Had a light anxiety attack at the laundromat tonight. I left with most of my clothes still damp. I just needed to leave. I hate being there. Then i started wondering if it could possibly be about that time in Brooklyn when i was 5 or younger and my mom had a fight with some ladies in the laundromat and asked me to translate for her. I think we had left and come back and then my mom's clothes had some marks on them, like tread marks or something because somebody had taken them out of the machine. So she was arguing with these tall women, from what i remember, and bad words were said in either English or Spanish and there was a lot of anger and i was scared. Somewhere later, maybe out in the street or at home my mom asked me, angrily, why i didn't defend her. You know, since i spoke English and she didn't. That hurt my feelings a lot because i was scared and i just wished that my mom didn't argue with them and i was mad at her for making me translate.
So tonight i remembered that and wondered if that's why i've been so afraid of laundromats my whole life.
Dr. Hirsh said if i wrote that down then i wouldn't have to carry it around in my head all the time.

It's almost 10, i hope i go to sleep soon. I just took a really long shower. I had a bad night. I cried as hard as i did in the days right after my mom's wake and mass.
I called Dr. Hirsh because i couldn't calm myself down. I left him a message asking him to call me back tomorrow or Wednesday but he called back in just a few minutes. I wasn't prepared for that. I was crying when i picked up the phone and afraid that i wouldn't be able to talk. He talked to me for 23 minutes. He told me he was glad that i called because he knows how hard it is for me to reach out for help. He said he knew something was wrong if i actually made the call. He always tells me to and for over a year now i never called him in between our sessions.
I took a Lorazepam to try to go to sleep as soon as i got back from the laundromat. I was freaking out. Also, i had 4 cups of coffee today and i think that was not good.
I'm tired now. Trying to get some of it out before i go to bed.
I cried in the shower a lot. First time in many months that i almost couldn't stop crying. i'm afraid to let it start up again.
It's just super sad for me right now, i guess. I miss my mom, i regret so much that i did or didn't do, i think it's so fucked up that she died so soon. At least another 10 years would have been cool. I know too many people with really old parents or grandparents. 68 is not okay for someone to die.

I listened to the 25 most exquisitely sad songs in the whole world today. According to spinner.com. They were mostly meh until i got to the George Jones song about the guy who stopped loving the girl the day he died. Something about laying a wreath on his door and taking him away later that day. It brought me back to the day my mom died and the moment they took her body away. I know they did it fast because they don't want it to be drawn out and traumatic for the loved ones, but it was traumatic. Maybe i'm exaggerating. The cancer was traumatic. But watching them wrap up her body in her blanket, and then inside another maroon blanket and strapping her to a board and wheeling it out of the apartment...i wasn't prepared for that. I'd never seen nor read about that. I had Diana and Carol on either side of me, holding me and i remember gripping them and drawing in a sharp breath, when they zipped up the bag.
I had held her dead body and even took a couple of photos of her and me. It was my mom. I would have kept her if i could. I'm glad i was able to be with her when she left me, and glad i saw her die but i also don't feel "good" when i think about it. If i replay her moment of death in my head, the moment i somehow described as beautiful in my text to friends, it's like digging out a wound and making it fresh again.

I stopped using my lightbox for a couple of days. I guess i need it ASAP.

Dr. Hirsh said it's good that i'm not isolating. I know i need to force myself to be with friends and family.

He said that even if i'm crazy, which i'm not according to him, there are still people out there who would like me because i'm crazy. Also, if only one in a million people liked me, there are 8 people in New York who could like me and be my friend. That's a lot. Before support group i had just about maybe 8 friends. And i had zero family before my mom got sick. So, anyway, that was a cool way to look at it.

I forget what else he said but that always happens. It'll come to me later.

I need to sleep. I hope this pill works.

Also he keeps on telling me use the Ritalin. I have to try it again, i get so resistant to that stuff.

He said i do guilt really well. Imagine if that was a profession. But a painless one.
He said i'm having some strong emotions right now because this is a tough time of year for people who are in mourning. And he said that i've had strong emotions my whole life and that's true and i never thought of that before. I get scared at how black and white things are for me. Good-bad. Success-failure. Beautiful-ugly. Worthy-worthless.

I just need time to pass. I need for the dates not to mean anything. at least after January 1st, i'll have a whole month of just days. And then my mom's birthday. and then less than two months until the one year anniversary. fuck that's soon.

I NEED to join a gym. I won't exercise otherwise and i know now, more than ever in my life, i need to exercise. i need get this shit out of my body, this stress, need to sweat it out and breathe it out.
Gonna find a gym for the new year.

Random crying is back.
Really sad in the street is back.
Christmas is over, thank goodness. It was actually nice. Well, Christmas eve was very nice, went to evening service in Rye, NY, sang Silent Night in the dark with lit candles. It was good to do something new and different and to be in good company.
Christmas Day was tiring and busy but ultimately good because my mind was occupied at all times and didn't stop to think about the bad stuff.
Today i was really tired and just vegged out at Jes' hanging out with Clem and didn't go to L.I. like i had planned to. My aunts were really worried apparently and i didn't talk to them until around 11 pm. I didn't get their calls to my cell phone and i wasn't home to receive those calls. It freaked me out that they both were so worried about me. Made me cry. They want my friends' phone numbers in case of emergency. They're right but it reminds me that my mom is no longer the one to worry about me. Plus i feel guilty remembering all the times i worried my mom by not calling.
My tia Beatriz telling me that she loves me very much and that her heart hurt because she was worried that she couldn't reach me just really upset me. It's great to know, but my mom should be telling me that.

Whatever. This is a really sad time of year. I know i can get through every day. I assume i will because i've gotten through every other day this year.

Been watching lots of episodes of "30 Rock." It really makes me laugh and i find it oddly comforting. The NYC setting and the characters just make me feel good.

Best moment of Tuesday:
When i told my group how sad i am that both my tias are going to be out of the country for my mom's birthday and how i had planned to go to dinner with them to celebrate it. And then the girls asked me if they could go to dinner with me.
Just. So much heart and love. It's the best thing anyone's said to me in a long time.
And Fran crochets? AND she made a giant lovely blanket for Baby Elvis and gave Alison a baby bag? Chills. And some of us got teary eyed.

I LOVE when we're together in F.C. and one of us is talking and the rest are nodding simultaneously because we "get it" COMPLETELY. It's this great feeling of being home (i know i've said that before) and of being whole and of belonging.
I told the girls that so often i wish i could call my mom or go home and tell her about the scarves Kerri made or about the adorable story about Fran's kids, or about the beautiful coat that Brianne's uncle named after her. And i KNOW my mom would have loved them all so much. And it hurts me that she never met them. But...because she's not here...that's why we're together. And i have to believe that we had to be together. Were meant to.

I walked to Macy's afterward, discovered it's open for 24 hours a day until Christmas eve and just wandered among the crowds, simultaneously battling the memories that make me long for her while relishing the feeling of being there with her.
The lingerie floor, specifically all the pajamas mocked me. I hate them. I think they're evil. Stupid holiday reds and pinks and no mom to buy them for.

Boots shopping was a failure. Nothing fit right. The 4th floor was doable. The 5th floor was where it started getting to be too much. I missed her the second i walked in, i thought i'd be tear-less but it's almost like i was seeking them. It felt masochistic in a way. I was looking for her there, knowing i would only feel empty. Like i needed to get to that place of pain. It just made me sad. I ended up calling Diana and tia Emilia and i managed to turn from on the verge of tears to joking about sleeping in Macy's overnight. My mom and i would have had a BALL. We were both such night owls. I would have made her go with me in the middle of the night, just for the fun of it.

I left Macy's at around 11:45 then went into Old Navy for about another hour. Bought fuzzy socks. Missed my mom.

I got a great phone message from E.J. who was on his way to VT, to be with his family for the holidays. He always tells me that my mom is with me and that i'm not alone. Tonight he said, "you'll never be alone." I really like that.

Sometimes i'm just tired of crying.

Last night leaving tia B's apartment i had a a really scary moment. A woman walking toward me, at about 50 feet way, in a black coat, looked JUST like my mom. With her beautiful reddish wavy hair. Walked like her, was the same size, it was HER walking toward me. It freaked the hell out of me. As the woman got closer i saw that she had on a fur-trimmed hood, not beautiful wavy reddish hair. I immediately looked away because i did not want to see her as she got close. I did not want to see that it WASN'T my mother. I started to cry.

I'm getting good at getting teary in the streets. I feel it, just a few tears roll down my checks and then i breathe it out.

I can't wait for Christmas to be over. Last year was terrible. Christmas Day in the ER, my mom in terrible pain, unable to tell the date and unaware of who her sister was. It terrified me to think that she would stay that way but thankfully when we stopped the Fentanyl she was no longer so horribly disoriented.
I'm going to be so tired and sick tomorrow. I do NOT want to go to sleep but i'll fall asleep at around 6:30am and then panic that i'll oversleep that last hour.

Gonna set the alarm now.

Snow is making me depressed.
Another first.
First snow without mom.
Brings back memories of all our snowfalls together.
The same view outside the window of this apartment, but different view on the inside.
I woke up today and turned on my lightbox. Had breakfast, put a dvd on, surfed the web, played with my bird. I considered doing laundry but i really didn't have the energy. I looked up at the window and noticed that the first flakes were starting to fall. It was 1:59 pm. Wow, those weather.com people are accurate, i thought to myself.
And then i got sad because it's snowing and i'm alone and my mom is gone from this world.
The dismaying thing is how deeply the hurt is every time something like this happens. I know i'm sad, but then something happens to make me SO sad. It's like falling back down into the hole.
I slept for the rest of the afternoon.
Have done absolutely nothing today but half-watch dvds and look for the freaking Muppet Movie online. I can't find it anywhere and it's the one movie i really want to see.

I considered going to Macy's for a minute. I was looking at boots online earlier. I need snow/cold weather boots. Looked at so many sites and didn't see any that i really liked AND could afford. I got a terrible pang of pain and longing looking at boots because that's something i associate with my mom, too. We won't go boots shopping ever again. We did it every year. Part of me doesn't want to do it because she's not here.

I feel like i'm so black and white. I'm waiting for the gray. I think that if my mom is gone then i don't feel like making any decisions that relate to continuing to live. I'm living but do i really care about what boots i have or whether i'm warm or whether i eat or whether i finish college or whether i have a better job? Not right now. Sometimes i care for a few hours or a day. And then it goes away.
I'm waiting for the day i care about what happens to me, by myself.

Celebrate me home

That song makes me think of the cheesy version that Ruben Studdard recorded one year for American Idol. Probably one of the worst "goodbye" songs they ever had.
Anyway.
Tonight was our Fight Club holiday season celebration: a celebration of us! I forget who put it that way, but it was so good.
We were missing Sara, sadly, but we're planning on photoshopping her into our group photo. Whoever suggested that was genius.
We saw Elizabeth who we hadn't seen in a while. She said that it felt like coming home to her, to be with us tonight and that she was so glad she made it, even if she couldn't stay for the whole time. Lovely Elizabeth gave us each her and Myles' holiday card and that was just great and so sweet. I hardly ever get any cards (probably because i hardly ever send any, lol) so this is especially sweet coming from one of my "sisters." It's a gorgeous card and they are such a gorgeous couple. We always say how much we love knowing that Elizabeth has Myles. (And that Myles has Elizabeth).

Then Kerri said that she had something for us, too. So she whips out some cute little bundles that have each of our names on them and starts handing them out. I look at her and go, "wait, did you make this?" Leave it to Kerri to knit each of us our very own, different colored scarf! The cutest part is that she handed out cards immediately after and my card has a short piece of yarn in it that's a preview of my scarf, because she hasn't finished mine yet since the yarn is finer. But it's turquoise! It's so gorgeous. And it's a color i've been wearing more and more in the past couple of years (right, Georgia?). I especially love all my turquoise earrings.

I think that my mom used to discourage me from wearing blue and green when i was younger because she didn't think it looked good with my skin color but in recent years i did start wearing it and showed her that yes, it did look good with my skin color.

So that was just so amazing of Kerri and crazy sweet. Alison told us that Kerri's a good liar because they had had a knitting afternoon at Alison's apartment a couple of weekends ago, and Kerri told her that she was knitting scarves for some coworkers or some people, i forget. Clever.
Fran's is black, but a sparkly black. Brianne's is kinda pumpkin colored. Cara's is a lovely chick yellow. Elizabeth's is a gorgeous blue and white variegated color. Jenna's is like grass green. Alison's is like a raspberry. I told Alison that it's a similar color to my first scarf that i knitted, the "red and green" one that my mom lost in the street when she wore it one day.

I love my holiday card from Kerri, too, because it's of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller center and it has glitter all over it. My mom so loved to glitter-ize her Christmas cards and this made me think of her. Plus i have such fond memories of our day spent at Rockefeller Center taking pics with tia Emilia, mom and me.

I wanted so badly to show my mom the cards. Or to tell her about the scarves. I want so badly to tell her about my Fight Club and how wonderful each of the girls is and how much i love them. Dr. Hirsh and E.J. would say, "go ahead and tell her." Well, i'm not there yet but at least i know that a) she would be happy for me, and b) she would absolutely LOVE the girls (and she'd probably tell me to be more like them, actually).

Dr. Hirsh told me last week that i was a normal daughter. That getting impatient with my mom or some of the other stuff that i feel like an asshole about now is actually normal. And he asked me to give myself credit for taking care of her at the end. I feel like it's shameful that it took my mom's illness for me to be the daughter that she wanted me to be. But at least i keep repeating to myself that i wasn't always an asshole, i was normal, too.

I talked to Cara about guilt at length after we said goodbye to Jenna. They still feel guilt from their surviving parent and i still feel guilt about my mom dying and me not giving her the life i would have wanted for her. My whole plan was to take care of her and have money and take her places and do fun stuff and show her the world as i see it. But our time was cut short.

We all agreed tonight that the holidays suck. Celebration all around and some of us are "celebrating" one year anniversaries of our loved ones' death, some of us are reliving our loved ones last days and hospital stays. Some of us are trying to stay sane while the world around us tries to make Christmas, or Hanukkah, or the "season" happen.

Gretchen, stop trying to make the holiday season happen! It's not going to happen!

Brian asked me today in the kitchen how i'm doing with the holidays and if i'm having a hard time. I said yes, i don't want to celebrate. Immediately he said, what would your mom want? I couldn't believe that he asked me first of all, and i couldn't believe that he asked about my mom. I just responded, "celebrate." Then he told me about his post-holiday party and how it's fun and how it doesn't have to be awkward.

I thought about that all afternoon and evening. Nobody asks me that. And nobody has asked me that recently. He's the only one at work who seems to have remembered that my mom died and maybe i'm sad about it now.
Well, Cynthia always asks me anyway and i adore her and she's like a mom, which is why i'll always defend her when people talk smack about her. She's crazy but caring, like nobody else.

Uh oh, i need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow night i'm taking tia Beatriz, tia Emilia, Carol and Diana to see "Burn the Floor" starring Maksim Chmerovsky and Kym Johnson. It's my Christmas present to all of them. I'm looking forward to them enjoying it a lot. I'd like to think that if my mom were alive i'd have taken her to see it and she would have loved it.

I saw "Everybody's Fine," on Sunday night with Dana and Corey. E.J. was great, very, very funny and the audience laughed. But the movie is so freaking sad. I mean, it's so touching and it's so harsh in that it depicts real, complex parent-child relationships as well as grief and coming to terms with the truth about who we really are. I think i might watch it again on dvd, i liked it that much, but it might be too sad. I cried through nearly the entire movie.

Dennis Lehane, Shutter Island, speaks to me:

He thought of what Cawley had said to him.

It's not a matter of if. It's a matter of when.

Was he suicidal?

He supposed he was. He couldn't remember a day since Dolores's death when he hadn't thought of joining her, and it sometimes went further than that. Sometimes he felt as if continuing to live was an act of cowardice. What was the point of buying groceries, of filling the Chrysler tank, of shaving, putting on socks, standing in yet another line, picking a tie, ironing a shirt, washing his face, combing his hair, cashing a check, renewing his license, reading the paper, taking a piss, eating - alone, always alone - going to a movie, buying a record, paying bills, shaving again, washing again, sleeping again, waking up again...
...if none of it brought him closer to her?


He knew he was supposed to move on. Recover. Put it behind him. His few stray friends and few stray relatives had said as much, and he knew that if he were on the outside looking in, he would tell that other Teddy to buck up and suck in your gut and get on with the rest of your life.


But to do that, he'd have to find a way to put Dolores on a shelf, to allow her to gather dust in the hope that enough dust would accumulate to soften his memory of her. Mute her image. Until one day she'd be less a person who had lived and more the dream of one.

Like going home

So the problem is being alone. Maybe "problem" isn't the right word.
The pain is loud, sharp, blinding and heavy when i'm alone.
In the past few weeks i've experienced enjoyable times with my aunts, my friends, my coworkers. I'm laughing, engaged, responding, empathizing, caring, and feeling alive.
Then i say goodbye and i walk off by myself and every single object in my sight makes me aware of my mom's absence and i can go in one of two directions:
1) remember being an asshole to my mom and regret not being able to do today what i didn't do then
2) remember something fun or sweet or happy about my mom that makes me furious and heartbroken that she has to be gone.

On Friday night i was riding the bus on Broadway back home from Jes' apartment and i found myself having the strangest mental conversation with the streets. All of Broadway is dressed up in holiday lights and there are Christmas tree stands about every 4 blocks (so it seems). I stared at those decorations and multicolored lights and thought, "who said you're allowed to be there? My mom's not here, you're not allowed to be decorations." I passed the tree stands and thought, "what right do you have to be there? My mom loved wreaths, she loved these tree stands, those are supposed to be for her. She's not here and neither should you be."
Everything about Christmas and winter in NY that i love, or thought i loved, doesn't make sense knowing that my mother is not here. There's a part of me that really doesn't understand why the holiday season is here. How can it exist without my mother? How is that possibly fair at all, in any world in the universe, at any point in time?

So unfair, so unfair. That's how i feel outside. I told Fran on Tuesday that i think about when we started our group on May 6 this year. She was where i am now. Around 8 months. And it is getting harder. It's by no means getting easier. I don't cry maybe as much as i did in the very beginning, but i've really had more of the waves that i read about with grief. I've got it together, i can do this, i can go on. I can't handle this, there is no point to life, this pain is going to kill me. It's like a clock, going around and around. I have faith that i will survive and thrive because other people do. I just don't have any plans.

Dr. Hirsh gave me a lightbox which i hope helps me. I've only used it once so far. I took it to work but it was too bright and too disturbing for my work environment, so i brought it back home.
After my session 2 Wednesdays ago, i walked from 9th street to 42nd street, in the light rain, with my hood up and my scarf up under my eyes and i cried the whole way. It was great. I mean, i didn't feel great, but to be able to cry in the rain at night, out in the open air, that felt like such a release. It's not the first time i've cried in the rain. It might be one of my favorite things to be able to do.
I spent almost all of last weekend with my aunts and it was really great. I enjoyed it but i was also keenly aware of the fact that being with them didn't equal to being with my mom and that's what i wanted to replicate. I still love being with them, hanging out at Macy's, talking about my mom. But whenever i say goodbye and head home i feel a tremendous emptiness. It's like filling the void temporarily works but then when it's emptied again it's even a deeper, more painful void.

Being alone in the apartment is getting sadder. Coming home is sadder. Once i'm here i just keep the radio on and play dvds so that i'm not stuck in silence.

On Tuesday i met with Fran and Alison and as i was walking toward the Moonstruck diner, i thought to myself, it's like i'm going home. Going to a Fight Club night is an instant comfort. It's knowing i'm going somewhere where people care and i care and i can tell the truth about my feelings and they'll get it and i'll get it when they tell me. That feeling of sharing thoughts and feelings and connecting in a way you don't connect ANYWHERE else is...like going home.

Thanksgiving's come and gone. One holiday down, two more to go. It was fine, nothing really to hate or complain about but i've decided i want to do Christmas and New Year's Eve away from my family.
Thanksgiving itself was okay and even though i was contemplating just staying home alone up until i got to tia Beatriz's, to get driven to L.I. i ended up not feeling sad while i was around all those people. I didn't actively miss my mom while i was there. It was more like my usual "i hate big groups, especially of people i don't know/don't like" feeling. We ate, my tia Beatriz led the prayer beforehand, i thought about my message i got from Calvary and was glad i decided not to say it, not in front of all those people i don't care about and who don't care about my mom. I ate, sat with one tia, sat with the other and when tia Emilia said she was going back to her apartment i grabbed my coat and bag in a split second. Poor tia was in so much pain from her swollen knees and her arthritic bones. We were up in her apartment before 9:30pm and i think we started eating at like 9. I was so happy to be out of there. We drank tea, i put the tv on and we all went to bed fairly quickly. I watched Family Guy until 11:30 and turned off the tv.

I didn't sleep well at all, as i was on the loveseat and i woke up at 4:30. Arturito was up, too, because that's when he wakes up every morning to go to work. He was trying to go back to sleep. I slept better from then until 8:30 when i got up and tia gave us breakfast. I later realized that i had had really bad nightmares in the earlier part of the night. I dreamt with a giant red snake, with white spots on it. It was in the staircase of my building and it seemed to be floating in the air and was poised to lunge at me. I froze in place for a second and then backed out of the staircase through the exit door and went down the other staircase. I was terrified. I was on my way somewhere and i was carrying either a cat or my bird or another pet in my arms. Then i ended up being in a hospital looking for my mom's room. It was a big hospital, long hallways, everything was stainless steel, almost corporate looking with its elevators and water fountains, very high ceilings and wide corridors, ugly lighting, parking lot. I walked a lot, i think i was with someone else. It makes me nauseous to remember it. I think i found my mom's room and i talked to a doctor outside of it. I can't remember my mom in it. I think she was sick but not on her deathbed.

The next night i dreamt with mom, too, that she was sick but it was like Christmas last year when she was suffering from delirium from the Fentanyl patches. She was frighteningly out of it. tia Angelica was in my dream but we were at tia Beatriz's apartment, not my own. Then i was at some kind of concert with her, i think, or with someone else, and there was a drag queen there and i think i knew that person and he greeted me from the stage.

I did laundry yesterday and some other housework. I'm doing more today. I hate looking at an article of clothing that reminds me that my mother never saw it. I hate my clothes that my mother never knew. So fucked up.

so...

so i'm sad. i'm so sad.
saw Terence Stamp in westerley buying organic figs and pineapple. i think they were the dried kind.
i bought a ton of teas because they were on sale.
went to jack's 99c and kmart. made myself sad. missed my mom so much. times a thousand. constantly. kept repeating it over and over. held back my tears many times, not always successfully. teared up every time on the escalator. at kmart i went to look at the christmas turtlenecks like the ones i bought for mom last year. sometimes it feels like she died a year ago and sometimes it feels like she's so close. like i was just with her and i was just buying her an outfit for christmas and we were just taking photos at rockefeller center.
i was sad and i cried and i thought of her and i thought of what she would have wanted for me and if she'd have been upset that i was looking at all that unnecessary crap in kmart and thinking of throwing away my money. i ended up leaving kmart and spending my money at jack's. i think wisely. only thing i really need to buy now are carrots and milk.
i cried on the subway home a little bit. i saw dave chappelle on the train and that was really weird. i wanted to tell him that my mother died and it's bumming me out and has he ever dealt with that.

i got home and wanted to do laundry and cook and do a lot but didn't. i fed my birds, moved the new chair and tried to make space. i threw out my recyclables, i washed two of my wastebaskets. i showered. i made tea.
at jacks' i thought about decorating for christmas and i got a little enthusiastic about making my apartment nice. i also thought that i couldn't imagine it having any meaning or worth without my mother here. both feelings at the same time. angry and incredulous and hurt that she's gone.
i know i'll be okay, i told myself, but it hurts so much i get worried about how i'll survive all the holiday cheer and atmosphere. i love it but it feels like a mad world, like chaos. and i constantly have so many regrets. i want do-overs.
i saw a couple of cancer books at kmart that i want to read. one about a young girl who died of cancer and the other was about farrah fawcett.
my question for dr hirsh next week is: what do i do if i can only remember the bad moments with my mom? what if i can't remember the happy times or the normal times? the not-cancer times?
why didn't i know? why didn't i know it was cancer? why did i think that she would be fine and it was just a digestive problem that we'd easily resolve? even when i read on the pancreatitis forums about how life-altering that condition is. i thought i'd do the right things for her and she'd be fine.

The mass yesterday was perfect. i was nervous and reluctant to go but it was beautiful and they sang one of my mom's favorite songs during communion, Tu Reinaras, and the fact that there was music was amazing because that's what mom asked me for. The priest ACTUALLY made me consider becoming Catholic again, so i was very happy with him. He was Venezuelan. I held back tears a lot. He talked about thinking about our time here on Earth and how we're going to honor our life, through service and learning. he said that God is the alpha and the omega and that we are the point in between. it was the day of Christ the King, the last calendar day of the Christian calendar (?). Advent started today, i guess.
Zoraida and Adela were there, too, besides my tias and Diana. I was so happy. My mom LOVED them. I was so happy that the people she loved were there, and not the people from church who caused her grief and hurt her feelings. Adela told me that the name of the church in the town she was born is Christ the King. Cool. Zoraida's the best. Every time i see her she talks about how much she still remembers my mom and tells me how special my mom was. and she said my mom was a good dancer. i say my mom loved to dance. Zoraida REALLY talks to me about my mom and REALLY asks me how i'm doing. i love it.
At the end of the mass they played an instrumental version of Ave Maria. I thought that was great because it's what Junior sang at my mom's funeral mass.
Adela is such a sweet wonderful lady. We treated her to brunch, went to Metro Diner. It was great. Zoraida was going to catch the new Almodovar so we didn't invite her but i saw her later in the afternoon at tias. Tia Emilia cut her hair while i slept off the Manishevitz that tia Beatriz bought. That stuff is too strong for me! I asked them how they came to love that wine. It's not a wine to be liked, it serves a purpose, i said. Anyway, they love it and so did my mom. Weirdos.
After brunch went to EJs and he basically gave me a living room starter kit. I'm so happy to have real furniture. Diana drove me home and helped me drop it off. Later in the evening i ended up going back to Long Island with her and tia and hung out with Diana the whole night. It was great.
What would i do without my family?

Rite Aid is no longer my oasis

I bought a new mop and a new broom today. I didn't really need them but i bought them anyway.
I stood in the laundry and cleaning aisle at the Rite Aid near Columbia and i practically forced myself to need something: to need that spray bottle for $2.49, those hanger clips, some rope, an over-the-door hook. Just buy something, anything, everything. As i stood there i gave myself a talking-to. This is about comfort and retail therapy, this is me needing to make a purchase and take home an object that will fill the hole in my life. This is my drink, my donut, my dope. I still spent almost $40.

I had actually planned on going to Rite Aid to buy the mop and possibly broom after deciding over the weekend that the ones i have could stand to be replaced. Not a dire necessity by any means but somehow i convinced myself that this was a prudent decision. Searching on the Home Depot and Bed Bath & Beyond websites all day at work didn't yield a satisfying result.
If i buy the perfect mop and broom, i thought, they'll clean the apartment and it'll shine and sparkle and the perfect furniture will magically appear and the walls will be the perfect color. It will be an apartment out one of those magazines with endless ads for kitchen faucets you never knew existed.

If i buy this, my life will be better. If i buy this body lotion for my mom, she'll get better . The fancy dish sponge, the organic garlic cloves, the eco-friendly floor cleaner, the bamboo eye mask. If only i can spend as much money as possible on a simple product then that will be the key to curing my mom. Make everything around her perfect and she'll get better. That was the thinking. The right type of pajamas were just as important as the smoothies and the medicine.

In my evolution or development stage or status of reincarnation I have not yet broken through to relinquishing the material. I've always and still do use buying stuff as an instant remedy. It's never anything fancy. Socks, pens, lightbulbs, books, Skittles, something. I gotta get to that next level of enlightenment.

Walking around the Rite Aid almost felt like an exercise in masochism. My mom and i had walked those aisles together innumerable times. I blasted the rock music in my earphones and plodded around like a zombie, repeating over and over in my head, "i want to die, i want to die, i want to die." I almost didn't notice that i was doing it.

7 months passed and i'm still shocked that every step on the subway stairway and every inch of concrete on Broadway make me long for my mother. The aisles of Rite Aid deafen me with the blare of her absence. They seem almost angry.

I know, i know, i know. I have to grieve and give myself time to do it. But i wait and wait for the shock to go away. One moment i'll miss her and understand that she got sick and died. The next i'll be asking myself, "wait, what? She's gone?"

It all sucks.
The grief, the trauma of emergency rooms and peeling skin and draining fluids, lonely bus rides home, crying on the subway. I wish i could get it all out of my system, i don't know how to do that. I try with this blog.
Most of all the regret. The regret. The memory of being a jerk: mean, lazy, insensitive. Selfish, so selfish.
Yes, sometimes i wonder if it was my fault. If i caused her enough disappointment and frustration that it could actually cause cancer. Maybe i need for it to be my fault. I'll have to ask Dr. Hirsh.

Today after work, Barb and Erika spoke about how great the trees outside the Time Warner Center look, completely strung with the brightest lights i've ever seen. Obnoxiously so, i thought. But then i wasn't feeling that holiday cheer. Those lights mean a whole year passed and this time it's horribly different. It's not that i won't enjoy the holiday season. I think i will. I was enjoying the Christmas music station i listened to at work today. There was a little bit of masochism at work again. Or maybe it's not that at all. Maybe i was just testing myself to see how far i could go with the pain, not for the pleasure of it, but to make myself better. It made me sad but the childhood joy was there, too.

I know winter is going to be painful and the holidays will suck but i KNOW that it won't be like that the whole time. There will be happy and funny and relaxed moments, too.
The sad doesn't take away from the happy. And the happy doesn't take away from the sad. So that's what Dr. Hirsh meant.

It's too late to mop now, but then again, that wasn't really the purpose of my purchase, was it?

I need to write about coats. This whole essay thing for class is not working out for me. I'm supposed to do my homework and i end up writing in here.

A-C-H-E-F-O-R

62 Across. Miss terribly. 7 letters

I was just checking out the website feedthepig.org and it has some really good tips and interactive activities to teach about saving money. I need this.
There's a category called "Caring for Aging Parent." I saw it and said aloud to myself, "i wish i was caring for an aging parent."

I slept all day today. Literally. Slept all day. Woke up at around 7:50am. Went to the bathroom like 20 times. Watched some videos online, watched "Muppets in Space." Fell asleep again at 11am. Got up at around 2:40pm and ate some oatmeal and cereal with milk and raspberries. Watched "Muppets in Space" again, since i fell asleep the first time, watched some "Dynasty, " went back to sleep, on and off. I remember it being almost 4, maybe that's when i went to sleep. Woke up at almost 7pm, ate some blue corn nachos with mild salsa. Some strawberries. Glass of soymilk. Tea. Watched "Greenfingers" on Netflix. Really good movie with Clive Owen and Helen Mirren. Based on a true story about British prisoners who became award-winning gardeners. I cried a bit, so that was good.
Trying to go to sleep soon so i can wake up at around 6 or so and do the 100 lbs. of laundry that needs to get washed.
Clean the birdcages. Go to dinner at 5:30 with peeps from work.

I'm wondering why it's so bad for me to become my mother. What if by becoming her i'll be a more awesome person than i could ever be otherwise? I'd like to do gardening. She loved plants and flowers and always talked soothingly to them, while i told them they were ugly, because i thought it was funny.

Quotation time!

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. ~Kahlil Gibran

Man, when he does not grieve, hardly exists. ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin

Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

In my Lucia's absence
Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden;
I am ten times undone, while hope, and fear,
And grief, and rage and love rise up at once,
And with variety of pain distract me.
~Joseph Addison

If you're going through hell, keep going. ~Winston Churchill

The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost. ~Arthur Schopenhauer

If you suppress grief too much, it can well redouble. ~Moliere

There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go. ~Author Unknown

The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep. ~Henry Maudsley

It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
~Ovid

Silence is not certain token That no secret grief is there; Sorrow which is never spoken Is the heaviest load to bear.
~ Frances Ridley Havergal

We say: mad with joy. We should say: wise with grief.

~ Marguerite Yourcenar

Never does a man know the force that is in him till some mighty affection or grief has humanized the soul.

~Frederick W. Robertson

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief . . . and unspeakable love.

~Washington Irving

As long as I can I will look at this world for both of us. As long as I can I will laugh with the birds, I will sing with the flowers, I will pray to the stars, for both of us. ~Sascha, as posted on motivateus.com

this is how we feel

Main Entry: evis·cer·ate
Pronunciation: \i-ˈvi-sə-ˌrāt\

Function: verb

Inflected Form(s): evis·cer·at·ed; evis·cer·at·ing

Etymology: Latin evisceratus, past participle of eviscerare, from e- + viscera viscera

Date: 1599

transitive verb 1 a : to take out the entrails of : disembowel b : to deprive of vital content or force
2 : to remove an organ from (a patient) or the contents of (an organ)intransitive verb : to protrude through a surgical incision or suffer protrusion of a part through an incision

— evis·cer·a·tia·tion \-ˌvi-sə-ˈrā-shən\ noun

Contradictions

I logged in and my info said 33 posts. Hmm. That number meant something to me when i started this blog. Now i'm too sad to know if i still care.

I came home tonight to an empty apartment. My cousin moved out tonight while i was at a benefit with people from work.. It feels so different now than it did in April, May, June. I feel more alone than ever. The apartment feels more empty than ever. It's like there's more absence now than there was before. Or the covering up of the absence is now over.
My mother's absence was always present. Now it's the only thing here.
I know i need this emptiness and need to be alone, and by extension i suppose i need this pain, too.

Not only are certain situations comfortingly the same (such as watching Project Runway at Jes' apartment) but some people are comfortingly the same. I see some old ladies and think, 'Thank God she's still alive. I need her to be alive.' But then there are times when i see men or women and think, 'YOU'RE still alive? And my mom, isn't? How is that fair?'

Today was tough. I thought a lot about how unfair it is that my mom died. I kept thinking about why she got cancer, about what caused it, about what i missed, what i could have done to change the course of events and didn't know that i should have done. Same old, same old.
I listened to Sara Montiel and Juan Gabriel and longed for my mom and to share the music with her.
Tonight at the Rockers on Broadway benefit i smiled because it was all 60s music and i thought about how my mom must have been fun (and had fun) in the 60s and how she loved to dance and she loved pop music and despite all the crappiness in her life, i know she had a good time in her youth, going to dances, going out with boys, studying yoga, taking courses like pastry arts or improving her sewing skills. I was thinking of the 60s as a time when my mom was really alive. And so i smiled thinking that if she was around she was enjoying that music, too.

no more memories

October is gone. November starts.
I thought to myself today that i don't want to make any new memories. What do i need them for? I don't want anything to push out the memories of my mom. I don't want to run out of room.
All i do is miss her and try to involve her in everything i do.
Yesterday i walked in the Village Halloween Parade and it was fun but only because i imagined my mom watching me from the sidelines, the way she and i always watched the parade together. I hoped she was happy somewhere, maybe, that i made this effort for her.

Sad, rainy day

It smells like chicken soup. Like orange-hued broth with thick noodles, small, soft pieces of potato and little shreds of chicken that you get at the corner Chino-Latino restaurant. Or at your godmother's apartment.
I want soup. I want to be sitting at a table in a Dominican restaurant, looking across at my mom as she eats her soup. This is the kind of soup we ate together. She made much healthier soup, which i liked, too. But there's something about greasy diner chicken soup that makes me feel like a kid. And makes me miss my mom taking care of me when i feel sick.

Every day deeper into fall and closer to winter just gets harder and harder. For about a month or so, i didn't miss her every day, all day. Now i'm back to missing her with every step that i take.

Back to work...

The Year of Magical Thinking

The vortex. Yes, that's exactly what happens in the outside world. Exactly the way Joan Didion's words describe it. Watching Vanessa Redgrave in a benefit performance of "The Year of Magical Thinking" tonight was at times painful, at times terribly insightful but entirely what i was meant to be doing tonight.

One lesson i've learned this fall is that when i do something that someone else suggests, even when i don't want to do it or even if i very much don't feel like doing it, well sometimes that suggestion turns out to be wonderful, extraordinary, uplifting, the very thing i needed. I'm learning to trust my instincts and more importantly to trust the people i love and who love me.
And it only works in that combination. If the love isn't there, the suggestion's outcome isn't nearly as extraordinary. It happened to me with Jes (twice), with Diana, and tonight with E.J. I trusted him and bought the ticket to the benefit performance. And it was extraordinary.

I cried while i was watching it, seated in St. John the Divine. I cried especially on the way home. Past stupid St. Luke's Hospital. My memories not of my mom being there but of her being with me when i was sick there. I passed that long and wide stretch of 120th street between Amsterdam and Broadway. In the cold air i instantly was swept up by the vortex, going back to those nights my mom walked because she couldn't sleep, because she needed night air, or the night (i can't remember the day or month!) when i accompanied her, in her pajamas and coat, walking down to 116th and back, because she was so hot and she couldn't manage to get cool or comfortable. She was sick and weak and she wanted me to let her walk on her own. So i did, staying a few steps behind, watching her as a mother watches a toddler who's just starting to walk. She wasn't so steady on her feet but she walked as fast and as tall as she could. She was so strong and independent and defiant at that moment. Not defiant to me. Defiant to cancer.

She always walked. She always got up and walked. That night when she sprained her ankle in July, when she had cancer but nobody had figured it out yet. In Harlem Hospital in early October when she walked all around her floor attached to her IV stand, and the nurses told me that she'd been dancing for them earlier (because mom was a show-off and loved the attention). She walked all around the 8th floor in Mount Sinai, before the surgery that would start the beginning of the end. (But really when did it begin??) She walked even after the surgery, when the NG tube and the catheter were removed. She walked around the 10th floor at New York-Cornell, the ACE unit. She needed help but holding onto her IV or onto my arm, she walked as far as she wanted to go, further than i thought we should. She walked to the "salita," the, what did they call it? Visitor's room? It was the shortest distance from any of those other hospital floors where she had walked before. But this was the sickest she had ever been. She wrapped her red pashmina around her face and neck, looking like a bedouin on a journey across the Sahara, like she was prepared for it all, and pushed the walker they gave her around the nurse's station, over to the salita. She showed me in fact how far she liked to walk, to the other side of that floor. I think this was the 5th floor now. Now i remember that day i walked with her and she held onto the rails that line the walls and she showed me how she exercised. And she started doing something akin to bar exercises in ballet! I laughed and laughed and looked around to see if anybody was watching my mom show me her bar exercises. I'd never seen her do that in my entire life. She always found a way to make me laugh. Here she was showing me her ballet moves (always beautiful hands), eventually losing her balance (i yelled at her, gently, but by force of habit), within days of choosing hospice at home (i can't remember if this was before or after). She never wanted to stop dancing. She danced until she could no longer. She walked until she could no longer.

My mom got out of her hospital bed, in her room at home, in the middle of the night, walked to the living room where my aunt was staying, and got into bed with her. She got out of her hospital bed when Diane, the nurse, was in the living room talking with me, and walked to where we were, sat down, crossed her legs into a semi-Lotus position, as if to say, i'm still here. There were days when she hardly moved or talked. Then the next day she'd walk along the hallway, holding onto the wall, walking to where the voices were in the living room. She walked in the outside hallway, with her walker, in her white velour robe that i got her at Daffy's, trying to make it all the way down and back twice. She seemed to believe that if she pushed herself to exercise, to move her legs, then she would get stronger. She was so worried about the fact that walking was so difficult for her. Two days before she died she asked Diane why her legs felt so heavy and why she felt so tired. I translated the question to Diane and looked at her for an answer. She just looked at me, as if to say, what is there to say? The eventual answer was because my mom was so thin, it made her weak. I think that's what we told her. Whatever it was we told her, she nodded and said, "ohhhh." I think she just wanted an answer. None of this made any sense to her, as it didn't make any sense to me, because it just didn't make sense. How could she actually get cancer and die? This was not in our life plan.
I remember when Dr. - how could i forget his name? Why do i forget these things that made up all of my molecules for so many months? Dr. Cohen, i looked it up in my phone. When Dr. Cohen suggested stopping chemo and starting hospice, (what room was that? it was after the rectal bleeding that took us to the ER for the 4th time, after he stood in that room in his tshirt and jeans, having come to see mom while he was off duty, after he stood there and told mom that he didn't think she was at the end and we could pursue chemo; maybe in his office? maybe after the Tenkhoff catheter was attached?) i remember that my mom asked, without hesitation and with the utmost calm, "but doesn't that mean that the cancer will grow?" Dr. Cohen seemed a teeny bit surprised. She seemed like a child asking this question, but what more important question could there be? "Yes, it does mean the cancer grows." She was no dummy, my mom. She couldn't always communicate directly with those doctors, needed me to translate, but she always understood what was happening and needed to understand. A few minutes later she said to us, "okay yes let's stop the chemo. Maybe when i regain my strength we can try again."
She was so tired and so sick. I still don't know how much she knew. I mean, why did she always tell people she was going to get better? Why did she always say she had faith that she would beat this? I know she knew she was going to die, but then, i don't know. She and i never talked about it except one day when i asked her if she knew that i would be okay, that my family would take care of me. I think she said yes or nodded. I didn't say, "I'll be okay when you die." I just said, "you know i'll be okay, right?" I never said, "i'm okay with you dying, mom." I just said, "I want you to be fine, i don't want you to suffer anymore."

As i was walking onto Broadway, rounding 120th street, i noticed that i was clutching the packet of Kleenex in my pocket. I suddenly had a sense memory of holding someone's hand in my pocket. Was it my mom and me walking outside of the hospital? Me holding her hand in her pocket or mine? In our identical black down winter coats? Was it me holding my aunt's hand in my pocket? Did one of us not have gloves and that's why we were holding onto each other for warmth? And i cried, and i wished that i could hold my mother's hand. I wished that she could hold my hand.

Part of me is upset that i can no longer remember every single detail, date, name, medical term, time of day, location, etc. Part of me feels like there are so many terrible memories, with so many terrible parts to them, that maybe it's fortunate that i don't remember everything.

I know i'm definitely going to get my own copy of "The Year of Magical Thinking." Tonight i found so much comfort in hearing someone describe their grief, rawness and irrationality at the horror of it all. Talking to someone who knows how it is has been my saving grace this year. And hearing someone talk about exactly how i felt and still feel, it helps me to not feel alone. And that's so important.

I knew i needed to write a lot, i haven't written for days, so i'm glad tonight i got the chance/urge/inspiration. I was going to do my homework for the workshop. Bracing for the Winter. Why I'm Dressing Up for Halloween This Year. These are the titles i was toying with. I guess i'll have to finish tomorrow. I'm exhausted. A little bit scared of all the memories to come this winter, but ultimately it feels better to have cried as much as i have while writing this entry.

October Monday

By the time i got to work this morning i had decided that October was destined to suck royally, that it wouldn't just be today that sucked. I'd begun feeling the lows of PMS, i lost my monthly Metrocard on Friday with about 3 weeks left on it, i fell forward going up the stairs to catch the train, narrowly missing smashing my face, and i'd just spent A LOT of money i didn't have over the weekend.

As usual, my bad mood dissipated, against my will, as i interacted with coworkers and laughed or commented about lighthearted, unimportant things.
Later in the afternoon, i commented aloud that i couldn't believe it was going so well. I had called 5 schools and actually reached someone and actually got the information i needed. I couldn't complain anymore because the day was actually going kind of well.

The book club meeting was nice. We all agreed that we HATED the book, i mean HATED. How Candace Bushnell got a publishing deal i'll never know.

On the way home i listened to Kristeen Young's "Enemy" which i just bought today from Amazon as a digital download, then to "Music for Strippers, Hookers, and the Odd On-Looker" which i have been loving for the past week and a half.

I looked at an older woman who was sitting across from me on the subway ride home and i thought that her wrinkles made her look beautiful. She was dressed in a kind of cool, modern way, not exactly youthful but not conservative either. She was eating a pastry or something and the wrinkles around her lips and her smile lines were accentuated as she chewed. She looked so relaxed and un-self-conscious that it made her look more beautiful. And in a split second i thought of my mom and how her face had aged and how she cared about the wrinkles on her face and how the passage of time equals more wrinkles. And the tears started to well up in my eyes.

I imagined i could look across at my mom sitting there, with her wrinkles showing the passage of her years on Earth, marking all her smiles and all her frowns. I remembered how my mom looked so cute and confident in her aloof way. She had style and purpose. I miss her coat with her rose pin and the way she tied her red pashmina scarf around her neck and how she positioned her beret just so on her head. I'll miss her so much this winter. She hated the cold and always wanted to live in a warmer climate, but i loved her style in the winter.

Afraid

Soon after my mom died, my aunts would ask me how i was doing, concerned about my mental state in my grief i suppose. They would ask me if i was dreaming with my mom and i would say no. They were concerned especially because i was still sleeping in my mom's room or the couple of nights after she died when i slept in her hospital bed (before it was returned). And i told them then what i still tell them today. That being in the same apartment where my mom lived and died doesn't make me sad. It doesn't really hurt me more than any other place. (Although i've discovered recently that i've been quite resentful toward the kitchen - the kitchen where the foods we prepared for my mom failed to save her.) I tell my aunts that being outside, on the street, on Broadway, on the crosstown bus, riding the subway, these places hurt much more and hurt intensely. The memories triggered by all of New York City cause me intense pain and longing.

Sometimes a place will trigger a memory from our past, sometimes it will trigger a reminder of what will never be. I'm baffled by the innumerable combinations (innumerable tumors they said) of triggers. Looking at winter coats in JC Penney = shopping for coats WITHOUT mom?! she never saw this JC Penney. she would have told me if it looked good on me. we didn't get to do coat shopping in her last winter alive.
Sitting in Madison Square Garden with Corey at a Keith Urban concert, surrounded by thousands of fans = i want to call her right now and tell her how cool it is. i want to go to another concert with her. i wish i had taken her to the opera. i wish we could go to the Dog Show again.

I fought SO much with my tears on Thursday night during that concert. And i was just blindsided by it all. Something about experiencing a beautiful, emotional, energy-filled moment made me yearn to share it with her. I wanted her to know this was happening, i wanted her to be there. Something about the lights flashing and the screaming fans and the music blasting through the sound system made me want her HERE. I cried terribly during the opening act. I hid it from Corey, who was sitting next to me. Having such an intense experience of live performance, with electricity filling the air, seemed to reinforce the fact that, despite my enjoyment, there was a void in me that was unimaginably huge. Almost like it grows whenever i'm experiencing life.

I think that's what scares me. I'm afraid that there's more terrible grief to come. I can say that i feel better than i did in June and July. It's different, i'm not triggered 25 times a day. But i'm afraid that i'm not actually better, that maybe i've just gotten better at avoiding the hurt. Maybe that's what coping is. I do reiterate to myself the words of Dr. Hirsh when he said that i should "just feel." And in those moments when the tidal wave comes and i'm suddenly being tossed by an angry, violent storm in the ocean on a black night lit only by lightning (but i'm really on the subway, or in Bed, Bath & Beyond), i just grip - myself, i guess, and i hold on and i think, okay just feel, just let it be. And sometimes i have what i call a mini-panic attack. I think, i'm gonna die, i'm not going to make it home, i'm gonna lose it, i'm gonna fall apart, i'm gonna vomit. Yet somehow every time i HAVE made it home. And usually i'm left exhausted from all the emotional tossing and storming.

I wish i knew for sure that one day i will close the door on the room of that terrifying pain and longing. That one day, in the Victorian apartment of my mind, i'll be sitting in the parlor and be in control of the grief, and the memories will be good, and i'll be drinking tea, and having polite conversation with guests and i won't be afraid of that door opening up ever again.

A date with today

I was sitting at Rafaella tonight, listening to Alison give a small update on her week, at Jenna's request, when she pronounced a sentence that stopped me cold. "I look at the date," she said, explaining how she gets by from day to day, while gesturing to her watch. I looked down at it and suddenly the date hit me. HIT me. October 6th. OCTOBER 6th. I'd been looking at it all day long at work and nothing occurred to me. I can't believe i forgot. I can't believe it didn't ring in my head all day. It really makes me sad.

I've been talking about October 6th for practically a whole year. Last year, on Monday, October 6th, i met my mom at the emergency room in Harlem Hospital and a young, black medicine resident with a bald head told us, rather coldly but determinedly, that they were looking for possible cancer. I've been telling that story for so long now. Even though it wasn't her official diagnosis, i still think of it as The Day They Told Us She Had Cancer. The FIRST time ANYBODY said ANYTHING about that.

I'm angry because i thought that this day would have more importance, like it would be louder and more solemn. I did feel completely crappy all day long, but for different reasons. I think i'm angry because a year went by, and i couldn't do anything to reverse the events that happened after this date. There's a part of me that wants to relive every day, every minute of her sickness and there's a part of me that is terrified of reliving it. I wish that i could change things. I wish that by reliving it i could make the outcome different but i can't.
I'm so angry that October is here. I'm angry that October came back, without my mother. That the fall is here and winter is coming and my mother is not. I've wondered before when the pain would cease to be so intense. Now i wonder when i'll stop being angry.

I'm worried that by reliving the memories i'm trying to hold on to my mom. Wait, that's not clear. I'm afraid that i'm afraid that if i don't remember every single, gory detail of my mother's illness that she'll be gone. That i won't remember her at all. But she's not her illness. So why do i feel like i need to keep her in it? Why can't i keep her alive in the memories of the good times? In part it's because my relationship with her grew during the illness and i grew to love and respect her in different ways than ever before. I spent a lot of my childhood being ashamed of my mother and in her illness and death i've grown to be so proud of her.

Even though my mother was slowly dying, and the cancer was eating her alive, i saw my mother transform in some ways. She was so beautiful and cute and cheerful and peaceful and energetic and positive and inspirational and forgiving and brave and strong and loving, and so funny. That's why i can't let go of the end, of the bad times. Because the good times, in the midst of the bad times were amazing.

now i have to write?

I feel like i fell out of the hot air balloon of blogging. Well, like i tumbled out of the basket but hung on to the side and now i'm scrambling back in. I'm terrified of heights! But i'm picturing the Muppets in The Great Muppet Caper so that makes me feel safer.

MUST GO TO SLEEP AT A DECENT HOUR. But first, here.
I can't believe i lost my notebook that i took to the first writing workshop last week. I really hope i didn't leave it lying around just anywhere. Oh well.

I had a full week. If only i could remember it (which proves why i need to write in here at least every other day).
I loved meeting Corey's mom Wanda and sister Billie Jo on Sunday. LOVED.
I discovered that i really am good at the whole doctor (or vet) appointment thing, having accompanied Jes to the vet with Clem. I might say i'm suited for it. Though tonight i couldn't watch more than 10 seconds of a new show called "Trauma" on NBC. I do NOT want to see another ER please. The place, not the show.

I haven't been really, REALLY sad in about 3 days.
I watched Dancing with the Stars with tia Beatriz and it was a chill, sweet evening. She doesn't criticize me as much as my other tia. I guess she's just as needy, though. As much as my mom, too. They could be millionaires if there was some way to bottle the guilt trip and sell it.

Arturo gave me one of his Guayaki energy shots and i'm really excited to try it out tomorrow! So maybe i should stay up until 3am again today? Nah.

And now i shall do my homework.

michael mcdonald is the cure for what ails you

Michael McDonald, Mad Men and lala.com. These three things will make my Wednesday better tomorrow.

The evening at Brianne's pre-birthday celebration could not have been lovelier. The word delightful comes to mind, and i'm pretty sure i never use that word. Jamie and Hayley were kind, friendly and so funny and smart. It's so exciting to meet young women with these qualities. I found them both to be so inspiring. Hayley with her determination to reject the wedding industry anachronisms and Jaime's altogether amazingness. We could not have had a warmer welcome. It was especially poignant to hear the three friends talk about Brianne's mom. It gave me an even deeper dimension to my vision of Betsy. It was also cool to hear from Brianne that she reads and enjoys my blog and that it's comforting.

On the subway ride home i was absolutely flooded with thoughts that i knew i had to write down in here and it appears that i was just so overstimulated that i cannot remember a single thing right now. The first session of the writing workshop was great. I was so glad that a bunch of us cried in it. It made me feel comfortable and i'm really excited to grow in my writing as i grow through this period of my life. It's also so wonderful to have Alison and Sara in the class with me. The power of words is what i experienced tonight and i hope to learn to understand it better and to master it. I see it like the sword in the stone. I want to attain the magic and majesty of a perfect piece of writing.

do-over

I watched the Emmys tonight at Corey and Dana's apt. I was glad i did because i laughed and just enjoyed the show in general. I cried as soon as the music started for the In Memoriam portion of the show. Sarah McLachlan came onstage and just the beginning notes of the song got me crying. She sang "I Will Remember You," as the pictures of deceased stars appeared on the screen. I don't think i've heard that song since my mom died. It is one powerful song. My first thought was that i wanted to see my mom's name up there on the screen.

I cried on the bus ride home. I waited about 20 minutes for the bus to come and the last stop was at 135th and Broadway. I got off and had my headphones on and ignored the bus driver who was honking his horn at me. I finally stopped and he opened his door and asked me if i was going to the bottome of the hill. I said yes and he told me to get on. I hesitated for a split second but figured i'd trust him. He was really just being nice. So he dropped me off at 125th and i crossed Broadway and walked up the block to my building. I had been crying on the bus, and crying on the street when i got off, not very visibly, i don't think. It was just a surpise that he was so kind to me at that moment. It was very nice.

I was just thinking that it makes me angry that i don't get to apply what i know now to my life and relationship with my mother. I would make up for so many bad things i did. I can't believe i don't get a do-over. It's just so unfair that now i feel my love for her so much more intensely and with a much greater perspective, but i can't give it to her or show it to her.

I was getting angry and had to stop myself from thinking about how sick my mom was last year and how much freaking time she spent at doctor's offices and at the hospital for appointments for everything from her hand to her sprained ankle to her perpetual stomach ache. And from January to October nobody really did anything to help her. Dr. i forgot his name already at Mount Sinai said he guessed (in October) that the cancer been there for about a year. Well my mom had told me that she felt awful the previous winter, so i think she definitely felt and knew. And in the first months of 2008 i know she didn't feel well because she told me. Then in April she had that awful pain in her abdomen which nobody could explain. So i think about that and how she lived for 6 months after her official diagnosis but was surely sick with cancer for much longer than that. The end of September was when her bile duct got blocked and i guess when her body really started breaking down, even though before that she had already lost SO much weight. I really hate thinking that there were so many signs of her illness but still nobody took notice. Or worse, no doctor cared enough.

Why does this seem to happen to me every Sunday night and then i don't want to go to sleep because i'm too angry or anxious or sad to want to even rest or relax.

The last 5 days have been pretty sad for me. I really hope that in 2 or 3 years it just doesn't hurt as much. I imagine and assume that you get more used to the fact that your loved one is gone. I just don't believe it can hurt this much for so many years. I cannot imagine 10 years of such pain. I don't think the human spirit will allow it, will it?

I forgot to say that i longed so much for my mom tonight. I longed to share myself with her. To tell her how much my wrist and hand hurts. To ask her if she liked the way my jeans looked. Just to tell her about my day.
As i was walking up the block to my building, i thought that my feet were finally starting to hurt from standing around and walking so much tonight and i wanted to tell my mom so that she could give me sympathy.
I felt so alone tonight. Nobody will care about anything i say more than my mom would have and did. She always listened to me no matter how boring or annoying or trivial. Well, i did have to yell at her to pay attention because she was always distracted and thinking of something else and i got angry about that quite often. :) But in the end she still stayed and listened to me. And she cared.

seems like old times?

I had a nice night. I went to see a band called forgetters at a place called Lit Lounge with Josh, my old friend from Barnes & Noble. It was really good to see him again and the band was totally great. The venue sucked and we both agreed never to go see a show there again. It's kind of a fire trap, but the main concern was that it was so crowded and so warm and not much air to breathe. But it cost 6 bucks so it was worth it.

I felt a lot of pain about my mom tonight. Being on the A train and being in Washington Heights makes me miss her so terribly. I felt just horrible when i was waiting on the platform to go downtown. I didn't get the knot in my stomach or the intense feeling of nausea, but it was a different kind of uneasiness. I felt like i had to get out of there. But i just rode it out.

All the way on the way to meet Josh i felt this sadness. Even during the show for a split second i thought, oh i have to call my mom to let her know i'm okay and let her know when i'll be home. And i realized that when i used to hang out with Josh 5 years ago that's how it went. I would hang out with him and call my mom at some point to tell her where i was.

On the subway ride home from Union Square i started remembering the hospital again for some reason, especially the emergency room visits. And i thought to myself that it was SO traumatic and i don't think people can begin to comprehend how traumatic they were, how it all was. And i don't understand my need for other people to understand how deep the pain is. It's like i want them to look at me and see how fucking awful it was to have to sit with my mom for 12 hours in the ER or to sleep by my mom's bedside on two chairs pushed together. And how at the time it was all i could do and all i wanted to do, but now looking back i see it wasn't enough. I didn't know then what i know now. That she was being killed by cancer. That we didn't know how quick it would be.

So awful. I definitely hope we get to share more about this in our support group. We all had horrifying experiences and we really need to describe them and talk about them and share the pain.

Tomorrow i'm having brunch with Kate and hopefully talk a little bit about her dad, and i'll just be so happy to see her and spend some time with her.

24 weeks

Today i looked at the calendar and counted weeks since April 1st. Well, it's been 24 weeks, 6 months since my mom died. My first reaction was very matter-of-fact. Kind of like, yep, this is how it goes. I didn't feel any particular sadness or heaviness. Nothing different. But as the day went on i really kept repeating it to myself. By the time i took the subway to Washington Heights, to make sure the keys to Corey and Dana's apartment worked (for catsitting), i was slowly becoming a mess. I even remarked to myself that i hadn't cried on a subway train in a while. On the ride back down to 125th st, that streak had ended. I, once again, was reminded that grief can come at any time, in any place and it hits just as hard as any time before.

The memories combined with the idea that i won't see her again form a terrible net that falls over me and traps me.
I haven't been able to write the way i've wanted to in the past few days. The ups and downs are so much quicker and unpredictable. I have a general sense of being "okay," not about to fall off the precipice or anything. But i still don't know what direction to go in.

I'm SO tempted to shave my head.
I talked to Arturo finally tonight and it was great and we both got a lot off our chests and i just reiterated to him how much i love him and i tried to make sure that statement got past his hurt feelings. I feel that we ended the conversation well. At first i was annoyed that he needed to make this about HIM leaving, rather than me asking him to leave. Then he flat out told me that he didn't understand how or why i could ask him to leave. He sounded like it really was a foreign concept or an egregious breach of protocol. He said that he had lived with a friend he couldn't stand but would have never asked that guy to leave. I made sure he understood MY point of view, i mean i tried to make him understand. I said that i only just discovered how much i need to be alone in my own space in order to grow and let go of my mom and move forward in any way. I told him that right now, him living with me was not the right choice or the right situation. He said that he needs to find a place of his own, where he doesn't feel like he's imposing on someone and where he can play his music as loud as he wants and decorate the place the way he wants, etc. And although he created a really good space for himself in his room, it was obvious that i wasn't happy with him around. I mean, i know that vibe was always in the air. So i realize that we both are on paths to self-discovery and our energies just couldn't fit in the same living space. I hope he understand that, too.

I'm still annoyed that i keep imagining the conversations between my family members and imagining all the assumptions they're making that would drive me crazy if i heard them. I have a need for them to understand me, but i also know that it's not my job to make them see things my way. I'm me, and they are not me. It's okay that i can't control their thoughts and opinions. They love me and i love them and if we ever think or say the wrong thing to each other, it's only a natural consequence of human relationships. This isn't a book or movie that's all planned out already, there is no script. I want to love and respect them and make sure they love and respect me and what else can we do?

Anyway, Artu and i talked about spiritual growth and figuring out who we are and growing up and it was great. It lacked the tension that's been there lately. So he told me that it's believed that hair has karma. Like in the story of Samson and Delilah. And that the cutting of hair can mean getting rid of karma, just like in many belief systems growing your hair long has a deep significance. I had just shared with him that every time i cut my hair it feels AMAZING. So liberating and so...great. It feels like i can breath and like my chest expands and i feel taller. So when he told me about the hair and karma thing it made SO much sense to me. I feel like i'm shedding my skin; i feel like this new life that i have to live now without my mother is one that requires me to be born again, to be naked, to grow my new hair and to see myself as someone i've never looked at before.

I really want to shave my head.

i know it's gonna happen someday

I'm still a little disconcerted by my need to let other people know that i'm okay.

I guess it's mainly my family to whom i feel compelled to prove that i'm fine. I talked to my cousin Richie tonight as i was leaving tia Beatriz's apartment and we stood on the street for about 15 minutes talking, it was good. He was very caring and expressed to me that he would be a straight shooter with me and tell me how he sees things in my life. But then he was a little vague in talking about how one needs to move on in life and that while being single is not a bad thing, being in a relationship is also important. That there comes a time when you have to decide not to be depressed anymore and to stop feeling self pity. Strange choice of words, i thought. He shared a lot about his own dramas and ups and downs with relationships. At one point he was implying that i should think about being in a relationship and i felt myself compelled to tell him that i'm okay, that i'm actually pretty active socially. I used the same line i used on tia Emilia: i go to work every day, i bathe daily, i do my laundry, i sweep my floors; i'm living, i haven't stopped that.

I'm confused about what they see as being wrong with me. I can't help but think that they look at me and think "something's wrong with Monica." The truth is my mother died from cancer in a very short period of time and this is the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to me. It's also true that i am a very different person than my cousins, and i've always felt very different than how i'm "supposed" to be in my family.

It could just be some kind of supposition on my part, but that's how i've always felt. And today, i say proudly, "i am different from you guys, and i like the way i am (for the most part)." I mean, i have plenty of self-esteem issues but i feel firmly that my quiet, introspective way of being is WHO I AM. Just because i don't go crazy partying and dancing on tables and drinking up a storm doesn't mean i don't like to have fun, or that i don't know how to have fun. Yes, i'm shy, and yes i also am very committment-phobic and intimacy-phobic, i guess. But i'm not a mess. Maybe i'm not as awesomely excellent, powerful and triumphant as i think i should be, but i learned a lesson about shoulds and coulds this week. "Could" means I have the choice. I'm trying to choose to be me, the me i know i am.

I want to be able to shrug off the implications that i should be "better" by now. Some people communicate that to me, or that they're anticipating the moment when i'm "better" and no longer "sad." I know that they love me but are clueless. And i don't think it's my job to teach them about grief. I have my girls in my support circle and WE know what other people in our lives may not be able to know. I'm going to try to let the concerns that my family members express about my state of "recovery" just roll off, like water from a duck's back, the way Frances used to tell me to do.

I'm hurt and sad but i don't hopeless. I have faith that i will come out of this event a new person and a whole person. I have faith that i will be okay, that life will be okay. I have to believe this, because it HAS to be that way. I can't believe anything other than that. It will hurt for as long as it has to hurt. And I'll go through more pain because i can't play my life with a remote control the way i can play a dvd. Things are out of our control, and that's just the way it is. And sadness is not the opposite of joy, they are in fact partners. Without darkness there wouldn't be light and vice versa. I have to reassure myself with these thoughts. I probably won't be thinking them when my heart is searing and i feel like i'm going to vomit on the street. But when i'm NOT feeling that i have to coach myself and comfort myself and give myself hope. I know it's gonna happen someday.

My love, wherever you are
Whatever you are
Don't lose faith
I know it's gonna happen someday
To you

Please wait ...
Please wait ...
Oh ...
Wait ...
Don't lose faith

You say that the day just never arrives
And it's never seemed so far away
Still, I know it's gonna happen someday
To you

Please wait ...
Don't lose faith