Tag Archives: death

The Idea of Moving

13 Oct

Originally, moving was not in my game plan. Even still I’m a little reluctant.

The house I live in now kind of fell into my lap. I couldn’t have asked for a more relaxed landlord, but unfortunately I haven’t been living in my house for 7 weeks. Even that hasn’t been a driving factor, and now that I have internet at the place I’m staying, there is pressure to actual go back to reality.

And the reality of it all is that I’m worried that I’ll never be able to get my friends into my house again. I shouldn’t try to appease them, but really…that’s the only reason I have even considered looking for a new place. Everyone thinks its the best idea, and the best thing for me, but all I see is having to move a ton of furniture and stuff, and having to live with strangers and meet people all over again. It’s overwhelming, really…and now, more than ever, I worry about roommates.

If I could find a 1 bedroom house with a yard that accepts pets in my price range, I would jump on it. But that’s so, so hard to find.

What would you do? Should I appease my friends and move, or should I stick to my guns and tell them to get over it?

Death of a Roommate: One Month Later

24 Sep

First of all, this isn’t going to be a life update. I will save that for when everything is finalized and done.

It has actually been a little over a month, but I haven’t really had the time to post an update. In this month (actually 6 weeks on Friday), I lived with a couple I am friends with for a week, and the remainder of the time I have been living with another good friend (bless his heart for putting up with me for so long). My doggy and my kitties are currently living with my parents.

It has been interesting, but definitely not bad.

The reason I haven’t been living in my house is because the insurance company hasn’t come to an agreement on how much they will spend to repair the damages. Three of the four companies who have done quotes for my landlord have given an estimation of 50,000 dollars in repairs to make the house liveable again. Included in that cost are things like carpet replacement, air filtration, and removing asbestos they found in the ceiling (really, universe…really!?).

It almost feels like I am living in some strange dream when I think of how long it has been since I have been misplaced. And sometimes I don’t even know if I really want to go back to reality.

Well, that’s all I have for you…at least until I update you on my actual life, which will come later. And until then, I don’t suppose I will be blogging much more than I currently am.

See you soon [hopefully].

The Roommate Chronicles: Dealing with Death

19 Aug

I’m not sure even where to start.

I guess I can start at the beginning.

At the beginning of this month, I got a new roommate. I saw him every day for a little over a week, and then my life started to get even busier than it already is. Parties, friends, work, friends, stuff…you know how it goes.

Then, as it started to kind of slow down a tiny bit, I noticed something was wrong. I hadn’t seen him recently.

The feeling came as a smell first. Then it came as flies. Then, I panicked.

But I have great friends, and being who I am, sometimes I just need someone to talk me down and make me actually accept the logical reasons I’ve pushed to the back of my mind as actuality, and that’s just what they did.

But then, it was all validated. On Friday night, at just about midnight, the police came to my house, and discovered that my new roommate was dead in his room.

He’d been there for 5 days.

It’s kind of surreal to get that news, no matter how sure you are that’s what is wrong. Going into this situation that night, two of my friends made attempts to find him themselves, and I’m so glad they didn’t. I would feel terrible if they had been traumatized like that because of me.

I’m so thankful that door was locked.

When I started this series, I never imaged that I would be writing about this. And I almost don’t know what else to say.

Death isn’t something I’ve ever really had to cope with, and while this situation is a little different – I didn’t know him – I still need to deal with the situation.

One second, I’m over it and I just want to go home and continue with my normal routine. The next second, I’m clinging to the friends I was with that night, wishing that they never had to leave my side.

I’m currently staying at one of their houses, because my house is kind of uninhabitable at the moment, but as the week wears on I’m not sure what the next step is.

They keep telling me I need to move, but I don’t really feel that’s necessary. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to go back to my house, but the one I’m staying at kind of has an expiration date that’s coming quickly, and the other friend I can stay with will be out of town when that happens. I’m in weird limbo, and I don’t like it.

Maybe I’ll have more to say later. Maybe this is all there is.

30 Day Letter Challenge: Dear Person Who Needs to Forgive Me

24 Jun

Dear Person Who Needs to Forgive Me,

In length, my life is remarkably short, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t done my share of things that were probably on the edge of terrible.

There is one thing, that only you and a select other few people know of, until now at least, that I’ve done that I really, really wish I hadn’t.

Maybe not done, maybe just thought or said. 

Every day I wish you would forgive me. It’s been about 15 years, and still, nothing.

When Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer, I so vividly remember the multiple times I thought I’d tell my parents “I told you so” if they got lung cancer. Every time they lit a cigarette, I was so upset. I thought and maybe even said things that I can’t even get up the courage to say now, and I don’t even know if I told them or if I just kept it to myself.

Regardless…no, Dad. I will not say I told you so. I will not rejoice that you may have gotten a lesson for your years of smoking. I will not be happy if you lose the battle.

But if I did tell you when I was so young, you wouldn’t remember anyway. And you wouldn’t even hold a grudge that needed forgiveness.

I would though. So please, forgive me.

Always, Me

30 Day Letter Challenge: Dear Deceased

22 Jun

Dear Ty,

Yes. You get to be called by your name.

I think about you. Not every day, probably not as often as I should, but here is proof that I do. I talk about you, too.

There is one thing that I look back on every, single time I think about you. It’s kind of weird, but I long for an answer so much and I know I’ll never get one.

What is it, you say?

Let me tell you a story.

One day, the [female] manager of a football team of a small, podunk town was putting away pylons. A really nice boy was helping her. 

He wanted to ask her a question, and being naturally curious, she of course told him he could ask her anything. With a pause, the boy said 

“what’s your name?”

It was obviously not what he had wanted to ask, but no matter how much she pressure the boy to ask her his real question, he continued his strange behavior and refused to ask her the real question.

Ty. What did you want to ask me that night? Had I been less socially awkward and better able to read people, I would have handled the situation better, but I wasn’t and I couldn’t so I didn’t.

Of course I have my speculations. The only thing I could think that someone would be afraid to ask is if I would date them. That’s super scary. I’m pretty forward with my questions, though, so it probably could have been anything.

I think back to that moment a lot, and I wish that if that was what you were going to ask me…that you had.

I would have said yes.

And thinking about that always makes me think of so many other memories I had with you. There was the day when you poured a bucket of ice water on me. Or the day when you gave me a ride home, and out of habit I tried to kiss you on the cheek and said “I love you”. And way, way back in kindergarten, I defended your choice of underwear when the other boys made fun of you because you wore briefs, not boxers.

Oh, Ty. I’m sorry. But you’ll always be in my thoughts.

Always, Me

“If You Have Suicidal Thoughts…”

11 Jun

As I was watching TV this evening, I realized that the scariest thing about any medication is what it can do to you that you can’t control.

I discovered this while watching a commercial about Abilify, which is a medication you take while you’re taking anti-depressants to help decrease the depression that may still exist. As with all anti-depressants, one of the warnings in the commercial says tell your doctor if you have suicidal thoughts or actions.

You should definitely tell your doctor. But what if you don’t? What if you fail to realize that these thoughts are in anyway not of your own control?

It’s so scary to me to think about being on a medication like this, getting these thoughts, and acting on them when really, I was depressed but not suicidal before I started taking the medications.

Do you think there are people who have committed suicide only because their medication was effecting their brain chemistry? What’s something that scares you about medications? 

A Shooting in Colorful Colorado

21 Jul

 

Its unfortunate when I have to blog about things like this, and its even more unfortunate that anyone has to be subjected to the events that occurred last night at the Aurora movie theater. 13 people were killed by a gunman while watching The Dark Knight Rises, and many others were injured. It was one of the worst the US has seen since 2007.

Usually, things like this are so distant from me, that it is sad, but not personal. I’ve actually been to that theater, and a good friends brother was there last night. Its strange to think that someone I know could have been killed.

Have you ever been in a shooting or known someone who has? Thoughts?

What Would Heaven be Like?

3 Jul

 

Just humor me for a second. Lets all assume that heaven exists.

Personally, I don’t believe in heaven or hell (especially as they are traditionally believed), but I’ve often thought that if they did exist, heaven would be designed as a place that is personally most desirable. I like to think of mine as a serene, quiet place filled with nature. Aside from any people or animals that might be there, I picture it to be a warm meadow with a wooded area to one side. Through the meadow runs a slow moving stream, which I can sit next to and dip my feet in if I choose. The sky is vast and blue, and there is a gentle breeze moving through the grass.

Do you think heaven exists as a personal place, or something else? What would your heaven look like?

Human Euthanasia: Could It Be a Good Thing?

28 May

 

Euthanasia of animals in controversial, even among those who love animals more than anything else. The reason it gets done is because there aren’t enough homes for all of the lovely animals in this world, and because urban environments allow populations of animals to grow past carrying capacity, which causes suffering of the animals.

There was once a man, Jack Kevorkian, who believed that human euthanasia could be useful. He wasn’t alone, and he never will be alone in that belief. The problem with human euthanasia is the need for a system to designate what would be within the law, and what would not. The circumstances under which human euthanasia would be acceptable could range from requests by terminally ill patients looking to end their own suffering, to requests by depressed patients who would otherwise lead a normal life. Beyond that, human euthanasia could be applied to those not contributing to society, or cause us to make judgment calls about the quality of life for extremely mentally or physically disabled people. We also have a tendency to be more attached to humans than we do animals, and the grieving process takes longer, so the lives of those who know the person in question would also need to be taken into account.

Keep in mind, we already use euthanasia to end the lives of prisoners. 

It could very well have the same implications that animal euthanasia does. It could decrease the amount that humans have overpopulated the world, which would help to decrease suffering not only in underdeveloped countries, but even our own back yards. The sick would no longer have to suffer, and those who wanted to end their pain, would have the option.

What do you think about human euthanasia? Do you think that terminally ill patients who may be suffering should have the right to choose their own fate? What kind of regulations would you propose if it was legal? Do you think capital punishment should be outlawed?

Genevieve: A Story

22 May

She was a great mom. Or at least she would’ve been.

It was Spring, and the Earth wanted everyone to know. The flowers were blossoming, and the trees were just coming out of their winter slumber. Life was everywhere, and Genevieve was no exception. Her womb was ripe with life, right alongside the gophers that plagued her garden and the birds who had just built their nest in the newly green tree outside her kitchen window.  She had a good life for herself, and it was true that she would be raising her twins alone, but she would give them a good life also.

There wasn’t a day that went by throughout her pregnancy that Genevieve didn’t rejoice in the feeling of her babies within her. It was only a few more weeks before she could bring them home with her, and begin her newest life chapter. She was lucky enough to be able to take leave from work once the babies were born, but the strain on her body grew every day. Some days she would get home and be unable to even keep herself awake long enough to make sure the house was clean, or to double-check the doors to make sure they were locked. That was the life of a single mother. She probably could’ve gotten help, but she was a strong woman. One day was especially taxing. Genevieve got home late, and sat on her bed to take the shoes off of her tired, swollen feet. She laid back and began to rub them. It was easier this way. She hoped to comfort them; she was sorry they must carry her burden. And then she was asleep.

She awoke to strange, unfamiliar sounds around her. It was rustling, and maybe the sounds of other people, but she couldn’t help but be baffled by why they were in her house, and terrified at what they might want with her. Genevieve groggily opened her eyes, hoping that she wouldn’t see anyone staring back at her. Nothing. That was hopeful, but then she realized that she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t in her house. There were bars, and nothing else. Outside these bars was nothing but a plain, gray wall adorned with nothing but a single sign. She tried to read it, but couldn’t. It looked as if someone had made up a language.  Her room was the same dull gray as outside the room, with even less decoration. Her bed was moderately comfortable, and probably the most comforting thing so far. Her thoughts drew away from her vision, and she began to focus on what she was hearing.

It sounded like the creak of a bed. It sounded like someone, or something pacing. Genevieve decided to call out to whomever may be around, in hopes that they could explain the situation. She called out, but nothing escaped her lips. She called out again, but nothing. Perhaps they had taken her voice while she was sleeping, or perhaps the terror that filled her mind did not want her to speak. She tried to let out one more sound, and again was unable to utter a single syllable. Genevieve could feel tears of desperation welling up inside her. The terror of it all was almost unbearable, but then she felt a familiar kick. It was either little Andrew or Elizabeth trying to get her attention. Maybe they were trying to tell Mommy to calm down, that it will be alright, or at least that’s what Genevieve believed. She took a few, deep breaths, and allowed herself to think.

It wasn’t long before they visited her. They were the ones that took her; she didn’t trust them. They brought her food, and decent food at that. Sometimes it was chicken and a salad, and other times it was beef and potatoes. She started counting the days with the number of meals she got, and just hoped that it was three each day. They seemed close enough together that they had to be. Days went by, and each day was exactly like the one before. They brought her food, and she devoured it. They brought her a puzzle, and she completed it. She began to trust them. She hadn’t wanted to at first, but surely they would’ve hurt her by now if they’d wanted to. Maybe trusting them was the key to going home. With Genevieve’s growing trust came growing concern for what would happen when she went into labor. This room wasn’t fit for having babies, or raising babies. Time was not on her side.

Then, a day came that was different than all the rest. They came into her room, and that was something that had not happened before. Not only did they enter through the bars, but they grabbed her by her arms and began ushering her out. They had taken her once, and now they were taking her again. Genevieve didn’t like it and she resisted, but she could only do so much before she put Andrew and Elizabeth in danger. She finally stopped struggling. She let them take her.

As they moved past the other rooms, she could see that what she had been hearing this whole time was other people. Their rooms looked identical to hers, but she felt something different about them all. It was a calm that she hadn’t felt, and still didn’t feel. Maybe that was her mistake. Maybe she didn’t trust them enough, and now they were taking her to a place no one comes back from. Thoughts raced through her head as they took her down the long, gray hallway. Two more of them opened a door, and they were in a room that was different than all the rest.

This room was red, and it had things in it. There were a lot of things, and it struck her to be something of a doctors office. Her realization only made her anxious. Genevieve looked around and took in her surroundings. Nothing looked especially dangerous, but her babies weren’t ready for this world. Genevieve wasn’t sick, either. They never lost their grip on her arms. Suddenly, the two who held open the door grabbed her ankles, and she was being lifted from the ground, swung almost. They were strong. They laid her on a table in the center of the room; Genevieve began to struggle. She twisted and she thrashed around, but to no avail. They quickly overpowered her, and strapped her to the table. Almost immediately, they left and locked all the doors. She didn’t understand, until she began to smell something.

It was a chemical smell, and it was filling the room. Her mind raced, but then almost as if someone had flipped a switch, she began to feel calm, and sleepy.

Genevieve woke up back in the room. The thoughts that filled her head were fuzzy, and dreamlike. It must’ve been a terrible, terrible nightmare. She reached down and placed her hand on her giant tummy, in hopes that Andrew or Elizabeth would give a soft kick, but they weren’t there. Genevieve panicked and sat up. She looked down and there wasn’t a big pregnant belly there any longer. Her womb felt hollow. She frantically jumped off the bed and ravaged her clothing to see if her stomach would offer answers. She got the answer she didn’t want; it was a new, red cut sewn neatly back together. They had taken them. She was dizzy, and as she sat back down, she realized the only thing she knew for certain was that her babies were not here, nor were they in the room they had taken her to. They had murdered her babies.

Days passed as they had before, but Genevieve now felt empty. She stopped eating, and she stopped doing their puzzles. She couldn’t fathom how they expected her to just continue on as if nothing had happened. Her depression soon turned to anger. It was their fault she was here, and it was their fault she felt this way. It was their fault her babies never got to feel her embrace. She began to lash out every time one of them passed. She would jump at them and stick her arms through the bars to swing at them. She wanted them to feel her pain.

More time went by, when one day, one of them came into her room again. It was only one of them. Genevieve was ushered out, more gently than before, and was taken to a new room. It was her only shot to make them feel what she felt, but she knew that they must trust her. She was more than pleasant the entire walk to the new room, and was quite calm as she was guided into it. This one was bigger, with a bigger bed, but the same gray walls. She sat down, and the one that guided her motioned for her to wait. She complied. The one came back, and was carrying a new set of clothing. As the door opened, Genevieve seized her opportunity. She lunged at the one, using all of her rage to give her the strength she needed. She struck, and she bit, and she tore. She used all of her energy, and then fell, crumpled on the floor. The one closed the bars, and left.

Genevieve knew that this was it. She knew the consequences of her actions, but she didn’t care. The only thing she had in this world was her two, lovely little babies living inside of her, and now they were gone. She would never get them back. That’s why she didn’t struggle when they took her down the long hallway. That’s why she didn’t struggle when they strapped her to the table the second time. She accepted it; she knew peace would be soon. They left as they had before, and locked all the doors. This time, the room began to fill with another smell. This time, it was pleasantly sweet. It reminded her of her childhood. Genevieve breathed the scent deeply, and began to feel foggy. It wasn’t the same calmness she had felt before. She felt tired, but strained to stay awake. She strained to think clearly, but she could not. She closed her eyes. I was a great mom.