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.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
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 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?
Saturday, September 19, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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
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
Friday, September 4, 2009
ann tie-lore
I just got home and burst into tears.
I went to see Corey today to get keys and instructions for kitty sitting of VIV (Velvet Iris Velour) and Ernie this weekend. As i was leaving Corey asked me to try on a jacket. It's actually a black velvet blazer with 3 buttons and 3 pockets. I put one sleeve on and it felt suspiciously right, then my arm went through the other sleeve and i said, does it fit? And Corey stared at me, oh my god it fits. And i was like, oh my god nothing's ever fit this perfectly in my life. The sleeves felt a teeny bit too short but other than that it's perfect. Corey said he got it at a thrift shop and it doesn't fit him so he wondered if it would fit me. I told him my mom would LOVE this because she was always trying to get me to wear more of them. Like when i worked at Lord & Taylor i had to wear one every day and this made mom very happy. So Corey asked if i'd like to look in the mirror. So i did and said, wow, it totally fits and the way i always wished for a jacket or blazer to fit. I just gave away like 15 blazers and jackets that mom always wanted me to wear but that i didn't like, either the way they looked or fit. And she would argue with me that i was wrong, that they looked fine.
But this one is perfect, i love the color, the material, i would actually wear this. She always nagged me to wear more blazers with my jeans, so that i would look nice at work. She really pushed for it, it makes me laugh now. We would even look at beautiful expensive ones in department stores. She always had her 2 or 3 blazers that she wore all the time and she looked great. With her brooches and her scarves.
So i thanked Corey, took the bus home, passed the cemetery (which i didn't expect at all), read about death in "Broken Open" and cried, then bought a Subway sandwich and got home. I took the blazer out of the bag to hang up and since i had folded it inside out i caught a glimpse of the label as i was unfolding it. Ann Taylor Petites. That's mom, was my first thought. This is her. It would have fit her at the end of her life. It wouldn't have fit before but if it had she would have loved it.
Ann Tie-lore, in her soft accent is how i read it. We both loved Ann Taylor. But it has to be pronounced in Spanish. So i burst into tears because it's like my mom came to me in this chaqueta. It's like she was saying hi.
I went to see Corey today to get keys and instructions for kitty sitting of VIV (Velvet Iris Velour) and Ernie this weekend. As i was leaving Corey asked me to try on a jacket. It's actually a black velvet blazer with 3 buttons and 3 pockets. I put one sleeve on and it felt suspiciously right, then my arm went through the other sleeve and i said, does it fit? And Corey stared at me, oh my god it fits. And i was like, oh my god nothing's ever fit this perfectly in my life. The sleeves felt a teeny bit too short but other than that it's perfect. Corey said he got it at a thrift shop and it doesn't fit him so he wondered if it would fit me. I told him my mom would LOVE this because she was always trying to get me to wear more of them. Like when i worked at Lord & Taylor i had to wear one every day and this made mom very happy. So Corey asked if i'd like to look in the mirror. So i did and said, wow, it totally fits and the way i always wished for a jacket or blazer to fit. I just gave away like 15 blazers and jackets that mom always wanted me to wear but that i didn't like, either the way they looked or fit. And she would argue with me that i was wrong, that they looked fine.
But this one is perfect, i love the color, the material, i would actually wear this. She always nagged me to wear more blazers with my jeans, so that i would look nice at work. She really pushed for it, it makes me laugh now. We would even look at beautiful expensive ones in department stores. She always had her 2 or 3 blazers that she wore all the time and she looked great. With her brooches and her scarves.
So i thanked Corey, took the bus home, passed the cemetery (which i didn't expect at all), read about death in "Broken Open" and cried, then bought a Subway sandwich and got home. I took the blazer out of the bag to hang up and since i had folded it inside out i caught a glimpse of the label as i was unfolding it. Ann Taylor Petites. That's mom, was my first thought. This is her. It would have fit her at the end of her life. It wouldn't have fit before but if it had she would have loved it.
Ann Tie-lore, in her soft accent is how i read it. We both loved Ann Taylor. But it has to be pronounced in Spanish. So i burst into tears because it's like my mom came to me in this chaqueta. It's like she was saying hi.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
it's not going to stop
I went to sleep at 6am today,got out of bed at 7:30. But i made it through the day at work, i made it.
And i laughed and i walked in the sun at lunchtime and i was okay.
And i laughed and i walked in the sun at lunchtime and i was okay.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I'm sinking in the quicksand of my thoughts and i ain't got the power anymore
I felt so alone again tonight. I was walking to the subway, having left tia Beatriz's apartment, and as i was approaching Amsterdam it hit me like a truck: "OH SHIT! I'm totally alone in the world."
It's a feeling like i don't have a bottom, like the ground has dropped out from under me. Like, my worst nightmare came true. And it did. I can't believe i'm still here. I can't believe it'll be a year on Monday since i went to Macy's with mom to buy the Breville juicer. The juicer that my mom wanted so she could consume some nutrients that would help her gain weight and get better and not be in pain every time she ate. I think i want to smash every wall right now. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe we didn't know. I can't believe that in August the dietitian saw that mom had lost 20 pounds since April, and we didn't fucking know how serious it was. I can't believe nobody pointed us in the right direction. Why didn't i know? Why didn't i do something else? Why didn't - just why? The months have passed since my mom died and it's been day to day survival, i guess. I've felt a lot of support and i feel like a lot of people have saved me. And i've wished desperately for the pain to stop and never come back. But OH FUCK, it's gonna get worse. And i just have to suck it up. September's gonna suck, October's gonna be worse. Nofuckingvember. Christmas.
OHMYGOD, why can't i go back in time? I can't relive this, i can't.
I don't understand why we cry when we're in pain. What's the purpose of that? I need to google it.
Something happened. I was okay-ish at group tonight. No, i mean, i was okay, i was hopeful that we could all help each other through this, that our bond and support would save us. And i feel that about us collectively. But, what do i do when i feel like i'm going to die with panic, like my body went up in flames, like the world had ended, like it will be night forever?
I was so terrified when i crossed Amsterdam Avenue. I thought, oh shit, i need to call Dr. Hirsh right now, how am i going to make it to tomorrow? I was listening to Bowie and my other comfort music through my headphones and i decided, i'm just going to walk as far as my legs take me, until i can't go any further. The thought of descending into the subway was too scary. I needed to keep moving because out here where there's sky and space and air i could be safe. As long as i kept moving. And i thought, so much for getting the rest that my body is demanding. One more night without proper sleep. And so i walked past Alice Tully Hall, heading uptown on Broadway, as far as it was going to take me to be okay. And then i passed Pottery Barn. I looked to the window display to avoid making contact with people whom i wished would just be invisible so that i could feel invisible. And i looked more intently into the window display and i saw a bunch of arranged flowers. Sunflowers. A bunch here, a bunch over there, on the table, single flowers in vases, sunflowers everywhere. Loads of sunflowers. And i slowed my walk and i thought, and i paused, and i stopped. And i thought. Those sunflowers represent life. Those sunflowers represent Leslie. Leslie wouldn't want me to run away, to give up. Leslie would want me to take care of myself. Leslie would say live your live fiercely. I think she would say to make it worthwhile as long as i'm here. So i turned myself around 180 degrees, took another long look at the sunflowers and headed to the subway. And i prayed to Leslie. I haven't prayed to anyone in a long time. And i said, "Leslie, help me to have courage. Help me to know what to do." I knew i had to come home and write.
Crying exhausts me. I think i sort of feel some kind of draining sensation when i'm crying. This time i felt like the pain was draining, like it was a good thing. And now i feel like i was knocked out and just woke up. The crying never lasts so long anymore. Maybe i can only do so much at once.
When i was at tia's place this evening she asked me when i was going to help her buy a juicer. I told her i had forgotten that she asked me that favor. She asked if i ever had a chance to pass by Macy's would i check them out for her. I said, i'll check online. And i thought, oh Labor Day sales, it'll have to be this weekend. And i thought, OH SHIT, oh fuck, fucking Labor Day sales. Fucking juicer purchase with my normal mom. Sick mom who didn't know she had cancer but could still walk and talk and go on the subway with me. I can't remember when the last time she took the subway was. At the end we took buses a few times. I can't believe there was a time she was on the subway that was her last time. I can't believe all the last times. I can't believe it. What do i do when i can't believe that she got sick and died? Crying's back. I'm typing with snotty fingers. Why do i feel like i've never felt these things before?
How is going to work and acting like i'm fine even possible? How were we making all those cancer jokes in the kitchen today while cutting the birthday cake? We joke about cancer blue icing, and we throw that word around, and i laugh but i know i'm uncomfortable but i also believe that we're joking about something that's true. And at the same time i don't want to be "my mother died from cancer." I told Erika last week that i feel like i am "my mother died." Like that is my identity, that is what my name should be. When i meet new people or see an acquaintance i haven't seen in a long time and they ask, "how are you?" i want to say, "my mother died, i'm okay." Because my mother died is the first and foremost. And sometimes i can act like it isn't, or i can put it in a drawer for a few hours, for a day, and it can be something that happened to me recently, but not who i am.
And then those triggers that we were talking about in group tonight happen. And every new store that opens is a store that my mom will never see. And every news item is one i'll never be able to share with my mom. And i look at the program from the show Andre saw in Las Vegas and i think, wow it looks beautiful, my mother will never see this, this show has no purpose anymore. It's beautiful and pointless. Traveling is pointless. How can anything have a purpose if i can't share it with my mom? What's the use of doing anything anymore? I can't buy her food anymore, i can't buy her the Loreal face cream she liked, i can't buy her clothes, shoes. I can't buy her all those things i did when i tried in vain to make her stay alive, to stay here. If only i could provide her with...she needed a shirt that fit her shrinking body, she needed nutritious food, she needed comfortable slippers, she needed vitamins to give her strength. At what point did i realize none of that would work anymore?
Why am i crying? What does this accomplish? I don't feel better. This just means there are more tears to come. I read so many sage words and i'm fascinated and intrigued and i marvel at what might be true. About the purpose of life, about the meaning of birth and death, about what love really is, about surviving the dark times and finding the light. And when i read all this it makes sense and it feels good. But right now, there's only grasping my head with both hands because it's going to explode with terror. I want to disbelieve what my memories tell me. Looking around at the apartment doesn't make me sad. Hardly ever anymore. It's so different now than it was. I just have to sit still and look inside my brain and that's where all the sadness is. The realization that i couldn't do anything to stop her death. That i knew my mother was dying. That mi mama se me murio. That she got sick, and worse, and that all the attempts to make her better didn't work. That they always told us, it's not curable. Since October, so many different doctors told us it wasn't curable. And i never believed them. No, not my mother. She was going to be the miracle. Even just for two years, i tried to bargain. Why not my mom? Why couldn't she be the exception? And i told her all the time: mom you can be the exception, you can survive, it's happened before. And i asked her to think positively so that her body would hear good messages not negative ones. And i told her stories about individuals who had gone on to live 2,4, even 6 years beyond their prognosis. And i really didn't believe she would die yet. This couldn't happen to me. And yet in January i wondered if mom would even be around in May. And she wasn't.
Not even six fucking months since we heard the word cancer in the emergency room that night. What do i do now? I'm crying, what else am i supposed to do? How can i give myself to the world when i feel like all there's left is pieces? Pieces of something i never liked to begin with. Where is this so-called phoenix Elizabeth Lesser talks about?
My world was me and her. And it got ripped apart. And now other people live here. And i love many of them and i know they love me. But they're here because she's gone. And she's not here. I could look at the positive, and the good things. And right now a teeny, barely audible part of me wants to do that. But no. I don't care about the positive side. I don't have energy to see the glass half-full. I'm going to smash that glass. There's just a void in my middle, caused by disbelief. Is it a reluctance to accept the truth? Yeah. It's not that i can't believe it, it's that i won't believe it.
When my mom was 33 she took a plane from Bogota to New York because she was looking for a new horizon, as she liked to put it. She left her mom and the world she knew, and she came here looking for whatever was out there that was better than what she had left behind. And she counted on her sisters for support. And she fought bitterly with her sisters from before i was born right until months before she died. What did her life mean? I can't even handle that right now.
I'm 33. I want this number to mean something to me. I want to know the answer to what i'm supposed to know now. And sometimes i think i'm supposed to discover something at the end of this whirlwind. Like a neat ending to a beautiful children's fable, the kind my mom used to love. I can only think of all the things that made her amazing. And how i didn't appreciate them enough when she was healthy. I need for there to be a happy ending. I need a lesson learned and a treasure discovered and the ray of light and the choir of angels singing.
I'll hold onto my music, my friends, my family and my girls.
I want to figure out which parts of me are the ones newly broken, and which are the old broken parts. What do i do with them?
It's a feeling like i don't have a bottom, like the ground has dropped out from under me. Like, my worst nightmare came true. And it did. I can't believe i'm still here. I can't believe it'll be a year on Monday since i went to Macy's with mom to buy the Breville juicer. The juicer that my mom wanted so she could consume some nutrients that would help her gain weight and get better and not be in pain every time she ate. I think i want to smash every wall right now. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe we didn't know. I can't believe that in August the dietitian saw that mom had lost 20 pounds since April, and we didn't fucking know how serious it was. I can't believe nobody pointed us in the right direction. Why didn't i know? Why didn't i do something else? Why didn't - just why? The months have passed since my mom died and it's been day to day survival, i guess. I've felt a lot of support and i feel like a lot of people have saved me. And i've wished desperately for the pain to stop and never come back. But OH FUCK, it's gonna get worse. And i just have to suck it up. September's gonna suck, October's gonna be worse. Nofuckingvember. Christmas.
OHMYGOD, why can't i go back in time? I can't relive this, i can't.
I don't understand why we cry when we're in pain. What's the purpose of that? I need to google it.
Something happened. I was okay-ish at group tonight. No, i mean, i was okay, i was hopeful that we could all help each other through this, that our bond and support would save us. And i feel that about us collectively. But, what do i do when i feel like i'm going to die with panic, like my body went up in flames, like the world had ended, like it will be night forever?
I was so terrified when i crossed Amsterdam Avenue. I thought, oh shit, i need to call Dr. Hirsh right now, how am i going to make it to tomorrow? I was listening to Bowie and my other comfort music through my headphones and i decided, i'm just going to walk as far as my legs take me, until i can't go any further. The thought of descending into the subway was too scary. I needed to keep moving because out here where there's sky and space and air i could be safe. As long as i kept moving. And i thought, so much for getting the rest that my body is demanding. One more night without proper sleep. And so i walked past Alice Tully Hall, heading uptown on Broadway, as far as it was going to take me to be okay. And then i passed Pottery Barn. I looked to the window display to avoid making contact with people whom i wished would just be invisible so that i could feel invisible. And i looked more intently into the window display and i saw a bunch of arranged flowers. Sunflowers. A bunch here, a bunch over there, on the table, single flowers in vases, sunflowers everywhere. Loads of sunflowers. And i slowed my walk and i thought, and i paused, and i stopped. And i thought. Those sunflowers represent life. Those sunflowers represent Leslie. Leslie wouldn't want me to run away, to give up. Leslie would want me to take care of myself. Leslie would say live your live fiercely. I think she would say to make it worthwhile as long as i'm here. So i turned myself around 180 degrees, took another long look at the sunflowers and headed to the subway. And i prayed to Leslie. I haven't prayed to anyone in a long time. And i said, "Leslie, help me to have courage. Help me to know what to do." I knew i had to come home and write.
Crying exhausts me. I think i sort of feel some kind of draining sensation when i'm crying. This time i felt like the pain was draining, like it was a good thing. And now i feel like i was knocked out and just woke up. The crying never lasts so long anymore. Maybe i can only do so much at once.
When i was at tia's place this evening she asked me when i was going to help her buy a juicer. I told her i had forgotten that she asked me that favor. She asked if i ever had a chance to pass by Macy's would i check them out for her. I said, i'll check online. And i thought, oh Labor Day sales, it'll have to be this weekend. And i thought, OH SHIT, oh fuck, fucking Labor Day sales. Fucking juicer purchase with my normal mom. Sick mom who didn't know she had cancer but could still walk and talk and go on the subway with me. I can't remember when the last time she took the subway was. At the end we took buses a few times. I can't believe there was a time she was on the subway that was her last time. I can't believe all the last times. I can't believe it. What do i do when i can't believe that she got sick and died? Crying's back. I'm typing with snotty fingers. Why do i feel like i've never felt these things before?
How is going to work and acting like i'm fine even possible? How were we making all those cancer jokes in the kitchen today while cutting the birthday cake? We joke about cancer blue icing, and we throw that word around, and i laugh but i know i'm uncomfortable but i also believe that we're joking about something that's true. And at the same time i don't want to be "my mother died from cancer." I told Erika last week that i feel like i am "my mother died." Like that is my identity, that is what my name should be. When i meet new people or see an acquaintance i haven't seen in a long time and they ask, "how are you?" i want to say, "my mother died, i'm okay." Because my mother died is the first and foremost. And sometimes i can act like it isn't, or i can put it in a drawer for a few hours, for a day, and it can be something that happened to me recently, but not who i am.
And then those triggers that we were talking about in group tonight happen. And every new store that opens is a store that my mom will never see. And every news item is one i'll never be able to share with my mom. And i look at the program from the show Andre saw in Las Vegas and i think, wow it looks beautiful, my mother will never see this, this show has no purpose anymore. It's beautiful and pointless. Traveling is pointless. How can anything have a purpose if i can't share it with my mom? What's the use of doing anything anymore? I can't buy her food anymore, i can't buy her the Loreal face cream she liked, i can't buy her clothes, shoes. I can't buy her all those things i did when i tried in vain to make her stay alive, to stay here. If only i could provide her with...she needed a shirt that fit her shrinking body, she needed nutritious food, she needed comfortable slippers, she needed vitamins to give her strength. At what point did i realize none of that would work anymore?
Why am i crying? What does this accomplish? I don't feel better. This just means there are more tears to come. I read so many sage words and i'm fascinated and intrigued and i marvel at what might be true. About the purpose of life, about the meaning of birth and death, about what love really is, about surviving the dark times and finding the light. And when i read all this it makes sense and it feels good. But right now, there's only grasping my head with both hands because it's going to explode with terror. I want to disbelieve what my memories tell me. Looking around at the apartment doesn't make me sad. Hardly ever anymore. It's so different now than it was. I just have to sit still and look inside my brain and that's where all the sadness is. The realization that i couldn't do anything to stop her death. That i knew my mother was dying. That mi mama se me murio. That she got sick, and worse, and that all the attempts to make her better didn't work. That they always told us, it's not curable. Since October, so many different doctors told us it wasn't curable. And i never believed them. No, not my mother. She was going to be the miracle. Even just for two years, i tried to bargain. Why not my mom? Why couldn't she be the exception? And i told her all the time: mom you can be the exception, you can survive, it's happened before. And i asked her to think positively so that her body would hear good messages not negative ones. And i told her stories about individuals who had gone on to live 2,4, even 6 years beyond their prognosis. And i really didn't believe she would die yet. This couldn't happen to me. And yet in January i wondered if mom would even be around in May. And she wasn't.
Not even six fucking months since we heard the word cancer in the emergency room that night. What do i do now? I'm crying, what else am i supposed to do? How can i give myself to the world when i feel like all there's left is pieces? Pieces of something i never liked to begin with. Where is this so-called phoenix Elizabeth Lesser talks about?
My world was me and her. And it got ripped apart. And now other people live here. And i love many of them and i know they love me. But they're here because she's gone. And she's not here. I could look at the positive, and the good things. And right now a teeny, barely audible part of me wants to do that. But no. I don't care about the positive side. I don't have energy to see the glass half-full. I'm going to smash that glass. There's just a void in my middle, caused by disbelief. Is it a reluctance to accept the truth? Yeah. It's not that i can't believe it, it's that i won't believe it.
When my mom was 33 she took a plane from Bogota to New York because she was looking for a new horizon, as she liked to put it. She left her mom and the world she knew, and she came here looking for whatever was out there that was better than what she had left behind. And she counted on her sisters for support. And she fought bitterly with her sisters from before i was born right until months before she died. What did her life mean? I can't even handle that right now.
I'm 33. I want this number to mean something to me. I want to know the answer to what i'm supposed to know now. And sometimes i think i'm supposed to discover something at the end of this whirlwind. Like a neat ending to a beautiful children's fable, the kind my mom used to love. I can only think of all the things that made her amazing. And how i didn't appreciate them enough when she was healthy. I need for there to be a happy ending. I need a lesson learned and a treasure discovered and the ray of light and the choir of angels singing.
I'll hold onto my music, my friends, my family and my girls.
I want to figure out which parts of me are the ones newly broken, and which are the old broken parts. What do i do with them?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)