Oh where, oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me
She's gone to heaven, so I've got to be good
So I can see my baby when I leave this world
It was a little after 5pm, one year ago today, I got the text from my mom.
"Maggie's not doing well."
I asked her what she meant. She replied "you know what I mean."
I immediately shot out of my chair at my full-time temp job,
which I had just started a week prior.
Our shift was done at 6pm, and god forbid you logged out a second beforehand,
But I went up to the lead person in my department.
"I need to leave. I just got a text from home. It's an emergency."
She barely had the chance to say "Okaayy.." before I was out the door.
I don't even think I turned my computer off.
I got into my car, shaking uncontrollably and completely numb.
"Please. Let her hang on. I need to say goodbye. I need to. She can't go yet."
I repeated, prayed, screamed at times. For the whole hour and a half commute home
That's the only thought I let myself think:
I just need to get home.
My dog Maggie was laying in the backyard, on her side and breathing heavily.
She couldn't get up.
I asked for details from my mother but other than that, no one else had my attention.
I laid by her side. Eventually, my dad and I decided she needed to come inside and so we carried her.
I talked to her. I held her. I offered her her favorite treats, even whipped cream. She denied them all. She wouldn't drink. She wouldn't pee.
My friend Allie, who works at a vet's office, came over to take her paw prints.
My boyfriend, Mike came over. We made a makeshift dog bed for her out of blankets.
I slept on the couch nearby that night.
My mom asked Mike to go outside and dig a hole for her.
And there was absolutely nothing I could fucking do but hold my dying best friend.
We called a mobile vet the next day, to put her to sleep.
We carried her back outside, to lay in the sunshine that she always loved.
It was a perfect, sunny day.
She kept trying to walk, to go under the stairs to the deck.
She wanted to go there to die quietly and alone,
but of course she was too loved for us to grant her that wish.
My aunt Jackie was there, so was Mike,
I kept trying to sing "you are my sunshine"
and I laid by her side, holding her,
as she took her last breaths
in that sunshine she so loved.
In every sense, Maggie was my therapy dog.
She came into my life shortly after I began having severe depression.
She was there for every boyfriend, every job, every tear.
She knew when I was upset. She would come up to me and flop right down,
pretty much saying "Cuddle me, it's okay!"
She would put smiles on my face when no one else could.
Her "Maggie hugs" were the best. Her bubbly personality brought me to life.
She was my best friend. My soulmate. My "spirit animal". My therapist.
And even Mike, who I plan on spending the rest of my life with,
knew he was second place.
NO ONE came before Maggie. No one.
I said for years, "Maggie, you're not allowed to leave. Okay? You need to live to be 20. Or older. Okay?"
Because I knew that living without her was totally unthinkable.
Now, the only problem that comes with loving someone that deeply
is that if you lose them...you will grieve just as deeply.
I remember thinking, over and over afterwards,
"HOW DO I LIVE WITHOUT HER? How do I cope? How do I do this?"
What. the. fuck. now???
Even looking back now brings me a sense of panicked sadness. How did I get through this past year??
The answer? You literally have to take things one day at a time.
At first, you can't even think that largely. You have to take it one minute at a time. One task. One chore.
Then you do another thing, and another. You go to your job because you have to. You take care of the things you have to. You eat so that you can take your medicine. You go to bed, often NyQuil or Benadryl induced, because you have to.
Boom. You got through a day. Congratulations.
Now you do it again.
And again, and again, and again.
I've also gotten very good at pushing my grief to the back of my head.
I can't talk about her, really. Even after a year.
I can't look at too many pictures.
Again....scar tissue. These things open up the wounds and make them fresh again.
And the terror of those fresh wounds make you really scared.
So, you push it to the back of your head when you can. And get through day, after day, after day.
Grieving becomes a part of you. It really doesn't go anywhere. People like to say "It gets easier with time", and in a sense, sure. Really, you get used to it. It envelopes you, and becomes a second skin. But that doesn't make it easy to carry.
With deep love often comes deep pain,
but you were worth every single second.
I love you, Maggie.
So now she's gone, even though I hold her tight
I lost the love of my life that night..
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Just keep swimming.
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend got the news that his younger cousin had committed suicide.She was 21 years old, beautiful, talented, and loved.
And I witnessed the pinnacle of suffering: her family devastated, mourning a life that would never fully blossom, asking each other "Why? She was so young. She could have been a model. I just don't understand." The viewing tore through me, not just because the man I love and his family was suffering, but because I understood her suffering as well without ever meeting her once. I wondered how long she had suffered and what must have happened to push her so far.
~
Recently, I saw the movie "Finding Dory" *SPOILER ALERT* and loved it in its entirety. However, one scene hit me hard: When Dory receives the news that her parents are 'gone', and she thinks that they died, Dory goes into a panicked state and her vision, thoughts, and comprehension blurs. And then she finds herself alone, talking to herself and trying to console herself.
She's in the open ocean and sees kelp, which she knows is a safer place to be. "Okay. Kelp is better. Let's go there." She goes to the kelp.
"Oh, look. Sand. I like sand." She swims down and touches the squishy sand, while her thoughts are a million miles away.
It's then that she sees a shell on the ocean floor and says, "Shells. I like shells." She remembers the role that shells played with her parents, and begins to follow a trail of them.
Then she notices that there's a LOT of them. Several trails of shells.
They lead her to her parents.
My point is: When all hope feels lost,
when you can see no way out,
when you feel like your life is over and needs to end,
ground yourself.
Find something you enjoy.
Find something that once made you smile.
Look at notes, photos, cards.
Take baby steps: Take a shower, or get a cup of coffee. Have some chocolate. Wash the tears off of your face.
Keep it simple.
Count to ten first if you have to. Take a few deep breaths first if you have to.
Hug your animals. Open the window to let the breeze in.
If you can, find the courage within yourself to call a friend.
Ground yourself, like Dory did.
Do something, anything, to keep yourself alive. To keep yourself distracted. To keep yourself here.
Because while I cannot tell you that your pain will go away,
I can tell you that the sun will rise again.
I will tell you that sometimes a new day brings new opportunities. It even sometimes brings happiness, smiles, laughter. But you'll never know if you don't wake up to see it for yourself.
I know how you feel. I know what it's like to want it all to end. I know what it's like to stand on the ledge and not care about the outcome.
But I also know what it's like to wake up the next day and slowly, grudgingly, continue on with life.
Take Dory's advice. Find something to cling to, to keep yourself afloat until you can get help.
And above all....Just keep swimming.
And I witnessed the pinnacle of suffering: her family devastated, mourning a life that would never fully blossom, asking each other "Why? She was so young. She could have been a model. I just don't understand." The viewing tore through me, not just because the man I love and his family was suffering, but because I understood her suffering as well without ever meeting her once. I wondered how long she had suffered and what must have happened to push her so far.
~
Recently, I saw the movie "Finding Dory" *SPOILER ALERT* and loved it in its entirety. However, one scene hit me hard: When Dory receives the news that her parents are 'gone', and she thinks that they died, Dory goes into a panicked state and her vision, thoughts, and comprehension blurs. And then she finds herself alone, talking to herself and trying to console herself.
She's in the open ocean and sees kelp, which she knows is a safer place to be. "Okay. Kelp is better. Let's go there." She goes to the kelp.
"Oh, look. Sand. I like sand." She swims down and touches the squishy sand, while her thoughts are a million miles away.
It's then that she sees a shell on the ocean floor and says, "Shells. I like shells." She remembers the role that shells played with her parents, and begins to follow a trail of them.
Then she notices that there's a LOT of them. Several trails of shells.
They lead her to her parents.
My point is: When all hope feels lost,
when you can see no way out,
when you feel like your life is over and needs to end,
ground yourself.
Find something you enjoy.
Find something that once made you smile.
Look at notes, photos, cards.
Take baby steps: Take a shower, or get a cup of coffee. Have some chocolate. Wash the tears off of your face.
Keep it simple.
Count to ten first if you have to. Take a few deep breaths first if you have to.
Hug your animals. Open the window to let the breeze in.
If you can, find the courage within yourself to call a friend.
Ground yourself, like Dory did.
Do something, anything, to keep yourself alive. To keep yourself distracted. To keep yourself here.
Because while I cannot tell you that your pain will go away,
I can tell you that the sun will rise again.
I will tell you that sometimes a new day brings new opportunities. It even sometimes brings happiness, smiles, laughter. But you'll never know if you don't wake up to see it for yourself.
I know how you feel. I know what it's like to want it all to end. I know what it's like to stand on the ledge and not care about the outcome.
But I also know what it's like to wake up the next day and slowly, grudgingly, continue on with life.
Take Dory's advice. Find something to cling to, to keep yourself afloat until you can get help.
And above all....Just keep swimming.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
The best birthday present, late 90s
My birthday is on Christmas Day.
My parents handled this "crappy birthday" exceptionally well: They threw me Christmas in July birthday parties every summer until I reached high school.
On Christmas day itself, the tradition was for my brother and I to open all of our presents upstairs, and then for me to venture downstairs to see what my "special" (aka birthday) present was. For my 8th birthday, I got a Gameboy Pocket and Pokemon Red version. Another year, I got a metallic pink bike. I was always beyond excited to go to the basement to see what I had gotten for turning a year older!
Oddly enough, the present that blew the others out of the water was a chalkboard.
My OWN chalkboard! Endless doodling! I could practice my cursive and erase it then practice it again! When my younger cousin came over, we could play School and I could be the teacher! They even got me colored chalk! The possibilities were endless. My father hung it on the wall and I could never remember being more entertained with anything else.
The chalkboard lived out its days of playing School, and playing tic-tac-toe with my mother, and doodles that got fancier with age. When I was 21 and threw a party in my basement, people left me birthday messages on the chalkboard. And when I went away to school and got an apartment, the chalkboard came with me so that my roommates and I could keep a running countdown of days until graduation.
Nowadays, it seems like kids aren't thrilled with anything less than the most expensive electronics and video games.
But I always like to think about how happy it made me to get something as simple as a chalkboard.
Currently, it's sitting with the rest of my college things in the basement; collecting dust and waiting for the eventual move. But rest assured that no matter where life takes me,that nearly 20 year old chalkboard will come along for the ride.
My parents handled this "crappy birthday" exceptionally well: They threw me Christmas in July birthday parties every summer until I reached high school.
On Christmas day itself, the tradition was for my brother and I to open all of our presents upstairs, and then for me to venture downstairs to see what my "special" (aka birthday) present was. For my 8th birthday, I got a Gameboy Pocket and Pokemon Red version. Another year, I got a metallic pink bike. I was always beyond excited to go to the basement to see what I had gotten for turning a year older!
Oddly enough, the present that blew the others out of the water was a chalkboard.
My OWN chalkboard! Endless doodling! I could practice my cursive and erase it then practice it again! When my younger cousin came over, we could play School and I could be the teacher! They even got me colored chalk! The possibilities were endless. My father hung it on the wall and I could never remember being more entertained with anything else.
The chalkboard lived out its days of playing School, and playing tic-tac-toe with my mother, and doodles that got fancier with age. When I was 21 and threw a party in my basement, people left me birthday messages on the chalkboard. And when I went away to school and got an apartment, the chalkboard came with me so that my roommates and I could keep a running countdown of days until graduation.
Nowadays, it seems like kids aren't thrilled with anything less than the most expensive electronics and video games.
But I always like to think about how happy it made me to get something as simple as a chalkboard.
Currently, it's sitting with the rest of my college things in the basement; collecting dust and waiting for the eventual move. But rest assured that no matter where life takes me,that nearly 20 year old chalkboard will come along for the ride.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
The dog that saved me
In honor of my dog Maggie's 10th birthday, I want to share the story that I've kept mostly to myself for the past decade. I want to tell the story of what my dog did to earn such a high pedestal in my life (everyone that knows me knows that I absolutely adore her.)
It's because Maggie saved my life.
15 was my worst age, my most horrid year, my biggest battle. It was when severe depression moved into my mind and made itself at home. I cried every day for months, I was friendless, I had yet to be kissed (or even looked at), I was more than miserable. I didn't get along with my family. I felt like a worthless person who would never amount to anything. I was my own worst enemy and hated everything about myself more than I ever could've imagined.
One day, I was walking home from school and was completely stuck in my miserable thoughts. I made up my mind during that mile-long walk: I was going to end it. I had formulated a plan and finally thought to myself that my life was no longer worth keeping. I was going to end it all.
I got home, collapsed on the floor of my empty house, and cried harder than I had ever cried before. I was mentally preparing to do what I thought I needed to...
But that's when this little black puppy came bounding into the room, tail going berserk, tongue hanging out, and pounced up on me. She started to lick all of the tears off my face and snuggled her way into my arms. I couldn't help but smile a little as a previously unthinkable thought crossed my mind: there's someone who doesn't think I'm worthless. If this little puppy is so excited to see me, maybe I'm not that unlovable after all.
Eventually my tears ceased, and I looked down at Maggie and saw a ray of hope; this is why I call her my Sunshine.
Happy Birthday, Maggie.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
love, loss, lay offs and a landslide of medical problems...Goodbye, 2014!
2014...
It began on a high: On the first day of 2014, I was in Pittsburgh visiting my friends, and had a date with "Pittsburgh guy" who I was off-and-on with for two and a half years.
With us, it had always felt like timing was off. But that day, he made me believe that maybe it could be different from then on. Maybe there was a chance, maybe this was just the beginning, maybe if I did move back to Pittsburgh then we could actually be something for once.
I hate maybes.
And for good reason, because only a month after that wonderful date, he broke my heart in an unforgivable way and I said my final goodbye....after years of back and forth, I finally had had enough.
The beginning of the year quickly took a nosedive, with "Pittsburgh guy's" disappearance and also my own health. I had an injection in my hip and had a reaction to it, which sent me to the ER. That ER visit also led to my first cancer scare: they found a nodule in my lung, and although a non-smoking 24 year old didn't concern them, I knew better: my disease is very closely linked, and my chances of getting any kind of cancer (or one of my tumors turning cancerous) is higher than normal.
Thankfully, it was just scar tissue.
I went to visit my friend in Florida at the end of January, and it was a wonderful visit. She is somebody who I can enjoy mutual weirdness with, and I don't really think it's possible to have a bad weekend with her. We went to Islands of adventure and I finally saw the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. We also went to see Jeff Dunham live, and at the end our faces hurt from laughing so much. There was even a 70 degree day where I got a TAN in January! This is where the rollercoaster of 2014 gets way up high again..but unfortunately, with my return to the freezing state of New Jersey, it took another nosedive.
I was scheduled for surgery in February to have a tumor removed from my shoulder blade, but just a week before at my pre-op visit, my surgery was canceled because it was determined that the tumor had shrunk and it wasn't definite that the tumor was causing my pain. I had a breakdown in my doctor's office because of the cancellation, due to the fact that my job had already replaced me and I had had everything planned. Pulling plans from under my feet like that is a good way to bring out my anxiety!
As a result of the cancellation, I finally sought out a pain management doctor and was instantly put on several medications to try to control the pain. It took several different combinations before the benefits outweighed the side-effects, so at least half of 2014 was spent with endless stomach problems, extreme drowsiness (and horrible mornings) and weight gain due to the meds. I was also quickly diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, which explained the random & intense pain I was having that was unassociated with tumors.
March hit and my family got the worst news imaginable: my aunt Ru, who had had her cancer contained for a few months, had found out that it spread... and it had spread to her brain.
So, obviously 2014 started out pretty rocky for me.. and unfortunately it didn't get much better as summer came. I went on a few dates that turned out to be complete wastes of time and energy, and when July hit I was laid off from my job. For the first time I faced unemployment without any kind of backup plan. Only a few days after being laid off, I had surgery on my right hand, which thankfully gave me some kind of excuse to do nothing. It took me 3 months to find any kind of job, and this was bottom-level retail...taking a pay cut and swallowing the pride that I had gained in obtaining a degree.
Where does 2014 get better? Where does this depressing blog post come up with a bright note that suddenly turns it from moping into a happy ending?
Well, the happy ending comes when I finally get back into the dating scene again and go on a first date with some guy at the Cheesecake factory in October. I wasn't looking forward to it, I wasn't expecting anything more than a free dinner and awkward conversation. I don't even think I put in any extra effort into how I looked: I wore what I had worn to work that morning.
But then I got a surprise: he was cute, he was sweet, and he was weird. I mean weirder than I am. I mean weird in the same way that I am: sarcastic, random, light-hearted, anything but dry. And after the date I got a hug, and I got into my car and decided that he had earned a second date from being himself.
But, time went on and he earned a lot more than that. Only a few weeks after we met, he went to Punta Cana on vacation and he bought an international texting plan so that we could keep talking that week. Only a few weeks later, I gave him the "disclosure" speech and told him about my disease, my pain, my scars. I told him that he didn't have to stick around if he didn't want to. But his reaction was "So? You're beautiful inside and out, scars and all." He even researched my disease online, which NO ONE ever does (not even my family) and asked all the right questions and said the right things. I was astounded, because no guy had ever really "accepted" what was wrong with me. Some guys made fun of my pain, some ignored it, some acted as if I was making it all up. But it's like he understood with no pause or problem.
Soon after, he sent me flowers when I was having a bad week. And right after that, my aunt Ruth, the wonderful, strong, "bulletproof" woman whom I had always had a special bond with, passed away with her family surrounding her.
I was a wreck. I cried every day for weeks. And at her funeral, I sobbed so hard during my speech that I became a human booger fountain. But the most incredible thing: he was there for me the entire time, in the best ways I ever could've asked for.
He instantly fit in with my family. When I'm having bad pain days, he's as gentle as a feather and will give me shoulder rubs. He holds the doors, he has more patience than I ever could've dreamed of, he can make me smile when I'm holding back tears. Really, I found the perfect person at the perfect time. I'm not one who "needs to be needed" or wants to rely on anybody; but he came along when I needed support more than ever. I may not have been in the best place, but he is helping me become better in every way. He became my light in a year filled with so much darkness. And I hope 2014 is just the beginning for us.
I also hope that 2015 is a LOT better... please, for the love of cheese and all things holey.
It began on a high: On the first day of 2014, I was in Pittsburgh visiting my friends, and had a date with "Pittsburgh guy" who I was off-and-on with for two and a half years.
With us, it had always felt like timing was off. But that day, he made me believe that maybe it could be different from then on. Maybe there was a chance, maybe this was just the beginning, maybe if I did move back to Pittsburgh then we could actually be something for once.
I hate maybes.
And for good reason, because only a month after that wonderful date, he broke my heart in an unforgivable way and I said my final goodbye....after years of back and forth, I finally had had enough.
The beginning of the year quickly took a nosedive, with "Pittsburgh guy's" disappearance and also my own health. I had an injection in my hip and had a reaction to it, which sent me to the ER. That ER visit also led to my first cancer scare: they found a nodule in my lung, and although a non-smoking 24 year old didn't concern them, I knew better: my disease is very closely linked, and my chances of getting any kind of cancer (or one of my tumors turning cancerous) is higher than normal.
Thankfully, it was just scar tissue.
I went to visit my friend in Florida at the end of January, and it was a wonderful visit. She is somebody who I can enjoy mutual weirdness with, and I don't really think it's possible to have a bad weekend with her. We went to Islands of adventure and I finally saw the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. We also went to see Jeff Dunham live, and at the end our faces hurt from laughing so much. There was even a 70 degree day where I got a TAN in January! This is where the rollercoaster of 2014 gets way up high again..but unfortunately, with my return to the freezing state of New Jersey, it took another nosedive.
I was scheduled for surgery in February to have a tumor removed from my shoulder blade, but just a week before at my pre-op visit, my surgery was canceled because it was determined that the tumor had shrunk and it wasn't definite that the tumor was causing my pain. I had a breakdown in my doctor's office because of the cancellation, due to the fact that my job had already replaced me and I had had everything planned. Pulling plans from under my feet like that is a good way to bring out my anxiety!
As a result of the cancellation, I finally sought out a pain management doctor and was instantly put on several medications to try to control the pain. It took several different combinations before the benefits outweighed the side-effects, so at least half of 2014 was spent with endless stomach problems, extreme drowsiness (and horrible mornings) and weight gain due to the meds. I was also quickly diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, which explained the random & intense pain I was having that was unassociated with tumors.
March hit and my family got the worst news imaginable: my aunt Ru, who had had her cancer contained for a few months, had found out that it spread... and it had spread to her brain.
So, obviously 2014 started out pretty rocky for me.. and unfortunately it didn't get much better as summer came. I went on a few dates that turned out to be complete wastes of time and energy, and when July hit I was laid off from my job. For the first time I faced unemployment without any kind of backup plan. Only a few days after being laid off, I had surgery on my right hand, which thankfully gave me some kind of excuse to do nothing. It took me 3 months to find any kind of job, and this was bottom-level retail...taking a pay cut and swallowing the pride that I had gained in obtaining a degree.
Where does 2014 get better? Where does this depressing blog post come up with a bright note that suddenly turns it from moping into a happy ending?
Well, the happy ending comes when I finally get back into the dating scene again and go on a first date with some guy at the Cheesecake factory in October. I wasn't looking forward to it, I wasn't expecting anything more than a free dinner and awkward conversation. I don't even think I put in any extra effort into how I looked: I wore what I had worn to work that morning.
But then I got a surprise: he was cute, he was sweet, and he was weird. I mean weirder than I am. I mean weird in the same way that I am: sarcastic, random, light-hearted, anything but dry. And after the date I got a hug, and I got into my car and decided that he had earned a second date from being himself.
But, time went on and he earned a lot more than that. Only a few weeks after we met, he went to Punta Cana on vacation and he bought an international texting plan so that we could keep talking that week. Only a few weeks later, I gave him the "disclosure" speech and told him about my disease, my pain, my scars. I told him that he didn't have to stick around if he didn't want to. But his reaction was "So? You're beautiful inside and out, scars and all." He even researched my disease online, which NO ONE ever does (not even my family) and asked all the right questions and said the right things. I was astounded, because no guy had ever really "accepted" what was wrong with me. Some guys made fun of my pain, some ignored it, some acted as if I was making it all up. But it's like he understood with no pause or problem.
Soon after, he sent me flowers when I was having a bad week. And right after that, my aunt Ruth, the wonderful, strong, "bulletproof" woman whom I had always had a special bond with, passed away with her family surrounding her.
I was a wreck. I cried every day for weeks. And at her funeral, I sobbed so hard during my speech that I became a human booger fountain. But the most incredible thing: he was there for me the entire time, in the best ways I ever could've asked for.
He instantly fit in with my family. When I'm having bad pain days, he's as gentle as a feather and will give me shoulder rubs. He holds the doors, he has more patience than I ever could've dreamed of, he can make me smile when I'm holding back tears. Really, I found the perfect person at the perfect time. I'm not one who "needs to be needed" or wants to rely on anybody; but he came along when I needed support more than ever. I may not have been in the best place, but he is helping me become better in every way. He became my light in a year filled with so much darkness. And I hope 2014 is just the beginning for us.
I also hope that 2015 is a LOT better... please, for the love of cheese and all things holey.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
To my aunt Ru:
My aunt Ru, who was fighting a long battle with cancer, passed away on Monday.
And today, we said goodbye.
I don't cry in front of people, ever, but for Ruth this was different.
Our souls are not connected "just" as aunt and niece...there was always something more
and I love her with everything I have.
My family asked me to post the speech that I gave during her funeral.
I cried like a little schoolgirl for 90% of it,
but everyone told me how beautiful it was.
I know Ru loved it, too (but she would've told me "Stop crying, ya big weenie!")
To my incredible aunt Ru: I love you for so many reasons.
I love you because of your bright sense of humor, sarcasm, and wittiness. You are the biggest smart-ass I've ever known* and you could turn any situation into a funny one.
I love you because you were never afraid to say what you thought, how you felt, or to stand up for someone. People always knew where they stood with you because of your valiant honesty.
I love you because you were the only babysitter my brother and I ever had who would let us stay up late and watch Beavis & Butthead. And when I was young and afraid of sleepovers, you would tuck me in the same way my mother would.
I love you because of the letters we used to send to one another--always covered in stickers, glitter, and confetti. We would always try to out-funny one another.
I love you because, no matter how bad things got, you never made it all about yourself. You were always trying to brighten someone else's day.
Most of all, I love you because you are absolutely everything I want to be as a woman: strong, funny, smart, caring, and beautiful in every way.
I know that many of us still feel like this is a bad dream...that it isn't real. That we'll call her cell phone and hear her voice on the other end. Or in my case, that I'll go into my kitchen and find Ru's latest card, with stickers all over it, along with a fresh tray of her famous eggplant parmasean.
But, it's so important to remember that she's still with us. Whenever we see beauty in the world, we'll think of her. She'll visit us in our dreams, keep an eye out (or maybe two eyes now) for our safety. She'll live on not just in our memories, but in our perseverance and ambitions. And most of all, she'll forever be the sarcastic voice inside our heads.
I love you, my cup of soups. And I hope we're all going to make you proud.
<3
*No, I didn't call her a smart-ass in church. I'm classier than that--that sentence was originally omitted :) I did say Butthead though, which I suppose isn't much classier.
And today, we said goodbye.
I don't cry in front of people, ever, but for Ruth this was different.
Our souls are not connected "just" as aunt and niece...there was always something more
and I love her with everything I have.
My family asked me to post the speech that I gave during her funeral.
I cried like a little schoolgirl for 90% of it,
but everyone told me how beautiful it was.
I know Ru loved it, too (but she would've told me "Stop crying, ya big weenie!")
To my incredible aunt Ru: I love you for so many reasons.
I love you because of your bright sense of humor, sarcasm, and wittiness. You are the biggest smart-ass I've ever known* and you could turn any situation into a funny one.
I love you because you were never afraid to say what you thought, how you felt, or to stand up for someone. People always knew where they stood with you because of your valiant honesty.
I love you because you were the only babysitter my brother and I ever had who would let us stay up late and watch Beavis & Butthead. And when I was young and afraid of sleepovers, you would tuck me in the same way my mother would.
I love you because of the letters we used to send to one another--always covered in stickers, glitter, and confetti. We would always try to out-funny one another.
I love you because, no matter how bad things got, you never made it all about yourself. You were always trying to brighten someone else's day.
Most of all, I love you because you are absolutely everything I want to be as a woman: strong, funny, smart, caring, and beautiful in every way.
I know that many of us still feel like this is a bad dream...that it isn't real. That we'll call her cell phone and hear her voice on the other end. Or in my case, that I'll go into my kitchen and find Ru's latest card, with stickers all over it, along with a fresh tray of her famous eggplant parmasean.
But, it's so important to remember that she's still with us. Whenever we see beauty in the world, we'll think of her. She'll visit us in our dreams, keep an eye out (or maybe two eyes now) for our safety. She'll live on not just in our memories, but in our perseverance and ambitions. And most of all, she'll forever be the sarcastic voice inside our heads.
I love you, my cup of soups. And I hope we're all going to make you proud.
<3
*No, I didn't call her a smart-ass in church. I'm classier than that--that sentence was originally omitted :) I did say Butthead though, which I suppose isn't much classier.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Cancer
When I was in grade school,
my best friend was a girl whose father was fighting cancer.
The fight started out just as most do:
a terrified family, but still one with lots of hope and love,
daughters never imagining that they would not dance with their father on their wedding day
And then it progresses
and the father begins to live on the living room couch
and the daughters begin to cry more frequently
and the mother's stress reaches breaking limit,
but still...maybe, he will beat this.
And then the maybes start getting smaller, feebler,
crossing into the realm of "wishful thinking"
and my friend would take frequent trips to the school bathroom just to break down
and I would let her cry on my shoulder
while she told me that they were already designing his headstone.
But, although I was a witness to much of her suffering,
and I was the first one she called when he passed away peacefully,
and I kept her company at the viewing,
and stared at the corpse of a man who was once the strongest person she knew,
one thought plagued me throughout the entire journey,
one that I wisely never voiced to her:
Isn't it better, though? To at least be prepared for the end?
And now, after all these years, I have my answer: No, it's not. Not in the slightest.
Cancer takes somebody you love, somebody strong and unwavering,
and tortures them right in front of your eyes.
it is not quick and painless;
it is agonizing test results,
flooding their body with countless treatments that poison them from within.
It goes from having your fists in the air, saying
WE WILL BEAT YOU, CANCER, YOU WILL NOT WIN
Wearing pink head-to-toe with your head held high
A family thinking: this, too, shall pass!
And then it downgrades...
maybe this chemo will work,
maybe this radiation will do it in,
maybe this MRI will show a miracle.
'Maybe, maybe, maybe'
And then your maybes turn into ashes
and you stare at the ashes,
stare more intently than you have ever stared in your life,
and think, what can I build out of this? How can I make this into something whole again?
"At least you got to say goodbye"
"At least they knew how much they were loved"
these things don't matter when you are watching someone you love die.
the event of losing somebody you love,
whether it is long and agonizing,
or as fast as a shooting star in a cloudy sky,
is equally painful, equally unfathomable,
and unforgivably agonizing, no matter the circumstances.
Because even when you're facing the ashes of those ever-lingering maybes,you can't possibly be prepared for them.
Even when they're all around you, covering you in their dust,
you can't imagine that a day will come where the family parties will always be one short
you can't fathom losing someone who has been a constant in your life
since before you took your first breath
And saying goodbye is not a privelege,
because it's such an unthinkable act, such a terrible word,
and no amount of time can ever prepare you for it.
my best friend was a girl whose father was fighting cancer.
The fight started out just as most do:
a terrified family, but still one with lots of hope and love,
daughters never imagining that they would not dance with their father on their wedding day
And then it progresses
and the father begins to live on the living room couch
and the daughters begin to cry more frequently
and the mother's stress reaches breaking limit,
but still...maybe, he will beat this.
And then the maybes start getting smaller, feebler,
crossing into the realm of "wishful thinking"
and my friend would take frequent trips to the school bathroom just to break down
and I would let her cry on my shoulder
while she told me that they were already designing his headstone.
But, although I was a witness to much of her suffering,
and I was the first one she called when he passed away peacefully,
and I kept her company at the viewing,
and stared at the corpse of a man who was once the strongest person she knew,
one thought plagued me throughout the entire journey,
one that I wisely never voiced to her:
Isn't it better, though? To at least be prepared for the end?
And now, after all these years, I have my answer: No, it's not. Not in the slightest.
Cancer takes somebody you love, somebody strong and unwavering,
and tortures them right in front of your eyes.
it is not quick and painless;
it is agonizing test results,
flooding their body with countless treatments that poison them from within.
It goes from having your fists in the air, saying
WE WILL BEAT YOU, CANCER, YOU WILL NOT WIN
Wearing pink head-to-toe with your head held high
A family thinking: this, too, shall pass!
And then it downgrades...
maybe this chemo will work,
maybe this radiation will do it in,
maybe this MRI will show a miracle.
'Maybe, maybe, maybe'
And then your maybes turn into ashes
and you stare at the ashes,
stare more intently than you have ever stared in your life,
and think, what can I build out of this? How can I make this into something whole again?
"At least you got to say goodbye"
"At least they knew how much they were loved"
these things don't matter when you are watching someone you love die.
the event of losing somebody you love,
whether it is long and agonizing,
or as fast as a shooting star in a cloudy sky,
is equally painful, equally unfathomable,
and unforgivably agonizing, no matter the circumstances.
Because even when you're facing the ashes of those ever-lingering maybes,you can't possibly be prepared for them.
Even when they're all around you, covering you in their dust,
you can't imagine that a day will come where the family parties will always be one short
you can't fathom losing someone who has been a constant in your life
since before you took your first breath
And saying goodbye is not a privelege,
because it's such an unthinkable act, such a terrible word,
and no amount of time can ever prepare you for it.
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