I keep having these moments where I need to ask my mom something...something that only she knows, and I can't.
They're the worst.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
get my goat
You know what really pisses me off? (besides these stupid acrylic nails that make every other word a typo)
People. In general. All these people, in and out of my home, people who weren't here before, who weren't here when my mother was ill, who didn't donate money to help her get better but will donate towards a funeral, who will sit and talk about what the funeral parlors do to prepare the dead (because never fucking mind that it's my MOTHER you're talking about), and who will try to tell me how to run my own household. Who tell me to be strong when I want to cry. Who tell me to cry when I want to be strong. Who tell me about God and how I can lean on him but does he have a corporeal body that can hold me? NO.
Fucking people. Piss me the hell off. And I don't swear, but I have HAD IT.
I'm not letting anyone into my house anymore. I don't care what their purpose is. If they're not my direct blood relative, or know that they've made it onto my best friends list, then they are no longer welcome. Not when I'm home alone and have to play hostess.
Bull.
I was so upset yesterday. And then stupid me, stupid little me with no guts or whatever, didn't have the courage to speak up and tell them to shut up. To ask them if they had really thought about the words that were coming out of their mouth. I hate Jamaicans. I know that's a really wide generalization to make, but I at least hate most of them. Because they all seem to lack two vital things: 1. A brain-mouth filter, and 2. Discretion.
Instead of speaking up for myself, I sat there and tried to be strong. Tried not to think about needles going through my mother's lips pulling her face up into a grotesque imitation of a smile. Syringes filled with water plumping out her cheeks. For what? So that we can have an open casket? So that people can come and ogle her dead body? She's not fucking in there anymore. That's not her. I held her hand as she left....so what are you going to see? A corpse?
I'm supposed to stand up there next to a dead body...the dead body of my mother and read out psalms and obituaries and have a bunch of strangers come and hug me? The fuck? No.
I just want to skip out on the whole thing entirely, have her be buried, and then I'll actually have some place where I can go and sit and be quiet and be alone.
Wouldn't be surprised if people came out of the woodwork to say, "oh, let's go keep her company at the graveside each morning."
I really hate people.
And this one person in particular, who had the nerves to tell me that my mother asked her to look after me.
Ahem. Number one, you didn't speak to my mother for at least a month before she died.
Number two, my mother only spoke of getting well up until she went to sleep and couldn't wake up about four days before she died. So when would she have asked you to look after me in case she didn't make it? I know my mother. You don't. She would never have said that. So don't come up to me, lying barefacedly and try to give me hugs and kisses...NO. And I'm not going to call you if I need help, I'm not going to call you if I need to talk, because even if my mother had wanted you to look after me (a 27 year old with a bachelors degree and three jobs, who still has her father alive...yeah, I need looking after) you're not the person I would ever choose to confide in.
I can read people. I might make stupid decisions sometimes because I go AGAINST my better judgment, but I honestly can't think of a time where I have read a person wrong. So there. She just feels guilty and she's trying to make up for it by wiggling her way into my life. She can go and take care of her own kids, thank you very much, all of whom still need a mother since they're teenagers and below.
I can't believe it. I can't believe the audacity of people, and I can't believe my situation.
It all sucks, round about it all. I can't wait for it to be over.
People. In general. All these people, in and out of my home, people who weren't here before, who weren't here when my mother was ill, who didn't donate money to help her get better but will donate towards a funeral, who will sit and talk about what the funeral parlors do to prepare the dead (because never fucking mind that it's my MOTHER you're talking about), and who will try to tell me how to run my own household. Who tell me to be strong when I want to cry. Who tell me to cry when I want to be strong. Who tell me about God and how I can lean on him but does he have a corporeal body that can hold me? NO.
Fucking people. Piss me the hell off. And I don't swear, but I have HAD IT.
I'm not letting anyone into my house anymore. I don't care what their purpose is. If they're not my direct blood relative, or know that they've made it onto my best friends list, then they are no longer welcome. Not when I'm home alone and have to play hostess.
Bull.
I was so upset yesterday. And then stupid me, stupid little me with no guts or whatever, didn't have the courage to speak up and tell them to shut up. To ask them if they had really thought about the words that were coming out of their mouth. I hate Jamaicans. I know that's a really wide generalization to make, but I at least hate most of them. Because they all seem to lack two vital things: 1. A brain-mouth filter, and 2. Discretion.
Instead of speaking up for myself, I sat there and tried to be strong. Tried not to think about needles going through my mother's lips pulling her face up into a grotesque imitation of a smile. Syringes filled with water plumping out her cheeks. For what? So that we can have an open casket? So that people can come and ogle her dead body? She's not fucking in there anymore. That's not her. I held her hand as she left....so what are you going to see? A corpse?
I'm supposed to stand up there next to a dead body...the dead body of my mother and read out psalms and obituaries and have a bunch of strangers come and hug me? The fuck? No.
I just want to skip out on the whole thing entirely, have her be buried, and then I'll actually have some place where I can go and sit and be quiet and be alone.
Wouldn't be surprised if people came out of the woodwork to say, "oh, let's go keep her company at the graveside each morning."
I really hate people.
And this one person in particular, who had the nerves to tell me that my mother asked her to look after me.
Ahem. Number one, you didn't speak to my mother for at least a month before she died.
Number two, my mother only spoke of getting well up until she went to sleep and couldn't wake up about four days before she died. So when would she have asked you to look after me in case she didn't make it? I know my mother. You don't. She would never have said that. So don't come up to me, lying barefacedly and try to give me hugs and kisses...NO. And I'm not going to call you if I need help, I'm not going to call you if I need to talk, because even if my mother had wanted you to look after me (a 27 year old with a bachelors degree and three jobs, who still has her father alive...yeah, I need looking after) you're not the person I would ever choose to confide in.
I can read people. I might make stupid decisions sometimes because I go AGAINST my better judgment, but I honestly can't think of a time where I have read a person wrong. So there. She just feels guilty and she's trying to make up for it by wiggling her way into my life. She can go and take care of her own kids, thank you very much, all of whom still need a mother since they're teenagers and below.
I can't believe it. I can't believe the audacity of people, and I can't believe my situation.
It all sucks, round about it all. I can't wait for it to be over.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
travel necessities
- comfy airplane clothes: comfy v-neck shirt, stylish sweatpants, sneakers, blanket scarf, cardigan
- adapter for charger
- download seasons of fave show onto device
- camera/accessories
- decent carry on bag
- suitcase with wheels (maybe unnecessary)
- backpack (can everything fit into a backpack?)
- sketchbook and pens
- giant bottle of water (is that legal?)
- hair in twists
- bare necessities (advil, excedrin, vitamins, tampons, etc.)
- minimalist outfits
- teeny bit of makeup
- nook with two new good books downloaded and at least one favorite
- blue fluffy pillow/stuffed animal
happiness?
It's my first real day back at work, where I'm really trying to be an adult and be strong and all that other bull crap.
One of my coworkers gave me a small vase with a cloth flower in it, and on the vase is this simple phrase: "choose happiness."
What does that mean? Or more specifically, what does that mean for me? It doesn't mean staying here, crunching numbers and filing papers. What makes me happy is creating. Writing. Specifically writing.
I suppose that means I should set aside some time in the mornings to do that. Especially since it's spring now, which means loads of rainy days on the way. But I don't want to find myself back here come September. Two and a half years will be more than enough.
More than enough.
One of my coworkers gave me a small vase with a cloth flower in it, and on the vase is this simple phrase: "choose happiness."
What does that mean? Or more specifically, what does that mean for me? It doesn't mean staying here, crunching numbers and filing papers. What makes me happy is creating. Writing. Specifically writing.
I suppose that means I should set aside some time in the mornings to do that. Especially since it's spring now, which means loads of rainy days on the way. But I don't want to find myself back here come September. Two and a half years will be more than enough.
More than enough.
Friday, March 18, 2016
She's gone.
It's been ten days, but for me it feels like two days and ten years. At the same time.
I couldn't eat that first day. Or the next. I also didn't know I was capable of breaking down and screaming on the floor...so that it took three people to drag me up. That happened when the funeral parlor minions came to remove her body.
I didn't sleep that night either. I slipped in and out of consciousness, but I was constantly hyper aware of everything around me. Calvin spent the night, and if he wasn't holding me it felt like my rib cage was falling apart.
I held her hand while it happened. I'd wanted that. I didn't want her to die alone, and I didn't want to not be there by her side. Now I can't believe she's gone.
How can she not be here? She must be at the hospital. Or spending the night at someone's house. She must still be alive somewhere. She can't be dead. Nope. Not possible.
I'm going to wake up one day, and she'll be standing outside my bedroom door asking me why my alarm has been going off for so long and am I going to go to work today?
I keep waiting for that.
Now I'm at a loss, because I'm so bloody needy, and I didn't want to be, but I'm vulnerable and it's not good.
It's like I always need someone to sit next to me so I can lean on them because just having a warm body next to me is comforting. But at the same time there's only two people that I actually want to lean on: my brother and Calvin.
I guess it wasn't real. Everything must have been a dream. All I'm getting is hugs from people I don't really want to be around. I'd rather just have my dad and my brother and it bugs me that I don't feel truly comfortable or at ease unless Calvin is around.
Where do I go from here?
My heart hurts.
It's been ten days, but for me it feels like two days and ten years. At the same time.
I couldn't eat that first day. Or the next. I also didn't know I was capable of breaking down and screaming on the floor...so that it took three people to drag me up. That happened when the funeral parlor minions came to remove her body.
I didn't sleep that night either. I slipped in and out of consciousness, but I was constantly hyper aware of everything around me. Calvin spent the night, and if he wasn't holding me it felt like my rib cage was falling apart.
I held her hand while it happened. I'd wanted that. I didn't want her to die alone, and I didn't want to not be there by her side. Now I can't believe she's gone.
How can she not be here? She must be at the hospital. Or spending the night at someone's house. She must still be alive somewhere. She can't be dead. Nope. Not possible.
I'm going to wake up one day, and she'll be standing outside my bedroom door asking me why my alarm has been going off for so long and am I going to go to work today?
I keep waiting for that.
Now I'm at a loss, because I'm so bloody needy, and I didn't want to be, but I'm vulnerable and it's not good.
It's like I always need someone to sit next to me so I can lean on them because just having a warm body next to me is comforting. But at the same time there's only two people that I actually want to lean on: my brother and Calvin.
I guess it wasn't real. Everything must have been a dream. All I'm getting is hugs from people I don't really want to be around. I'd rather just have my dad and my brother and it bugs me that I don't feel truly comfortable or at ease unless Calvin is around.
Where do I go from here?
My heart hurts.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Correction
I said something in a recent post that I regret. I take it back.
My mother is dying, but now I can't bear to be away from her. It breaks my heart to see her like this. A skeleton with skin on. Barely able to speak at more than a whisper. I need for her to be okay, to be the mom I remember who is full of life and vitality. I'm sitting by her bedside now, and I'm constantly checking to make sure she's still breathing. I suppose if she stops I'll try to wake her, but I won't try to have them revive her. At this point, that would be cruel.
When she's not drugged, she's in so much pain.
Why? I mean, I know we all have to go sometime, I guess it'll be my turn one day. But I hope it's fast for me. But she's only 56 years old. I don't even have kids yet for her to dote on them and let them get away with everything. Who is going to be my matron of honor at my wedding (if I ever get married)?
At least she saw me graduate. I really wanted that. And we've lived in a house. And I haven't moved out...she didn't want me to, and at least I'm here.
There are some people who still have faith. That she'll recover, I mean. And I guess...Lazarus died, and THEN Jesus brought him back. But...I don't know. I was so sure. I thought Jesus was going to heal her. I thought we could beat this thing with raw vegetables and supplements.
She has so much undone. That I know she wants to do.
I can't picture myself without a mother. I'd feel like an orphan. And that's probably stupid because I'm 27 years old, but that's what it feels like.
My brother finally came to visit today. It made her so happy. I was happy too.
I've had a theory: that she has been holding on to get to see him again. I dunno.
It felt a little strange to have the whole family together again under one roof, just us four. Like when I was little. I wish it was under better circumstances.
I'm afraid it's my fault. I know that's a dangerous path to go down, but I can't help but wonder if my begging her to try radiation and chemo have contributed to this coming back with such a vengeance. And just...she was in so much pain for months from the radiation. It's all so hard.
Just checked again. Still breathing.
I found Family Radio on my computer and have it on in the background for her. It sounds like old times, and it comforts me too. I've missed it.
She sleeps with her eyes half open now. Her mouth hangs open as well. It's so hard to look at, yet I can barely tear my eyes away. Every moment with her is precious. If I'm away, there's a burning in my chest, like an ache that won't stop.
I don't know what it's going to be like, losing her. But I just hope that I've lived up to her expectations and made her proud. I love her so much. So, so much. No one can ever replace her.
She's my mom.
My mother is dying, but now I can't bear to be away from her. It breaks my heart to see her like this. A skeleton with skin on. Barely able to speak at more than a whisper. I need for her to be okay, to be the mom I remember who is full of life and vitality. I'm sitting by her bedside now, and I'm constantly checking to make sure she's still breathing. I suppose if she stops I'll try to wake her, but I won't try to have them revive her. At this point, that would be cruel.
When she's not drugged, she's in so much pain.
Why? I mean, I know we all have to go sometime, I guess it'll be my turn one day. But I hope it's fast for me. But she's only 56 years old. I don't even have kids yet for her to dote on them and let them get away with everything. Who is going to be my matron of honor at my wedding (if I ever get married)?
At least she saw me graduate. I really wanted that. And we've lived in a house. And I haven't moved out...she didn't want me to, and at least I'm here.
There are some people who still have faith. That she'll recover, I mean. And I guess...Lazarus died, and THEN Jesus brought him back. But...I don't know. I was so sure. I thought Jesus was going to heal her. I thought we could beat this thing with raw vegetables and supplements.
She has so much undone. That I know she wants to do.
I can't picture myself without a mother. I'd feel like an orphan. And that's probably stupid because I'm 27 years old, but that's what it feels like.
My brother finally came to visit today. It made her so happy. I was happy too.
I've had a theory: that she has been holding on to get to see him again. I dunno.
It felt a little strange to have the whole family together again under one roof, just us four. Like when I was little. I wish it was under better circumstances.
I'm afraid it's my fault. I know that's a dangerous path to go down, but I can't help but wonder if my begging her to try radiation and chemo have contributed to this coming back with such a vengeance. And just...she was in so much pain for months from the radiation. It's all so hard.
Just checked again. Still breathing.
I found Family Radio on my computer and have it on in the background for her. It sounds like old times, and it comforts me too. I've missed it.
She sleeps with her eyes half open now. Her mouth hangs open as well. It's so hard to look at, yet I can barely tear my eyes away. Every moment with her is precious. If I'm away, there's a burning in my chest, like an ache that won't stop.
I don't know what it's going to be like, losing her. But I just hope that I've lived up to her expectations and made her proud. I love her so much. So, so much. No one can ever replace her.
She's my mom.
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