Wednesday, June 30, 2004
If Nicole Kidman whines about how hard it is to find someone, how hard must it be for normal people?
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Movies/06/30/kidman.ap/index.html
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Movies/06/30/kidman.ap/index.html
C is right. I should have been blogging all along. But sitting in front of a computer was the last thing I thought of.
I was on my way to meet C for lunch when dad called. He told me to pull over, but I couldn't because I was at an intersection. I told him to tell me what's up. He choked out, "Mom's dead" and burst out crying. All he kept saying was, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." My first reaction was to calm dad. "Oh jesus Dad, I'm so sorry. Shhhh. Don't cry, it's ok. Shhhh. Oh god, Daddy, I'm so sorry you have to go through this. I'll be home as soon as I can, ok?" He was sobbing, crying. He told me that he had to go because the police were there and the medical examiner was coming. "Daddy... Dad, this isn't the right time but... but I need to ask for a favor. I need an autopsy, Dad. Are you ok with that? Tell the M.E. that I need an autopsy." He agreed, sobbing. I couldn't feel my arms or legs, but I kept talking and driving, like everything was fine.
I hung up my cell phone. I called C to tell him. "It's the weirdest thing. Dad came home to take Mom to the cardiologist and when he got there, she was dead. She was dead." He freaked out. We were both only blocks from the restaurant at that time, and he told me he'd be there in a moment. I got there first and planted myself on the curb. He came and hugged me, held me, rocked me back and forth and told me everything would be ok. I couldn't believe how ok it all seemed at that moment. He tried to drive me home, but I told him that I wanted to drive because at the moment I was ok, but who knew how I'd be in an hour or two or five. He followed me home, on the phone the whole time calling family and friends. I put in my hands-free and thought about calling people but didn't. I just drove. I got home. I sat. I wondered what to do next. C got on the phone and called airlines, canceled our vacation, booked us on a redeye on the way home.
I called my father repeatedly. He cried. I didn't really. Tears flowed, but I didn't sob. It was just tears running. Didn't last long. I spent that night with my neighbors, playing with their kids and eating burgers. We flew home. I dozed off briefly on the flight home and woke to think, "Oh, Dad meant that *his* mother died. That makes sense. She's 85 and not terribly healthy. Of course!" But then I realized that if he had meant that, my mother would have been on the phone to call me. My mother would have talked to me. My mother was gone. The numbness crept from my hands and feet into my hips and shoulders, but I still didn't cry. I just felt empty. And alone.
I was on my way to meet C for lunch when dad called. He told me to pull over, but I couldn't because I was at an intersection. I told him to tell me what's up. He choked out, "Mom's dead" and burst out crying. All he kept saying was, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." My first reaction was to calm dad. "Oh jesus Dad, I'm so sorry. Shhhh. Don't cry, it's ok. Shhhh. Oh god, Daddy, I'm so sorry you have to go through this. I'll be home as soon as I can, ok?" He was sobbing, crying. He told me that he had to go because the police were there and the medical examiner was coming. "Daddy... Dad, this isn't the right time but... but I need to ask for a favor. I need an autopsy, Dad. Are you ok with that? Tell the M.E. that I need an autopsy." He agreed, sobbing. I couldn't feel my arms or legs, but I kept talking and driving, like everything was fine.
I hung up my cell phone. I called C to tell him. "It's the weirdest thing. Dad came home to take Mom to the cardiologist and when he got there, she was dead. She was dead." He freaked out. We were both only blocks from the restaurant at that time, and he told me he'd be there in a moment. I got there first and planted myself on the curb. He came and hugged me, held me, rocked me back and forth and told me everything would be ok. I couldn't believe how ok it all seemed at that moment. He tried to drive me home, but I told him that I wanted to drive because at the moment I was ok, but who knew how I'd be in an hour or two or five. He followed me home, on the phone the whole time calling family and friends. I put in my hands-free and thought about calling people but didn't. I just drove. I got home. I sat. I wondered what to do next. C got on the phone and called airlines, canceled our vacation, booked us on a redeye on the way home.
I called my father repeatedly. He cried. I didn't really. Tears flowed, but I didn't sob. It was just tears running. Didn't last long. I spent that night with my neighbors, playing with their kids and eating burgers. We flew home. I dozed off briefly on the flight home and woke to think, "Oh, Dad meant that *his* mother died. That makes sense. She's 85 and not terribly healthy. Of course!" But then I realized that if he had meant that, my mother would have been on the phone to call me. My mother would have talked to me. My mother was gone. The numbness crept from my hands and feet into my hips and shoulders, but I still didn't cry. I just felt empty. And alone.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
One full day without my laptop for work. I spent the day on my couch, reading webmail and wondering why the hell I didn't just ditch work completely and go to Santa Cruz.
I'm exhausted, but I'm finally feeling better. My sinus infection seems to be clearing up, which is great news. I was getting really tired of the headaches. But I have no idea if my fatigue is caused by stress or illness or antibiotics. I just don't want to feel so drained all the time. Part of the problem is probably my lack of appetite. If C didn't come home and make dinner for me, I wouldn't bother eating at all.
I didn't see my buddy Emily today. I could have used her "lovins and huggins" as she says. She flashes a smile and it just makes everything ok.
I'm exhausted, but I'm finally feeling better. My sinus infection seems to be clearing up, which is great news. I was getting really tired of the headaches. But I have no idea if my fatigue is caused by stress or illness or antibiotics. I just don't want to feel so drained all the time. Part of the problem is probably my lack of appetite. If C didn't come home and make dinner for me, I wouldn't bother eating at all.
I didn't see my buddy Emily today. I could have used her "lovins and huggins" as she says. She flashes a smile and it just makes everything ok.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
I'm tired of feeling so fucking sad.
The power of dog.
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=573&ncid=757&e=1&u=/nm/20040627/od_nm/crime_canada_gunman_dc
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=573&ncid=757&e=1&u=/nm/20040627/od_nm/crime_canada_gunman_dc
More thoughts about my mother. Some are good, some are bad. I loved her. I did. But I refuse to let hindsight make her any less frustrating or confusing than any other mother.
She wanted to be my best friend. She told me that she thought that I was wonderful and that we should have this open and honest relationship where I could tell her anything. The problem is that you can't be best friends with someone who can pull rank on you. Would she have freaked out if I told her that I'd gone out drinking and doing whippets with Louie, Steve, Phil, Jim and Ray on the old freight tracks? You bet. I'd still be grounded now if she caught me at that. And I swear that she probably died in denial that I wasn't still a virgin. If I had talked about things with her, I think she would have just about blown a gasket. Which is why I could never be best friends with my mother. I was the daughter. She was the mother. There could never be anything more.
She had this ongiong paranoia about being a terrible mother. She wasn't. She prepared me for the life she knew, which didn't have much bearing on the life I live now, but that's hardly her fault. She did what she knew. I can't blame her for that. But she would get so upset when I would make fun of things I remembered from childhood. Like the fact that I never got candy in my Easter basket. No, my Easter bunny always brought full-grown begonia plants, or packets of marigold seeds. Other kids got chocolate bunnies, but not me. Halloween candy. I never really got into Halloween because I was never able to eat the chocolate candy from my stash. So what did that leave me with? Usually a roll or two of smarties and maybe a dum-dum lollipop. Not much to get fired up about. It was rare that I could sleep over at friends' houses. It was even more rare that they were able to sleep over at mine. I wasn't allowed to walk to the mall with my friends, so I spent a lot of summer afternoons sitting at home reading or playing with my Legos. She was overprotective, as though she could keep the world away at every turn. But in the end, it only left me feeling sort of socially backwards and unable to relate to other people. I had a terrible time relating to kids my age because I didn't do any of the things they did. I had no Atari or computer. I couldn't watch MTV. I wasn't allowed to dress like them or talk like them. I really just had no idea what went on inside the heads of other kids. So I talked to the adults, which only further alienated me from the world of kids.
But her fanatical attention to my eating habits kept me thin. When I was little, I would choose carrots over cookies, mostly because I didn't really know what cookies were. She was adamant that I wasn't going to end up overweight like she was. We ate healthy, balanced meals because she wanted that for me, not because she had any particular desire to cook (she hated cooking, so where do I get it?)
I was always mortified by the amount of attention lavished on me, being the only child of an only child. I didn't want to have more than my friends did. So whereas most only children asked for more and more, I usually wanted less and less. Even things I really, really wanted -- 10-speed bicycles, Cabbage Patch dolls, a computer -- I would never ask for them because I didn't feel like I was deserving of attention and gifts. It seemed wrong and weird that I would get piles and piles of Christmas gifts when my friends got next to nothing. I wanted to take it all back, or hide it before they saw it and realized that I had it better than they did.
She wanted to be my best friend. She told me that she thought that I was wonderful and that we should have this open and honest relationship where I could tell her anything. The problem is that you can't be best friends with someone who can pull rank on you. Would she have freaked out if I told her that I'd gone out drinking and doing whippets with Louie, Steve, Phil, Jim and Ray on the old freight tracks? You bet. I'd still be grounded now if she caught me at that. And I swear that she probably died in denial that I wasn't still a virgin. If I had talked about things with her, I think she would have just about blown a gasket. Which is why I could never be best friends with my mother. I was the daughter. She was the mother. There could never be anything more.
She had this ongiong paranoia about being a terrible mother. She wasn't. She prepared me for the life she knew, which didn't have much bearing on the life I live now, but that's hardly her fault. She did what she knew. I can't blame her for that. But she would get so upset when I would make fun of things I remembered from childhood. Like the fact that I never got candy in my Easter basket. No, my Easter bunny always brought full-grown begonia plants, or packets of marigold seeds. Other kids got chocolate bunnies, but not me. Halloween candy. I never really got into Halloween because I was never able to eat the chocolate candy from my stash. So what did that leave me with? Usually a roll or two of smarties and maybe a dum-dum lollipop. Not much to get fired up about. It was rare that I could sleep over at friends' houses. It was even more rare that they were able to sleep over at mine. I wasn't allowed to walk to the mall with my friends, so I spent a lot of summer afternoons sitting at home reading or playing with my Legos. She was overprotective, as though she could keep the world away at every turn. But in the end, it only left me feeling sort of socially backwards and unable to relate to other people. I had a terrible time relating to kids my age because I didn't do any of the things they did. I had no Atari or computer. I couldn't watch MTV. I wasn't allowed to dress like them or talk like them. I really just had no idea what went on inside the heads of other kids. So I talked to the adults, which only further alienated me from the world of kids.
But her fanatical attention to my eating habits kept me thin. When I was little, I would choose carrots over cookies, mostly because I didn't really know what cookies were. She was adamant that I wasn't going to end up overweight like she was. We ate healthy, balanced meals because she wanted that for me, not because she had any particular desire to cook (she hated cooking, so where do I get it?)
I was always mortified by the amount of attention lavished on me, being the only child of an only child. I didn't want to have more than my friends did. So whereas most only children asked for more and more, I usually wanted less and less. Even things I really, really wanted -- 10-speed bicycles, Cabbage Patch dolls, a computer -- I would never ask for them because I didn't feel like I was deserving of attention and gifts. It seemed wrong and weird that I would get piles and piles of Christmas gifts when my friends got next to nothing. I wanted to take it all back, or hide it before they saw it and realized that I had it better than they did.
Saturday, June 26, 2004
I'm feeling awful and I have to start writing to get it out, don't I? I don't think I know of any other way to do it.
I have a sinus infection, and feel like shit. I remember being a little kid and feeling lousy, and crawling up into my mother's lap. She was always overweight, so her lap was soft and cushioned and immensely comfortable, the kind that you would want to spend whole days in as a child. And she would scratch my back or do something that would just make me feel better, because she knew all the keys to make me feel less miserable, if only for a moment.
All my mother wanted to be was a mother. She wanted boatloads of kids, odd for someone not raised Catholic. Instead, she just got me. I realized all of this when I was little and started telling the story that she stopped at perfection because she didn't need any other kids once she had me. I think it made her feel better about it all. I hope it did, anyway.
She had the only child guilt-lock on her mother. Grandmom pushed buttons, and mom would spring into action. I have some of that, but at some point I stopped listening to the guilt as much as I could. Argue when you can, walk away when you can't. The arguments weren't always logical enough to work with, so I had to learn to walk away from both in times if iirrationality.
I'm off on a nonsense tangent. What I really want is a comfortable lap to curl up into, and a gentle stroking of my hair to make me feel better.
I have a sinus infection, and feel like shit. I remember being a little kid and feeling lousy, and crawling up into my mother's lap. She was always overweight, so her lap was soft and cushioned and immensely comfortable, the kind that you would want to spend whole days in as a child. And she would scratch my back or do something that would just make me feel better, because she knew all the keys to make me feel less miserable, if only for a moment.
All my mother wanted to be was a mother. She wanted boatloads of kids, odd for someone not raised Catholic. Instead, she just got me. I realized all of this when I was little and started telling the story that she stopped at perfection because she didn't need any other kids once she had me. I think it made her feel better about it all. I hope it did, anyway.
She had the only child guilt-lock on her mother. Grandmom pushed buttons, and mom would spring into action. I have some of that, but at some point I stopped listening to the guilt as much as I could. Argue when you can, walk away when you can't. The arguments weren't always logical enough to work with, so I had to learn to walk away from both in times if iirrationality.
I'm off on a nonsense tangent. What I really want is a comfortable lap to curl up into, and a gentle stroking of my hair to make me feel better.
Friday, June 25, 2004
So I get an e-mail from friends of ours -- good people, but not exactly anyone we spend time with on a regular basis -- telling us that they're moving to San Diego next month because he got a great job down there. And all of a sudden, like the floodgates have opened, I'm fighting back tears and wondering what the heck I'm so damned weepy about. And I know it's not them I'm crying about, nor the thought of never seeing their new baby after it's born in November, but just my complete inability to deal with the world and all of the changes that keep coming along. God, I'm a complete fucking mess. All it would take right now is for management to just push my buttons on something and I'm going to be hysterical, on the floor in a puddle of tears.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
I love Monty Python, but somehow Life of Brian isn't really doing it for me at the moment. I think my sense of humor might have vanished with my brain. I feel so weird. I wonder how much longer I'll feel like this. When do I go back to being me?
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
The cardiologist says I'm healthy and unlikely to drop dead from an electrical short-circuit in my heart.
C is going away tomorrow, an overnight to Miami. Yuck.
In some sort of deluded moment in which I think I have money, I'm desperately interested in buying new living room furniture, something comfortable and cozy.
Verizon Wireless stores close at 8pm. WTF?
Yellow cake is the best birthday gift of all, at least in my deluded white-trash mind.
C is going away tomorrow, an overnight to Miami. Yuck.
In some sort of deluded moment in which I think I have money, I'm desperately interested in buying new living room furniture, something comfortable and cozy.
Verizon Wireless stores close at 8pm. WTF?
Yellow cake is the best birthday gift of all, at least in my deluded white-trash mind.
Monday, June 21, 2004
My birthday gifts have been an interesting assortment. I got Scharffen Berger chocolate for fondue from G, patio candles from T, a lovely necklace from my friends S&A, tickets from L to see David Sedaris in concert in November, roses from R&A (how sweet of them to send roses from NY!) and a coordinating Liz Claiborne purse and top from my brother and sister-in-law.
But the one I needed the most came from C: the promise that he will send me on my coveted spa getaway for as long as I'd like to go for and to whichever spa I choose (Austin and Utah being the top contenders). For two people who spend as much time together as we do, it's really great that he understands and encourages me to spend time on my own, especially relaxing downtime now that I've been under all this stress.
Oh, and speaking of stress, did I mention the fire at the cigar shop next door? I don't even want to think of the nuisance paperwork I'll have to endure with the insurance companies on this one. And ironically enough, it wasn't a cigar that started the fire. Some nimrod left a candle burning in the bathroom all night, and it set the back room on fire around 5AM.
But the one I needed the most came from C: the promise that he will send me on my coveted spa getaway for as long as I'd like to go for and to whichever spa I choose (Austin and Utah being the top contenders). For two people who spend as much time together as we do, it's really great that he understands and encourages me to spend time on my own, especially relaxing downtime now that I've been under all this stress.
Oh, and speaking of stress, did I mention the fire at the cigar shop next door? I don't even want to think of the nuisance paperwork I'll have to endure with the insurance companies on this one. And ironically enough, it wasn't a cigar that started the fire. Some nimrod left a candle burning in the bathroom all night, and it set the back room on fire around 5AM.
31 today. I hardly feel like I'm in any mood to celebrate. It seems somehow wrong to be having any sort of a feel-good gathering under the circumstances. C will be taking me out for dinner tonight, but since I still have this nuisance cold and can't really taste anything, I don't want to waste a trip to a fancy restaurant. I think we'll probably end up at Willow Street.
I'd like to curl up in a ball on the couch for the day. If anyone would like to join me, perhaps for hugs or drinks, they're more than welcome.
I'd like to curl up in a ball on the couch for the day. If anyone would like to join me, perhaps for hugs or drinks, they're more than welcome.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
I spent the morning waiting for the phone to ring, as though it were an ordinary Saturday. No call from mom. I know, intellectually, that she won't be calling, but that doesn't undo a lifetime of habit, or my emotional belief that she's still connected to AT&T. So who do I tell all of the stories that she liked to hear? Who do I tell about the crazy alcoholic neighbor across the street? Who do I tell about my other neighbor's new puppy? Who wants to listen to me talk about whatever meaningless crap pops into my head? That was always something she wanted to do, even when it made no sense at all. So I find that I spend a lot of time not talking. I'm not calling friends or familly. I'm not even e-mailing people. I'm just hiding in my little clamshell, ignoring most of the world as much as I can.
Tonight, several friends and our next door neighbors are coming over for a cookout/birthday for me. I don't really feel like talking, socializing or celebrating. Tomorrow, the neighbors are taking us to the beach with several of their friends to celebrate solstice. Now that I can get into. Since I was born on the longest day of the year, I can support celebrating the coolness of that day, even if we're not celebrating my birthday. C wants to take me out on Monday night for my real birthday, but I don't really even want to do that. I don't know. I guess we'll see what happens. But I just don't feel right celebrating and having a good time right now, especially when I feel so icky (not just with grief, but with this really annoying cold). Can't I just stay in bed all day?
Tonight, several friends and our next door neighbors are coming over for a cookout/birthday for me. I don't really feel like talking, socializing or celebrating. Tomorrow, the neighbors are taking us to the beach with several of their friends to celebrate solstice. Now that I can get into. Since I was born on the longest day of the year, I can support celebrating the coolness of that day, even if we're not celebrating my birthday. C wants to take me out on Monday night for my real birthday, but I don't really even want to do that. I don't know. I guess we'll see what happens. But I just don't feel right celebrating and having a good time right now, especially when I feel so icky (not just with grief, but with this really annoying cold). Can't I just stay in bed all day?
Thursday, June 17, 2004
I am alone tonight, an empty house, television and DSL to guide me through the night, nothing but my brain to keep me occupied. I feel so hollow inside, so empty, and yet I don't cry. I can't seem to cry no matter how much I intend to set my brain free. I want someone to hold me close, envelop me with their strength, but there is no one here and I don't think I really want to be with anyone anyway. How is it that I need comfort and solitude? How can I be together and apart?
I don't know what I feel anymore. I can't say that I feel lonely, can I? How can I be lonely with the absence of someone I rarely see and only speak to by telephone? Did I distance myself from her? Has it been more than miles that separated us? Have I always anticipated her death? All those times that grandmom told me that she would be dead before my graduation, before my wedding... did I believe her? Did I always prepare myself for life without her? I hate to think that's the case. I hate it. I am in pain, indescribable, indistinguishable pain that floods me and leaves a gaping hole in my heart and soul. And yet I don't cry. What happened to my heart? What's wrong with me?
I don't know what I feel anymore. I can't say that I feel lonely, can I? How can I be lonely with the absence of someone I rarely see and only speak to by telephone? Did I distance myself from her? Has it been more than miles that separated us? Have I always anticipated her death? All those times that grandmom told me that she would be dead before my graduation, before my wedding... did I believe her? Did I always prepare myself for life without her? I hate to think that's the case. I hate it. I am in pain, indescribable, indistinguishable pain that floods me and leaves a gaping hole in my heart and soul. And yet I don't cry. What happened to my heart? What's wrong with me?
C tells me that I should be blogging more, because there's so much in my head since Mom died. For some reason, though, I can't really write. It's like there's too much going on in my brain and I can't get it to slow down enough to catch up with it and talk about it.
I can say for a fact that I'm oddly detached from it all. I feel like I'm watching it all from the vantage point of that fly on the wall. This isn't happening to me, it's happening around me. My head is in a strange, hazy cloud that keeps me from thinking clearly, as though I'm using a rental brain -- I'm familiar with the basics of how it operates but, like a rental car, it's got quirks I'm not familiar with. I don't think I could parallel park it.
See, I do that a lot. I start to drift away. There's also a significant chance that while I write this, I may completely drift off into never-never land where I stare at the screen for 15 minutes and don't have a clue that I've lost any time at all until I look at the clock. How's that for scary? I hope it doesn't happen while I'm driving.
I'm going to a cardiologist on Wednesday to make sure that I don't have the same sort of arrythmia that killed mom. Both grandmom and Grace have a form of arrythmia, so maybe there's something there. I just don't want to have to worry about dropping dead.
Speaking of that, I woke up in the middle of the night freezing cold (the fan was still on, so the bedroom was really chilly). I rolled over and C was cold. For some reason I thought he wasn't breathing and I flipped out. My heart started pounding so hard that I thought they'd be able to hear it at my neighbor's house. I was panic stricken and didn't know what to do. Then he rolled over and I was so relieved that I wanted to cry, but instead I just stayed where I was, clutching onto him in the night, as though I could will him to stay with me. The alarm went off an hour later and I drove him to the airport, never telling him that I spent an hour of the night terrified.
I can say for a fact that I'm oddly detached from it all. I feel like I'm watching it all from the vantage point of that fly on the wall. This isn't happening to me, it's happening around me. My head is in a strange, hazy cloud that keeps me from thinking clearly, as though I'm using a rental brain -- I'm familiar with the basics of how it operates but, like a rental car, it's got quirks I'm not familiar with. I don't think I could parallel park it.
See, I do that a lot. I start to drift away. There's also a significant chance that while I write this, I may completely drift off into never-never land where I stare at the screen for 15 minutes and don't have a clue that I've lost any time at all until I look at the clock. How's that for scary? I hope it doesn't happen while I'm driving.
I'm going to a cardiologist on Wednesday to make sure that I don't have the same sort of arrythmia that killed mom. Both grandmom and Grace have a form of arrythmia, so maybe there's something there. I just don't want to have to worry about dropping dead.
Speaking of that, I woke up in the middle of the night freezing cold (the fan was still on, so the bedroom was really chilly). I rolled over and C was cold. For some reason I thought he wasn't breathing and I flipped out. My heart started pounding so hard that I thought they'd be able to hear it at my neighbor's house. I was panic stricken and didn't know what to do. Then he rolled over and I was so relieved that I wanted to cry, but instead I just stayed where I was, clutching onto him in the night, as though I could will him to stay with me. The alarm went off an hour later and I drove him to the airport, never telling him that I spent an hour of the night terrified.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Forgive me Blogger, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession. I've been busy, you know. It seems that the death of a mother, assistance to a father and the settlement of a grandmother's estate keep you busy enough to not have time to blog.
I will, one day, recap the last three weeks in some detail. For now, all I can say is that I don't think that it's fully hit me yet. I've barely cried. And yet, on the flip side of this, I feel like there's an excruciatingly empty hole in me that I can't clearly define. This is probably why I'm not writing. I just don't know what I'm feeling, so I don't know how to define it in any method of communication that I know.
I will, one day, recap the last three weeks in some detail. For now, all I can say is that I don't think that it's fully hit me yet. I've barely cried. And yet, on the flip side of this, I feel like there's an excruciatingly empty hole in me that I can't clearly define. This is probably why I'm not writing. I just don't know what I'm feeling, so I don't know how to define it in any method of communication that I know.
