thing.
I know loss is part of life.
I know that no one has a manual on adulting.
I know we’re all here to be as kind to each other and ourselves as we possibly can, and make the most of each day we’re given. But besides that, I’ve got pretty much nothing.
Except this: I know for absolute certain that life is way too short to cry about shit in the basement.
I am sorry to hear about your friend…. Nothing can sooth her family or friends like yourself over the unfairness of losing her.
I feel for you so much over the sewage issue, I have had that happen too, though I am sure it is MUCH worse dealing with it with children. I had to pioneer myself in ways too grim to post and I hope that this disaster is soon behind you and your family.
The one good thing about dealing with tough things is, that eventually they are behind us and just a bad memory that was overcome. Strength to you!
Thank you Deborah.
My Dad is fighting cancer. This is the man that taught me courage, self reliance, empathy, and sacrifice. Everything I know of kindness and honesty comes from him. A mountain of a man; 6’2″ to my paltry 5′. I don’t get to see the small changes as he and I live a continent apart, and somehow, because of this physical distance, I can’t quite make myself believe that this wonderful man…will die. Not at some distant unforeseen time, not quietly in his sleep…but painfully, sword in hand but slowly losing his battle. Worn down by years of fighting. And there is NOTHING I can do. Nothing. Apparently, nothing anyone can do. That sad truth brings no comfort. For in fact the things I did NOT learn at his knee were defeat, injustice and acceptance. I have no tools to deal with this new grief. No map to navigate by. No way to fill the gaping hole that will be left behind. I am so sorry for your losses. I know that the basement fiasco should feel small in comparison, but sadly it truly is one more loss. But it can be fixed (even if only eventually). If you find a way to fix the other loss…I hope you will share with all of us. In the meantime, my thoughts are with you and your basement situation will be included in my list of three things I am grateful for. As in (when things get REALLY bad)…”I don’t have leprosy, I am loved, and our basement (so far) is not full of sh**”
All I can contribute is “this too shall pass” . Change is always there, sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. The only thing you can contribute is how you choose to think and act about each change. But however you choose, know that I am always there to support you as best I can. Hugs dear Jen.