Where Did You Come From, Where Did You Go? (Part One)
A brief timeline of depression and excuses
So I disappeared for a while.
In mid 2021, I had developed a plan to chronicle the wild changes that were happening to the comic book industry. I barely managed a month into the proper programming before I let everything fall apart. We’re starting with a chronicle of that time for reasons that I hope will become clear later.
Thank you.
Things started to pull apart with the passing of my Granny in late October of 2021. She’d been lost in the maze of dementia for a few years. The family had said “good-bye” in pieces over time, the slices getting smaller as time marched on.
One of the last times I spoke with her, she proudly and somewhat defiantly told the nurse that I was her grandson, Brandon Schatz, taking great care to say my full name. The rest of our time together was spent navigating back and forth between that day, and several in the past.
At times, I was my father, from shortly after he left my mom. Granny was kind to him, but protective of her daughter. She wanted to know what his mother, my other grandma, thought about what was happening. She wanted to know how the kids were doing. I tried to go along with this. I felt like letting her stay in whatever time she was visiting would be more helpful than trying to wrench her away. It was hard. I learned a lot about things my parents tried to keep away from us kids. I’m still not fully sure I’ve processed all that information.
When my Granny’s brain let her return to the present, she would immediately start crying. She wanted to know why I looked so worried, wanted to know if I was okay. I tried my best to smile and tell her that I was, but she never bought it. She could read the worry on my face, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was worried about her. I thought that would just make her cry even more.
These trips to the present never lasted long. We went off to so many other places. She was mad about the pillows in the house. And could I not bring the things in from the car like she had asked? And “don’t kiss funny women” - all interspersed with the last moments I could squeeze out, holding back tears while hanging on to her hands, trying my hardest not to look worried.
After my dad left, we would eat at Granny’s several times a week. At some points, we lived in their house. After school, we’d talk across the school yard and down a block and a half, where we’d stay at her house until mom was done working. If we had afternoon activities that mom couldn’t get us to, she’d be there to help out. During the summer, we’d spend days with her and Papa at their trailer at Pine Lake. As a kid, this was just life. As an adult, I’ve discovered that these things happened because my family had almost nothing.
Mom was raising two kids and attempting to pay a mortgage on retail wages. Sometimes, we didn’t have enough money for food. Sometimes, we didn’t have money for a vehicle to get us from point a to point b. We didn’t have money for childcare. Granny and Papa took care of us.
That’s not to say my dad didn’t help. My family worked hard to give my sister and I a “normal” life, relatively free of worry. Dad was around more and more as he grew as a person. His parents were a huge part of our lives and helped mom out when she needed, no questions asked. Granny also continued to treat my dad as part of her family. I grew up surrounded by this kindness, and it felt normal. I’ve come to learn that divorce rarely works out the way it did with my family, where sometimes my mom would take care of her ex’s kids if needed. It’s a kindness I know she got from her mother - the same way she inherited the need to say her piece while offering that kindness as well. Granny was always welcome and opening, but would still let you know her thoughts as they came. At the end of the day, she never used those thoughts to be cruel. She needed to get those thoughts out so that she could clear out her brain and just live in kindness.
I feel like that’s why I’m writing this now.
I haven’t been able to write anything in over a year. There’s snarling whispers in my brain, and bits that I feel like I haven’t processed enough to push forward with. I’ve always had a tough time with that.
There’s a reason why I am a professional comics retailer, and not a professional writer. Through out this part year, with all of its wildness, I continued to grind through my day to day at the shop. I couldn’t bring myself to do the same with my writing. I’ve never been able to for a long stretch of time. The worst part? I believe that writing helps me be a better person. It pulls the bad out and keeps my brain on track. Get the thoughts out, live in kindness.
This is what I want for myself. For my 2023 and beyond. A cleaner mind, and a kinder life. These next bits will help me get there, then it is back to doing the hard work of “saving this industry to the ground”1. If you want to skip this bit and come back when we’re neck deep in the comics of it all again, come back here in a couple of weeks for the game plan.
Talk with you all soon.
-B.
Tom Spurgeon, my goodness, how we need you now.