Grief and Mourning

I've never learned how to gracefully lose someone. Maybe that's some kind of oxymoron. Maybe there's no delicate way to grieve.

Any of you that actually spend the time it takes to read these bullshit, melodramatic posts know that I lost my grandfather in September. You know that I worshiped him more devoutly than some people ever worship their God. He was invincible, immortal to me. And then, he took us all aside for a family meeting last July, the tenth, to be exact.

"I've been holdin' off tellin' y'all this for a while now. I've been diagnosed with Leukemia." he said. The silence that fell on the room was as dense and cold as fog.

Then it broke.

Tears fell like rain all around. My mother and sister were sitting on the couch across the room from me. They clung to each other fiercely, like they were drowning. My grandmother just looked at him in shock, her mouth a bit slack. My uncle stood and rushed out of the room. His wife looked at my grandfather and said, in complete disbelief:

"That's why you were asking so much about my mother." or something along those lines. I wanted her to be quiet. My world was ending. She didn't have any place to talk.

I couldn't cry, however. I had to be strong for him. He couldn't see me cry. Not when I could see the deep creases at the corner of his eye filling with tears. That doesn't mean that my own tears weren't sliding down my face, stealing away from my eyes. I smudged them away as quickly as I could with the back of my hand. Then, I watched him blot at the trapped tears on his own face with a wad of tissues, as casually as if he just had a speck of ash in his eye.

He then told us that he had known about it for over a year, since the previous April. He said that he didn't want us to do anything differently, to not worry about him, that he was going to go back to work for as long as he could.

The world swirled around me in vivid splashes of color that hurt me, in hazes of black and grey that brought numbness and the comfort of nothingness. I could only hear his voice, hear the unspoken fact that he was going to die and leave us. That my God was falling from his place and becoming a mere mortal.

At some point, I realized that my sister, my uncle, and my grandmother were all sitting around me in my chair beside him. It's a large white chair, part of the set that my great-grandmother had in the house when I was in junior high. I had my legs curled under myself, leaning on the left arm of it, leaning toward him. My sister was sitting in front of me, curled around me. My grandmother was sitting next to her, her arms around both of us. My uncle was on the floor in front of me, leaning back and I had a hand on his shoulder. My grandfather looked over at me, trying to comfort the three of them simultaneously. He nodded a little, just once. The look said that I had it handled and he trusted me to be able to take care of them.

That look, more than anything else that he had said that night, cracked my soul. I had been devastated before, but that look made me bleed. I just met his eyes and put on my bravest face. I couldn't disappoint him, and I couldn't hurt him more than he was already hurting. No one wants to make their entire family cry because they're dying. No one wants to be there when people start mourning over them.

I realized today that I felt safe when he was alive, even after I realized that he wasn't infallible. There was just some kind of inner security that I felt. And now, I can really only get that feeling when I'm surrounded by my closest friends and I have some sort of physical contact with them. When I don't, I feel vulnerable and fragile and alone. Even when I'm in the same room with them. It doesn't matter where I am, or what I'm doing. I feel vulnerable, fragile, alone. And I hate it. I should be able to take care of myself, should be able to hold myself together better than this. I'm capable. I'm not weak. I'm not a victim in any sense of the word and there's no one on the planet that can make me into one. But I just feel so vulnerable now that he's gone.

I've never felt vulnerable before. Ever. Not a single moment in my life. And now, this is crushing me. It's hard for me to deal with because I've always been taught to be strong. It's really hard to be both strong and vulnerable. It might even be impossible.

And I'm just going to have to learn how to deal with it, because this is life and it's not easy.

On The Nature Of Possession

You thought this was going to be something deep and scholarly, didn't you?

Gotcha.

No, this is about the other night. A friend of mine, a very good friend of mine, is going through some rough stuff in his life. I told him to stand up and hug me. I told him that I love him, that I love him with the kind of love that isn't going to just blow away in the wind after a few years. That he was Mine, with a capital M.

No, this isn't a guy that I'm trying to date. This is just someone that has a big chunk of my heart. I love him to death. I throw around that word a lot, 'love'. I have never said or typed it without meaning it, without giving it the meaning and weight it deserves. Not once.

If I love you, yes, you are mine, but not in the sense that no one else can love you. I want you to be happy, if it's with me, awesome. If it isn't, they'd better treat you right. If they don't, I'll be there to pick up the pieces and mend you again. I'm getting pretty good at sewing up broken hearts, if I do say so myself. When I love, everything about you becomes beautiful. The way you snore, the little things you say when you're talking to kill time between thoughts, the way you look up from over your glasses, that look you get sometimes when you're annoyed. Everything. The way crickets remind me of you, the way I can't hear a song without laughing, everything makes me smile. You're perfectly imperfect and I cherish your flaws because they make you who you are.

This isn't all about the same person, by the way, but a collection of things that everyone does. Like the way your voice shifts and you start making your f's and s's and sh's sound different when you're having an intense discussion, or the way that you never wear socks, the way you pop your knuckles and neck... These are the most beautiful things in the world. Each one of your quirks is a blessing to me, a gift from someone I have no right to ask things of.

I love. It's one of my weaknesses.

Back to the possession.

You're mine because I'm yours. I won't ask anything of you because I'm afraid to need you. I've been needed too damned much in my life to ask that of anyone else. It's one of the worst things to be in my book, needed. I've had too much need, I'd like some want for once. That's another reason I adore you, none of you need me. You just want me. Some in slightly different ways, but I'm actually, honest to goodness, wanted for one of the first times in my life.

So, since you're mine, I won't put any chains on you. I won't tell you what to do, just because you're mine doesn't mean that you're a possession. You're a sentient human being, and as such, I have no room to order you around. Even if we find ourselves in a relationship, I can't do that. I can only tell you what I'll do if you trespass. All I ask of any of you is to respect me. You've all been champs at that. It's amazing what I will take if there is still that respect. However, the second I see that I've been denied that, I'm done. And it takes a grievous amount of disrespect before I will leave you where you stand. I mentioned in my last post about the 'man' that screamed in my face. I was willing to let that slide. Until I found out about other events. Now, written off. I will still be civil, but there are considerably less things he can use me for.

I may not like myself much, but I do know that I have some value as a human being, and I demand nothing less than the same courtesy I extend to everyone else.

It's been a good policy so far...

Birthdays Are Weird (And I'm Weirder)

     They really are. Think about it for a second. There's this day that rolls around once a year, and it's only important to you (unless you're like a twin or something, or your mom's like mine is and gets all 'Oh, my baby...').

     I usually don't get all freaky about them. Saturday will be my twenty-second birthday, so I'm not getting all weird about getting older or anything, but I did start thinking about all of the stuff that's gone down in the last year.

     My grandpa died. He was my God. I worshipped him in my own way, more devoutly than some people devote themselves to their own deity of choice. I'm not saying that it was healthy or that I'm superior to you in my belief, just saying that he was my world and now, he's gone.

     I found a belief system that I really enjoy. I have a closer relationship to the force that created me and the world and I've found peace and spiritual fulfillment through it. I feel that it's made me a better person and it's given me comfort when I needed it most. Unfortunately, I highly doubt that my family will approve of it and I'm anticipating a lecture about it in the very near future. However, I have this crazy belief that everyone's right in their own religion. Your path may not be mine, and that's fine. You're getting what you need out of yours and you're right. That invisible power that you pray to is every bit as real as you believe it to be. You can call it whatever you want and you're right. It influences you (and only you) in the exact way you say it does. Everything that you believe is right, except where it concerns people that don't believe the way you do. That's their business. It's strictly between them and their own deity.

    Shake your head all you want. Tell me that I'm going to Hell because I don't go to your church. Tell me that I'll lie in wormy earth for an eternity because I don't ascribe to the same doctrines you do. Tell me whatever you want. I have my faith. You have yours. I'm sure that yours is fascinating and true and fulfilling as well, but it's not for me. Nor is mine for you. Believing in different ways is what makes the world an interesting place. I'll keep my religion to myself, sharing it with you only if you're interested, and I expect the same courtesy. I'm not going to try and convert you, and I would very much appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so to me. I'm very happy with my beliefs, and I don't like the thought of having to argue with you on the point of my salvation or damnation, because despite the efforts on your part, my fate is my own. I know your arguments as intimately as you do. You won't sway me. Please don't try.

     I got drunk at a party and kissed a very good looking boy. (I've changed subjects. This isn't about religion any more. Do keep with the program. ;) ) On a related note, guess who feels pretty on a semi-regular basis as well now? It's amazing what a little attention can do to a girl's self-esteem.

     I finally told my father that I was done with our farce of a relationship. I told my 'friends' from high school that I was done with them as well.

     I got in a heated argument with another man who got in my face and called me (and I quote) 'a fuckin' liar' and 'a manipulative little bitch'. Guess who's going to let bygones be bygones, but never forgive nor forget?

     I joined a LARP. It's kind of really fun. I like playing make-believe with all of my friends. It's a great way to end the week and blow off some of the stress from the real world. I also get to prance around in a corset.

You know, I never imagined that I'd be where I am at this age. If someone would have asked me when I was seventeen where I'd be in five years (and I'm pretty sure that they did a time or two) I would never have said that I was a LARPer, a pen-and-paper roleplaying game fan, unemployed (unless we count through the school), and surrounded by the absolute best friends in the world. I wouldn't have told them that I'd be wearing a gold-plated drillbit around my neck because my God got Leukemia. I never would have said that I would be helping out on the family goat farm when I went home on the weekends. I would have never guessed that I'd have a penchant for shots of Jack Daniels or Absinthe-Sprite cocktails, or that I would have gotten a little drunker than I meant to at a party and ended up snuggled up on a couch with that guy a week later, reading a novel about Voodoo and flirting for all I was worth.

All in all, I can't complain about the last year. But if I could have one wish, I wouldn't be mourning right now. I know better than to wish for something like that, I've read enough horror stories. But I do miss him. More than anything. And maybe, just maybe, I can become someone he would have been proud of one day.

One day.

Paper

I don't think I've felt as fragile in my life as I do today. It feels like the slightest thing could demolish me.

For those of you that are still unaware of my recent loss, my grandfather died last Wednesday morning. I worshiped that man. I say 'died' instead of 'passed away' because that's what happened. According to the belief system that he acknowledged in front of me, he wasn't going to have an afterlife. When he was done, he was done. He blinked out of existence. Maybe just kind of vanished like the flame on a lighter after the cherry glows on a cigarette. He used to have me blow out the lighter when he was done lighting up one of his Marlboro Reds. Soft pack only. I never knew why.


When I got out of my Spanish class today, I tried to call my mother to ask her permission to get a tattoo. She hasn't gotten back to me. I have an artist in mind already, and the design and placement. I just want to ask her first since she's going to have to see it whenever she looks at me. I'm not concerned about it keeping me from getting a job. I can keep it covered easily. I'm not concerned about how it'll look in forty years. None of me will be very attractive then. I just can't deal with disappointment and disgust at the moment.

I've never had to deal with this kind of grief before. I don't know if I want to be alone or with friends right now. I don't know if I want to go to the arboretum and sit in some leafy shade and eat a pomegranate or sit in a dark dorm room and listen to more Marilyn Manson at an obscene volume. I don't know if I want to sob until my stomach aches or if I want to just curl up and sleep. I don't know.

There's an eerie calm to my torment though. It's more of a weary sigh than an agonized scream. I'm taking it to mean that this too shall pass. Time heals all wounds and wounds all heels, so... I guess it's a bit of a tradeoff.

I just keep thinking of the last time I saw him, it was the same as any other time I told him goodbye. I hugged him and told him that I loved him, and he said "I love you too, baby." I can still hear his voice.

I still have voicemails from him left in my phone.

I know I'll heal. I know that this gut wrenching agony will eventually just become a dull ache. But I'm choking on this slick taste of sorrow. I'm sick of reapplying mascara and eyeliner.

It's been a long week. I just miss him.

Home

While I have some free time, and I'm kind of ruminating on the thought/idea of home without being homesick, I figured I'd kill some time and describe it to you.

No, home isn't the house I live in. I've never lived there. It's the house on Jackson Hill, on Highway 7, leaving Joaquin and going toward Center. It's an old brick house that my great-grandparents lived in.
The driveway is sloped at a terrifying angle (or so I think. I always have trouble backing out of it without hitting the Pampas Grass on either side of it), and leads up to a garage with a chipped support in the front. My mother nicked it with the back of the old Oldsmobile that used to be parked there. (Pretty sure she doesn't want that bit told.) If you knock on the front door instead of the side door, everyone inside jokes about you and talks about how you haven't ever been there before. That screened in porch is where Paw-Paw's dogs stayed a good deal of the time. Through that front door with the broken pane, the first thing you see is the massive fireplace that's just the right height to sit on when there's not a fire in it. I've never been around a fireplace that heated that well. Take a few steps in and look to the left. There's that door that no one that knows anything about the house knocks on. Another step and there's the window that Grandma used to feed birds at. The cardinals and hummingbirds still fly by there, even though I can't remember the last time there was any seed in the feeder.

Walk up to the fireplace and see the clock that I've seen my Paw-Paw wind a thousand times if I've seen it once. Take a right into the dining room. I've spent countless holidays in this dining room, picking at the most amazing food I've ever had, and some of the least impressive as well... But definitely more good food, mountains more, than bad. I've talked about everything from school work to boyfriends to visiting relatives in this room. Out the window, you can see the gardenia bush(? Tree? Shrub?). Those white flowers are possibly my favorite in the world. The waxy petals and cloyingly sweet smell never fail to take me to that hill, regardless of where my feet are actually planted.

From that window in the dining room, go straight to that thick back door to the porch, where I 'learned to smoke' by sitting on those concrete steps while the older relatives had cigarettes, or in Uncle Arnold's case, at least, a cigar or two. I used to nap in that porch swing while Momma took care of Grandma. I've read so many library books on that painted swing. It got that coat of (now peeling) paint years ago. I think that Tori and I may have painted it actually. if memory serves, my cousin Joy (whose endeavor I think it was) painted the railing to the front door, and Ashley painted the ironwork on the front porch. Then again, it was years ago, and I hardly paid it much attention.

Back through the back door, down the hall on the left. The front bathroom, then the bedroom on the right, where Grandpa stayed when he was sick. Where Grandma stayed when she was sick. Where Paw-Paw sleeps now when he's there, with the bookshelf packed with paperback westerns right inside the door. Back down the hall some more. The back bathroom with the blue wallpaper. The huge hall closet that at one point had a porch light in it to illuminate the depths of it. Then down the steps to the back bedroom.

I never lived here in the sense that I slept there routinely, but it's home.

Jolie Holland's music takes me there, just like the smell of gardenia or the sound of crickets or a good sunset. 

Well, time to run.

Stupid Quotes

So, I've had a lot more thought put into what I DON'T want in a relationship rather than what I do. There's something telling about me there, but I don't feel like dealing with that right now. Anyway, I got to thinking about the stupid song lyrics and movie quotes about the nature of love and relationships and the dynamics thereof. Here are a few that I'll never say to anyone. If I do, I'm clearly not in my right mind and need to be sedated and moved to a sanitarium.


First up, is a line from a song by Pink. Song title is 'Please Don't Leave Me', and the lyric is 'Please don't leave me.' If I'm fighting with you and we've been in a relationship of any sort that has just torn us both to shreds, I'm not going to beg you to stay. You want to leave? Fine. Maybe we can finally get past whatever this farce is and move on to become grownups.
~
Second, a line from the movie Hannibal with Anthony Hopkins and Julianne Moore. It's at a tense part of the movie, close to the ending of the climax.

Lecter: Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me, "Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop."
Starling: *pinned to a refrigerator, looks him square in the eyes* Never.
Lecter: *leans in, mouth open like he's going to bite her, then stops at the last moment and grins* That's my girl.

I'm with Starling here. Emotional blackmail never works on the people you need it to. Besides, if you're having a lovers' quarrel, that line probably won't get you anywhere. They did it because they wanted to. Love has nothing to do with it.
~

Marilyn Manson's song, "If I Was Your Vampire"
Lyric: I love you so much you should kill me now.

Granted, I probably shouldn't be looking for romantic inspiration in anything from Manson, but hey. I like the music, and the lyrics are clever most of the time. But I digress. Love isn't something that should make you want to die. Losing it shouldn't make you want to either, but it's not like I'm talking from experience here. "I love you so much, you should kill me now." Yeah. You should kill me and then the super awesome lovey feeling I've got going on can just flicker out like a firefly's ass. Yeah. That totally works. *super sarcastic eye roll* Love should make you want to live, not to die.

~

Alright... That's totally not all of them, but it's enough to get a decent rant going.  As always, I appreciate your interest and would love to hear feedback. Yadda yadda yadda.

What I've Learned (Part 1)

I don't believe in reincarnation, but I don't not believe either. My belief system has gotten pretty complicated recently and I don't have a single problem with it, other than when I'm trying to talk to someone about it, I can't explain it as simply as I'd like to.

But that's not why I'm writing today. I decided to compile a list of a few of the things about Life that I've learned over the years. A lot of these have to do with being a friend or having friends, simply because that's what I've learned the most about.

For starters, as I've said before, just because you've known someone for years and hung out with them frequently, told them your secrets, doesn't mean a thing. Friendship isn't having stories to tell about time you've spent with people, although those are icing on the cake. Friendship is being there for someone. Allow me to insert two examples of what friendship isn't. I may just infuriate someone, considering that these are real life situations that include two people that consider themselves some of my closest friends. But whatever. I love them because I know them, even if I can't bring myself to like them much anymore.
Example 1: I met this guy online who happened to be a friend of a reliable classmate. They went to school together at one point and my classmate was willing to give character references to prove that the guy was who he said he was. So I gave him my number and we talked for a while. Eventually, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Granted, I hadn't met him in person, but my classmate was a reliable source of information, so I said yes. I know how ridiculous this is, but hey. I was a freshman in high school. I was stupid. Give me a break. A few months later, the friend that serves as the example in this case happened to get his number and start calling him. I knew about this and didn't see any problem. She was my friend. I had nothing to worry about. One day, she called me. I hadn't heard from him yet, which was no big deal. She was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I asked her what was going on that had made her so happy. She said that he had asked her out. 'He' as in my boyfriend. So what did I do? I let her have him. He hadn't even broken up with me before he asked her. I'm fairly sure that she knew this. But I let her have him anyway. Seemed to be the best solution. Since this little episode, they've given birth to a kid. She's still having trouble with the guy, as well. She yo-yos between loving him to death and wanting to be his death. He yo-yos between being a loving and caring father and boyfrined and being an absent and callous jerk. Personally, I've decided to stop fighting it. They deserve each other.
Example 2: My grandmother had a cancer scare over the summer. I was at home, babysitting my twelve year old sister while our mother took Nena to MD Anderson in Houston. Tori was watching TV or asleep and I was standing in the kitchen, on my laptop, talking to friends. I was worried and stressed out and getting a taste of motherhood by having to take the minimal care necessary of an intelligent twelve year old. The house was dark except for whatever happened to be on the tv. I think I was cooking something in the oven at the time too. I was just joking around with one friend and in another window, I was 'listening' to another friend freaking out about whatever happened to be wrong with her that week. This particular friend (and example no. 2) has a habit of making the worst decisions possible and then blaming them on everyone but herself. I don't think she's accepted responsibility for a single one of her actions in her life. Moving on, she was complaining and I was tired of listening to it. I didn't care what drama she had going on with her flavor-of-the-week boyfriend. My beloved grandmother had a very strong possibility of having pancreatic cancer, one of the more complicated cancers to treat and one of the most devastating. So I told her what I was worried about. I don't remember her exact phrasing, but I do remember an 'oh'. No 'That's awful.' No 'What can I do?' No 'Do you need to talk to someone about it?' No 'I'm here for you.' No 'She'll be alright.' No 'Call me if you need anything.' No 'I don't care, let's go back to talking about me.' Just 'oh'. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but someone's grandmother having cancer is something where one of those would be appropriate, right? 'Oh' doesn't say it all. So yeah, this happened a few months back, and Nena's in the clear, but I'm still a little annoyed at the way she handled this. Her ex boyfriend with questionable morals and even more questionable motives faked more concern than she showed. Forgive my bitterness.

      I've learned too that teachers can have influences on your life that you may not expect. I've seen what amazing people they are.
     The first one that I'd like to mention was my teacher for six consecutive years. I got teasingly picked on like I remember my father doing before he left, I got chastised for my grades, and I got praised for the good that I had done. I know that this is how teachers are supposed to work and I wasn't special in the least, but that influenced me in ways that I don't think he knew. Thanks to him, I was able to have a relatively stable fatherly figure that I really needed at the time. He also taught me that playing small town politics isn't worth it with the way he handled several, obvious to me, instances of this. I don't think he knows that he taught me more than the school curriculum just by being who he was.
      The second teacher that I want to include was only my teacher for one year, my senior year. She and I talked with another of my friends (who hasn't ever done anything against me) about just about anything. She trusted us with aspects of her past that I don't believe I could have ever told anyone. She is a remarkably strong woman and one to be seriously admired. I even offered information from the point of view that she sort of needed on a subject or two. I just hope that what I shared didn't lead her wrong. She deserves nothing but the utmost happiness and from what I've heard lately, she's getting it.
     Another teacher was actually one of my professors here for a semester. The only relevant part to this little tangent I'm on was what he told us on the last day of class. He started telling us how to ace job interviews and advice on living life to the fullest. At the very end, he apologized and said, 'I'm not trying to be your dad or anything-'. I walked down to where he stood after class with a few other students, trying to figure out how to phrase what I was going to say. I had been really touched by that last speech, considering my as-of-yet unresolved issues with my own father. I ended up simply saying, 'You know how you apologized about 'daddy-ing' us? You shouldn't have. Some of us really needed to hear it.' I didn't realize that I'd teared up a little as I spoke those three lines until he patted my arm and smiled like I'd imagine a father would. I went back to my room and tried writing an email to my own father and ended up crying my eyes out. Someone that I had never spoken to personally until the last day of class had given me more fatherly advice than he had in twenty years. I think I had reason to cry.

So, what I've taken away from life so far is that friends don't stab you in the back or desert you in your time of need. Sometimes, you learn more from what people don't say and what they don't realize they've done that what they've intentionally taught you. You can mean more to someone than you could ever imagine.