Something Good #20
you're gonna have to be very strong
Hi, I'm Nina Iordanova and this is the 20th edition of Something Good, a newsletter filtered through my 🧠, 🖐, and ❤️. Coming your way every two weeks, I hope you find something good here.
Hi, I’m sorry for disappearing. I haven’t had the heart to write these past few weeks, and still don’t really know how to talk about this.
If you’d prefer not to read something sad and potentially triggering today, skip this one and meet me in two weeks.
*
A month ago, I woke up to a lot of missed calls from my mom. She was still in Bulgaria with our family, and the calls started at 4 AM.
“Hi mom, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Silence.
“It’s bad, Nini, it’s really bad,” she finally said.
There’s only one kind of phone call you get from family at 4 AM.
“Your grandpa passed away, but… it’s really bad. You’re gonna have to go be with your dad for a little while. You’re gonna have to be very strong.”
She couldn’t tell me what really bad meant.
An hour later my brother and I were at my dad’s house, me packed with my laptop, a toothbrush, some clothes, and a jar of chicken soup I’d coincidentally made the night before.
My dad, looking at the thousand bags I’d packed, insisted he was fine, that he didn’t need anyone to stay with him but he did appreciate us coming by.
It’s a weird thing to navigate. In our family, emotional boundaries are blurry. Did he mean it? Would it be better if I went home and gave him the space he needed to grieve?
Unsure, I told him I’d at least stay for the night.
Worst case, it would be a way to show my love, even if it wasn’t needed. Best case, it would be a way to show my love when it was.
*
I ended up staying for ten days.
My dad worked in the basement, I worked in the living room. For breaks, he’d come upstairs and we’d do push ups together in the living room (me, 80, him, 370). On weekends we’d watch French cartoons.
Some afternoons we’d go to a local café just to get out of the house. My dad would wait outside while I brought out one regular Americano, one decaf Americano, one empty cup, and one cream on the side. We’d sit on the patio and use the empty cup to mix our own half regular, half decaf coffees.
We talked about my grandpa, the short memoir he’d written, my dad’s memories of him.
During that time with my dad and through multiple calls with my aunt and mom, we found out what had happened. The really bad part.
It turned out my grandpa had killed himself.
*
When I last saw my grandpa in October, he talked to me about his philosophy on life. How he believed that being happy and finding meaning started with appreciating the small things around you. Like noticing the dew on the grass in the mornings or the smell of a cup of coffee.
That had to be enough to fuel you, he said, especially as you got older. The more attention you could pay to things, the more you’d feel part of the world.
I thought that was a sweet way to approach life and I was happy he’d found a way to navigate the world that felt meaningful to him.
*
The ten days I got to spend with my dad will always feel special to me.
Growing up in a family and culture rooted in self-sufficiency, it feels like an enormous gift to be able to be there, to be allowed to be there, for the people you love.
I miss my grandpa a lot some days.
I miss knowing that someone I was rooted to, regardless of time or distance, is gone.
If I don’t think about it too hard, it still feels like he’s somewhere out there, just a video call away.
Sending love into the atmosphere, and wherever you are.
✨
Warmly yours,
Nina