Tag Archives: dying

Dear Dad [Rest in Peace]

26 Dec

DSC00466

Dear Dad,

I called you dad, pa, daddy, Roberto, papa. You called me Michelleeanna, Annie, hot rod…Anner Nanner.

You’ve been the best father that a girl could hope for, and you’ve been with me through every moment of my life, big or small. As we go through your belongings, we find things that bring back the best memories…memories I’ll cherish the rest of my life. You may be gone in body, now, but you’ll never be gone in spirit.

The day of my wedding, you’ll be there.
The day I finally buy a house, you’ll be there.
The day I graduate with my next degree…you’ll be there.

You live on in me and my sister, our mother, and your grand children.

I find solace knowing that you are finally at peace, and that your pain has ended. You fought a good fight, Dad, and I knew that no matter the outcome, the day you told me I’m going to fight this damn cancer  that everything would be okay. And I know that as much as I love you, and I admire you that you love me and are proud of me.

Everything I’ve done until this day, and everything I’ll do in the future is to make you and Mom proud of me. You are such a major part of who I are, and who I’ve become. You’re the fire to my phoenix.

I know that you held on as long as you did for us, to make sure we were ready and that we would be okay once you were gone. Thank you for that. I know it was a hard, long struggle. I know you were worried. But we will be okay. I got to spend one last Christmas with my papa, even if you were only hanging on by a thread, even if you couldn’t sit with us next to the Christmas tree…I got to sing Christmas carols to you, and buy you one last Christmas present, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.

I’ll miss you. I love you.

Give ’em hell, Dad

Rest in Peace
12.26.14
2:19 pm

When “Alone” Doesn’t Begin to Cover It: Being the “Balanced” One

2 Dec

Over Thanksgiving, I was once again reminded of my role in the family: the balanced one. I don’t know how I got stuck with that title, but it appears I have no choice. My sister and my mother can’t seem to stand each other. One owes the other, and one can’t see that she’ll never be repaid. They are both anxious and nervous, and can’t seem to talk to one another even on the eve of my fathers death.

So Mom comes to me to cry about everything because my sister isn’t talking to her. My sister comes to me to cry about everything because she isn’t talking to my mom. No one seems to be able to remain calm but me.

Balance.

Being the balanced one means I don’t get a lot of time to be unbalanced, which sometimes I so desperately need. I have to be balanced, because if I become unhinged like everyone else, the world plummets into chaos. And I can’t handle chaos.

It’s lonely when you’re balanced.

My mother told me something on the phone the other day that I just can’t seem to shake. I know it’s true, and I know that means I’ll be alone. She told me, when talking about the grief counselor that hospice sends over once a week, that herself, my sister, and I will each need someone to be our rock on that day, and that my mom doesn’t think she will be able to do it.

I haven’t heard such a truthful statement.

And on that day, I will be the loneliest, most alone person on the planet. My mom has the grief counselor, my sister has her husband, and me…well…

I have no one.

But I’m the balanced one. And the balanced one must remain balanced, so naturally I will use logic to assess my emotions, that my emotions are valid, that death is necessary and predictable, and that having no one is a result of being balanced. Because only the balanced one can be okay without someone else to balance for them.

And on that day, I fear nothing more than my entire family becoming unhinged and estranged from one another, simply because the person who made the balanced person balance, is gone.

Quote 22 Oct

Every time I tell someone that I want to get married soon, they say that I have all the time in the world. That I don’t need to rush. What they don’t understand is that the single most important thing to me about getting married is having my father walk me down the aisle. And for that…I have 2 months.

The Changing of the Seasons

27 Sep

 

It’s that time of year again…fall. Often fondly known as Autumn.

It is the favorite time of year of many. Everywhere I go people remark how beautiful it is and how much they love it. And I’m inclined to agree.

But no. It isn’t.

My brain says I love it. I step outside and the sun is at an angle that makes the whole world feel warmer and cozier. The trees are turning brilliant shades of golds and oranges and reds. The nights are cool, but the days are still warm. It’s absolutely brilliant.

My heart, however, does not seem to agree.

When I step outside, I get this horrible sinking feeling. I want to go for a walk or take the dog out, or just sit outside, but I can never bring myself to do so. Sometimes I just want to cry, but most of the time I just want to run back inside and close myself up from the world…maybe take a nap until summer. I wanted to go look at the aspens changing colors today, but then I changed my mind. Decided I didn’t want to leave my house or see people. Then, I feel like I’ve wasted a perfectly beautiful day by spending it inside doing nothing.

That is why fall isn’t my favorite.

What’s your favorite season? Are you ready for another year to be over?

Death of a Roommate: One Year Later

16 Aug

It has officially been a whole year since the discovery of my roommate, dead upstairs, having been laying there for over a week.

Technically it’s not a full year until about 11:30, but still.

This year has probably been the worst year of my life, having had to deal with being homeless for so long, going into and out of relationships, losing friend and having other move away, and having my parents in poor health. Moving has been hard, as adjusting to a new job has been. But I’m optimistic.

I’m looking today to be the end of awful, and the beginning of getting my life back in order.

The death of my roommate has effected me much more than I ever could have imagined, but it has been so subtle it’s deceptive.

At the beginning of this week (the anniversary of him actually killing himself), I made a sudden realization that caused my sleep to be poor for the following days. Saying that I lived with a dead body for a week doesn’t even begin to cover the horror of it. Saying that I lived with a decaying corpse does. Where there are flies, there are maggots, and that is a visual that I am glad only exists vaguely in my mind.

To think the gruesome occurrences that unfolded upstairs went completely unnoticed makes me shudder, and to think that perhaps had I been more available, it might not have happened at all. (But no, I don’t blame myself. To be perfectly honest, I feel quite bitter toward my former roommate, who had only lived with us for about a week.)

Going into this new year, I believe that I’ve reached a point at which I can move forward comfortable, and settle back into the things that were once normal. I know that at least some of you have noticed I haven’t been writing almost at all. I haven’t been sewing. It’s as though I’ve been suspended in time for this year, and now I’m finally able to move forward again.

Tonight, I was supposed to retrace the steps I took that fateful evening, to hopefully accomplish something of a sort of rewriting that memory so that this day no longer holds the connotation it holds now. I was going to go to the same restaurant and bar we went to, with the friends who accompanied me through that night’s events. It was really important to me, and much to my dismay, they couldn’t join me.

I was going to go anyway, because even though they didn’t feel it important that they were there, it was important for me to go. As much as I wanted to hope, I’m not on their list of priorities. Due to circumstances outside of my control, however, I’ve been stranded here, so I am unable to retrace my steps.

It’s okay. Mostly because there is currently no one dead in my house right now.

And here is to tomorrow, that while trying, will be a new year with new adventures.

 

May my former roommate rest in peace.

It’s [Finally] Over.

25 Apr

On August 16, 2013, my roommate was discovered dead in his room.

With the help of a few friends, I was able to make any attempt to get life back to normal.

And today, 8 months later, I turned in my key to my old landlord, and got the last of my belongings we could find, and I got my deposit back.

I, also, went into the room he died in for the first time since the incident. I never saw the room after he died, and luckily my friends weren’t the ones to find him, but it still took me some courage to go upstairs and go in. Even when I had to gather my bathroom items in the few days after we found him, I sprinted into the bathroom (across from his room) and sprinted out without so much as a glance.

Now, the last image of his room is one that looks lived in, and well taken care of, by the new tenants. And I don’t know what I was feeling, but I had to make an effort not to cry the second I walked in. Of course, I cried after I left the house, but it’s done.

With any amount of luck (I think we can all agree the universe has it out for me), this will never happen to me again, and I can do nothing more than hope that no one has to go through this.

 

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