For Sarah

by pankaj via Flickr

Almost 5 years ago, I spent a week in the hospital after overdosing on sleeping pills. My dad found me in my apartment after work notified him that I hadn't shown up and couldn't be reached. My dad, quite literally, saved my life.

The anxiety from adjusting to life after I broke off my engagement and trying to maintain an incredibly unhealthy new relationship with a guy with severe mental health issues of his own completely hollowed me out. After three days of not being able to sleep on my regular dosage, I decided that perhaps finishing off the whole bottle of over twenty pills might do the trick.

My dad visited me everyday I was in the hospital. A few nearby friends also visited. My brother tearfully told me he couldn't get off of work to come down. My mother never broached the subject of seeing me.

Many people, including hospital staff, friends, and fellow patients, told me how lucky I was to have such a supportive father. I casually mentioned this to him during one of his visits. The next day, he gave me an envelope containing two pieces of paper. One was a letter, explaining, "I don't know how to be anything except what I am- truth be told, I'm the lucky one." He went on to say that the second piece of paper was ripped from one of his sketchbooks and it contained a poem he had written the day I was born.

The paper is very yellowed and brittle. It has that distinct sweet, earthly smell of old paper. The letters in pencil are faded, but are still undoubtedly in my dad's distinctive, all caps handwriting. His words are as follows:

"If I could give you the sun,
I'll surrender the mountains I'll climb
To give you the sun, if I could.
The gold I'll catch and save the rays,
the shine from within.
If I could, the yellow white sky."

I was less than 24 hours old and my dad loved me unconditionally. He didn't know what I would become, but he wanted everything for me. The fact that he is no longer living, the person who has loved me most of all, fills me with an almost inexpressible loneliness.

I could sure use the sun's rays at times like these.

2013

by aerust via Flickr

It's difficult for me to wrap my head around the enormity of 2013. There were so many changes- both good and bad- that I can't believe they all took place within one single year.

I moved across the country by way of a cross country road trip, started a new job, made new friends, lost my dad, became closer to my brother, had my heart broken twice, started seeing a therapist again, traveled way more than ever before, sold my car, bought a bike, and somehow survived.

I don't like to admit how bad or hard things are because admitting it somehow makes it more real to me and makes it an actual problem when I'd rather just be in denial and continue to solider through without comment, but you guys, 2013 was hard. I feel like I have a hangover from that year that will just not go away no matter how many times I throw up and no matter how many glasses of water I drink.

January 1, 2013 was the last time I ever saw my dad alive. I was never a huge fan of New Year's, but now I have a whole new level of animosity for that day. Now, when I am trying to be hopeful and optimistic toward starting a new year, I won't be able to help myself from thinking about the death of my father, how eager I was to leave him and start a new chapter of my life, how he cried at the realization of me leaving, how I'm pretty sure I consoled him with the words "you'll see me again soon." Oh, how wrong I was.

As I mentioned previously, I've been thinking a lot about how to make 2014 a better year. While I can't stop things like death from happening, I feel as though I should try to improve upon the things I can control so that I'll be able to be happier while also withstanding the bad with more stride. Thinking about a whole year is rather daunting; however, and I may need to break it up into smaller chunks of time to be able to imagine and implement any kind of change.

So, day by day, this is the new year.

April is the cruelest month

by arleach84 via Flickr

Thank you all for your kind words and understanding while I stepped away from the blog for a little while.

For those of you who have been long time readers or who know me in real life, you understand that losing my father was a huge blow since my mother and I have such a strained relationship. I've stated many times that I feel as though I turned out so "normal" despite my hoarding mother because my dad had been my rock and his immense love and support counteracted the pain my mother has and continues to cause. My rock and my balance is now gone and I have to find new footing in order to navigate having a dysfunctional parent in my life.

My mother took four days to call me after my dad died. Four. I didn't see my phone ring and she left a vague voicemail that ended with her telling me that she was going to call my brother instead. She hasn't bothered to try to contact me again. I don't really have much to say to her and I highly doubt there's anything she can say to make me feel better, so I haven't felt inclined to call her back.

Many of my friends have stated how unfair it is for me to lose my dad since he was my only solid parent. I have to agree. It is unfair and cruel for me to lose such an awesome dad so young. It pains me everyday that I cannot share my life with him anymore.

I don't think there's anything that can prepare you for losing a parent and I don't think there's anyway to accurately describe how this feels. Everyday I have to remind myself that he is really gone. I'm just trying to take one day at a time and to consider that my dad would not want me to be sad and lethargic. All he wanted was for me to be happy. So that's all I want too.

Unbelievable

My father passed away unexpectedly last week. People keep asking me how I'm doing. While I usually say, "okay" or "I've been better," I think the only way I can get close to explaining how I'm doing is by explaining that I feel as though someone ripped off my limbs, pushed me into the ocean, and I've been drowning and sinking for days.

I have no words.

Just breathe

from Office Space

Dear self,

I know that you are hurt right now. I know that what she said to you and how she said it was unfair and it made you feel so hurt and so small. But guess what? You are bigger and better than her misconceptions. What matters is that Dad loves you and things are fine with him. You are moving soon, a mere three weeks, and you will no longer have to see her, no longer have to deal with her. She is nothing, no one, and will continue to be nothing to you. Just hang on. You have had to deal with much worse for a much longer amount of time. This can be done.

Love,
Me

P.S. The truth always wins out. It may not be revealed or realized immediately, but it is there and it is unwavering.

Woe is me

by a_ninjamonkey via Flickr

If you are having a rough day, just think of me having very little luck apartment hunting in a city where I know next to no one while I'm sick with a cold and cough.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Life happenings

by capecodcyclist via Flickr

I'm not going to lie: November was a rough month for me, guys. Hurricane Sandy was the catalyst for me telling my grandma the truth about my mother, her hoarding, and our relationship. I had a bad Thanksgiving break that involved a reminder that my family is incredibly screwed up and, while I think it's normal, it's far from it; some tummy trouble; and my dad's girlfriend either blatantly ignoring me or being incredibly rude (like waking me up at 3 AM rude). As if these things (and trying to prepare myself for a cross country move!) weren't enough, I broke up with my boyfriend this week after some big thinks about how what we want and where we are in life are different. It just didn't seem like we were going to make each other happy in the long run. While I know I did the right thing, I feel sad to see it end and I feel awful for hurting him.

I'm in danger of bumming you all out, so here are some entertaining links to round out this post:

Don't settle for just fine.

An amazing example of how change in a community doesn't have to be overthought. 

GoldieBlox instead of Barbies for all the young girls in your life!

There's not enough quiet in our daily lives. Defend it!

"Kiss Me Again" by Jessica Lea Mayfield is my sad jam these days.

If you like a good play on words, how about this Freudian slip mug or some Freudian slippers?


I hope November was more gentle on you than it was on me.

When it rains, it pours

by ccho via Flickr

"That secret that you know, but don't know how to tell / It fucks with your honor and it teases your head / But you know that it's good girl / 'Cause its running you with red"
-Bon Iver, "Blood Bank"

Hurricane Sandy was not only an awful storm for the east coast. It was the catalyst for me finally revealing my real childhood to my grandmother, a secret I have guarded tightly and intentionally from her for nearly two decades.

My family did not sustain any terrible damage from the storm, but my grandma did lose power for four days. My brother and sister in law contacted my grandmother and mother before the storm hit to let them know that they were available to help them if they needed it. They didn't hear from them and so they assumed everything was fine once the storm hit. My great aunt, my grandma's sister, contacted my sister in law over Facebook three days after the storm because she was concerned about my grandma since she hadn't heard from her since before the storm. My brother was able to get ahold of my mother that evening and found out the situation.

They had lost power shortly after the storm hit and my mother had only been able to charge her cell phone that evening my brother called because she went to a nearby church for a free meal. When my brother had related the news to me, my heart sank to my stomach and I instantly burned with anger. So many whys ran through my head: why wasn't her phone charged before the storm, why did it take her so long to find somewhere to charge it, why didn't she try to tell anyone that they didn't have power, why why why? I was concerned for my 92 year old grandma and her health. My fury sprouted from the fear that my mother was neglecting my grandmother's basic needs just like she had neglected mine when I lived with her.

My anger made me bold and I called my mother after I spoke to my brother. After I confirmed the details I had heard from my brother, I just went off. My mother, of course, did not take the criticism well and kept passing the phone to my grandmother in hopes of shutting me up. The conversation kept going in circles and I finally had enough. I told my mother that our relationship is now nothing more than us calling each other when a family member dies. Is that what she really wanted? I reminded her that the ball has been in her court for three years and she has done nothing to show me that she was genuinely sorry for what she put me through.

They wound up getting their power back the next day. Over a week passed. Then I got an email from my grandmother, chastising me for talking to my mother the way that I did. I have gotten flak from her before about the way I speak to my mother sometimes, but nothing like this. After nearly 20 years, I was sick of taking bullet after bullet for my mother. This hit was one that I was not going to take lying down. It was time for my grandmother to know the truth.

Hi Grandma,

...

Based on the things that you mentioned in your email, I have a feeling that Mom did not tell you the whole conversation that we had nor explained why I was so upset. In fact, over the years, you have been given a primarily one sided account of the relationship that Mom and I have and why it is the way it is. You no doubt have noticed that Mom's and my relationship has been strained for a long time and that it has continued to get worse instead of better. While it is unfortunate what happened because of Sandy, that was not the real reason I called Mom and spoke to her the way that I did. The real issue at hand is much, much more involved.

You have issues with the way that I speak to Mom. You’ve stated that plainly in the email and have said as much in the past. I think you know me well enough to know that the way I sometimes speak to and treat Mom is not indicative of my true personality and nature. I do not speak to or treat anyone else the way that I do with Mom.

I have never told you why I speak to and treat Mom that way and I have never told you why I am so upset with Mom. I never told you over the years because the truth is upsetting and I didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. When I was young, I also thought that it was my fault for the way things were and I was ashamed to tell anyone about it. I thought that Mom and I would move past this and I wouldn't have to say anything. It could simply be forgotten. I see now that that is not going to happen. You are clearly already upset about the situation and so you deserve to know the truth and I am no longer afraid to tell you.

Quite simply, I speak to and treat Mom the way that I do because no one else has treated me the way Mom has treated me. Mom is a hoarder. By hoarder, I do not mean that she simply has a messy, cluttered house. While it’s true that she has a tendency to collect clothing and food for the less fortunate, I am referring to a condition that is much more serious... The details are unpleasant, but you need to know in order to understand my distress... To put it plainly, if anyone really knew the conditions I was living in, I would have been taken away from her in a heartbeat and she would have been charged with child neglect.

As a child and then a teenager, growing up like this was incredibly upsetting. I did not understand why Mom was allowing our house to get worse and worse... I blamed myself for the way things were. I thought I did not deserve to live in a clean home and that’s why Mom did not throw things away or clean. I was sick all of the time because of all of the bacteria, mold, mildew, and feces around me (I've rarely been sick since I moved out of the house). I went through bouts of depression because I felt unworthy of everything and I thought that Mom simply did not love me. I became fearful that people would find out about our situation and so developed anxiety. The incredible hurt that I felt from our living situation would cause me, and continues to cause me, to lash out at her and speak to her and treat her the way that I did and do.

I didn’t fully understand the situation that I grew up in until I went away for college. By then, the damage was already done to my mental and emotional health as well as Mom’s and my relationship. It pains me to admit this to you, Grandma, but the intense anguish I felt drove me to the brink of suicide. I sought therapy and attempted to find peace with the situation. You might remember that a few years ago, Mom and I fought for over 3 hours on Christmas day. This was shortly after I hit my lowest low. We were talking about her hoarding and how it affected me. I confronted her about how damaging it was to me.

[My brother] knows about the past partially because he was there and partially because I’ve told him the details. He has talked to Mom multiple times about her hoarding and has tried to help her. He convinced her to apologize to me. When she apologized, I accepted her apology, but I told her that in order for any change to take place, I needed to see some action so that I knew she was genuine. I placed the ball in her court and I have seen no action. She has since distanced herself from [my brother] as well.

I have tried to talk to her and reason with her. I have tried to make her understand how hurt I was and continue to be. While I am still so hurt, that anger is going to come out and lash out at her. I am not proud of this and I would like nothing more than to change it, but I cannot change if Mom is not willing to help heal the wounds that she caused.

The reason I was so upset when I called after Sandy is because, over the last three years (since I asked to see action from her), I only get a call from Mom if someone in the family dies. She does not communicate things with me or with [my brother]. This is the part of the conversation I don’t think Mom told you about. While I understand that there were barriers in place, communication in these situations is necessary. More importantly though, the fact that Mom is assisting in your care touched a raw nerve with me. When I lived with her, Mom neglected my basic needs and did not seek help in our situation. I do not wish that or the hopeless feeling I felt then on anyone. I was concerned that you were also being neglected and not being helped. My trust in Mom has been broken for quite some time and I want you to be in capable hands.

No doubt, if she is confronted about this or if she reads this email, she will have excuses and will be in denial, but these things are facts and this is the way that I felt and continue to feel. These things are my past and she has not taken responsibility for what happened to me when I was a child. She was the parent and she let these things happen to me.

She might have issue with the term “hoarder” and she might want to continue to blame her thyroid disease on the situation despite there being zero medical evidence, but that does not change the fact that these things happened, that she did nothing to stop them, and that they affected me profoundly in physical, mental, and emotional ways.

I’m sorry if this email is upsetting and shocking to you. I hoped so much that this would blow over and be forgotten. Instead, it haunts me every day. I have many demons because of the conditions I grew up in and the relationship that I have with Mom. The way I speak to her is just one of these demons. I fight hard against it, but it will still rear its ugly head until I can find ultimate peace with this situation.

I love and care about you deeply, Grandma. Your house has always been a safe haven for me... I hope that Mom and I can one day get past this. Until she is fully on board though, I honestly doubt that is possible.

My grandma could have taken that email so many different ways. I was ready for her not to believe what I told her. I was prepared for my mother to call me in a fit of rage. I got a response from my grandma the day after I sent her the email telling me that she was disturbed by what I told her, but that she's not going to get involved. It's between my mother and me. My mother is a good daughter to her and I should try to be more considerate. She hopes I can put the past behind me and is deleting my email so that my mother won't see it.

In someways, I feel relieved for finally saying what needed to be said for years. In others, I feel as though I stuck my neck out only for it to be buried in the sand again by someone else. I can't blame my grandma for just wanting to pretend like she doesn't know and for not turning against her daughter, but, ultimately, she's only enabling my mother to continue her hurtful behavior.

In the end, all I really want is closure. Instead, the door keeps getting stuck hanging ajar.

Turmoil

I try my hardest to post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on my blog in order to appeal to my readers' desire for regularity. I must admit that, today, I have nothing to give to you besides this brief update. I have been dealing with some family turmoil these past few weeks and it has finally come to a head. I am honestly too tired to sit down and write a pleasant post for you all. I plan to write at length about what is going on with my mother very soon, but right now, it is just too raw. I can tell you that her secret will no longer be kept from some key players in my family after today.

Any kind words and thoughts are greatly appreciated and I hope to have some much more compelling content to share next week.

Take care and have a restful weekend.

Fighting discontentment

by timarai via Flickr

Sometimes when I’m feeling emotionally and mentally lazy, I find that it is easy for me to slip into feeling discontent with my life. I might come across a picture on Facebook or hear someone’s news about something awesome happening in his or her life and I feel a duel happiness for him or her and what I can only describe as a sad jealousy for myself. While it’s wonderful that this person went somewhere great or is happy in his or her relationship or landed a lucrative job, I can’t help but compare his or her life events with my own. There are times when I feel this way without even being prompted by a particular news item. I’m just in a lousy mood and think that if I did X or if Z would happen to me or if I didn’t have the past that I do, then I would be so much happier.

I say I’m prone to feeling this way when I’m lazy because when I’m on top of my game, I tend to approach jealousy-inducing situations with a clear, strong mind that either stops me from feeling sorry for myself from the start or enables me to easily talk myself out of being a sorry sack. When I’m lazy and don’t feel like putting in the mental effort of critically approaching the situation, that’s when I fall in danger of boo hooing.

From what I can tell, this is an incredibly easy trap for people to fall into. I think it’s simply human nature to want what we can’t have and to think that the grass is always greener. I think it’s especially easy for folks who had a trying past to feel as though they have a disadvantage when it comes to finding a satisfying life. As a child of a hoarder, I missed out on having a happy childhood and will seemingly always have insecurities about my ability to keep a well organized, stable life.

In order to keep myself from wallowing in self-pity and instead find some semblance of happiness and contentedness with my lot in life, I try to keep the following in mind:

• This quote from George Bernard Shaw gives me a better focus regarding those who have lives I admire: "People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." Very few things are handed to you in life. Chances are, that aspect I admire about someone else was cultivated. That person intentionally spent time on that part of their life. If I want what they’ve got, I also have to put in the effort.

• Comparing yourself to others is a slippery slope. Everyone lives their life at different speeds and that is a-okay. Everyone has different talents and, again, that is a-okay. Focus on what you’ve got and become the best person that you can be. Everyone else is already taken, right? (On the flip side, sometimes learning about someone who has it worse than we do can help us gain a little focus and make us realize that maybe we don’t have it so bad after all.) 

• It's dangerous not seeing the whole picture. It’s easy to fixate on the often one sided view shown to us on social media and even sometimes in person. We see the wedding pictures, but not the marital struggles and fights. We see the smiley baby pictures, but not the sacrifices made to raise the child. Life has many angles and it should be examined from all of them. 

• Pay attention to when you feel particularly crappy. I’ve noticed that when I’m looking at Pinterest and Facebook aimlessly, I often start getting starry eyed and wonder why I don’t have a bedroom that looks like that or why I don’t have a handsome, creative husband. Stay away from these triggers when you’re already flirting with the entrance to the rabbit hole of self-pity. Make sure you’re in a good, positive mindset before venture into these temptations. Having a purpose for perusing also helps: if I know I’m looking for yummy recipes on Pinterest, I’m less likely to fall into a blackhole. 

How about you? What do you do to lift yourself out of feeling sorry for yourself when you feel like you don’t stack up?

Like clockwork

As soon as I talked about how positive I felt about the future in my last post, wouldn't you know it, I got into a humongous fight with my dad and have been resurfacing from that experience since.

Our argument was based on a lot of miscommunication regarding health issues, responsibilities, and expectations and lasted for days. It reached a point where I felt that the only way to resolve it was to move out. Luckily, at this proposition, my dad balked and began to see reason again. It largely seems as though things have been resolved and we're all living together harmoniously once more.

What surprised me most about this experience was how deeply it affected me. I used to argue with my mother all of the time. If I still talked to her and saw her on a regular basis, I have no doubt that I would still argue with her constantly. On the other hand, my dad and I rarely argue. I think I can count on one hand how many times we have ever argued. I grew up in a living situation that was horrible and I didn't want to be in, so how could an argument about my current living situation that caused me to not want to be there anymore plunge me into a depression?

I think the root of the problem was the fact that it was my dad who I was arguing with and it was about me living with him. I've joked in the past that if it weren't for my dad being so awesome and supportive, living with my hoarder mother would have seriously screwed me up for life. Going through the confrontation last week made me realize how true that statement is. When I felt like I couldn't talk to my dad and I felt unwelcome in his home, I felt like I had absolutely nothing. Having only one "good" parent throws the whole parental support system off kilter and causes me to rely much more on my dad. When it's not status quo with my dad, I essentially feel orphaned.

It took me most of this week to feel normal again. Now that I'm back into the swing of things, I hope like hell that my dad and I won't have to butt heads like that again for a long, long time, if ever.

If you have one hoarder parent and rely more on the other parent for emotional support, have you ever felt the way that I did when you've argued with your "good" parent?

A faint light at the end of the tunnel

If I can get through this semester alive and with diploma in hand, I know that I will be able to endure anything. 

Last night, I walked home from work, went straight to my bedroom, fell into bed, and sobbed. Heart wrenching, hyperventilating sobs.

The future of my thesis rests on two deans (whom I do not know and have no connections with) allowing me to distribute my survey (that involves controversial, polarizing topics) to their faculty members. If they say no, my thesis will be over. Months and months of work will be for naught. I do not know if anything can be scrapped together to actually finish it or not. I don't know and I can't think about it anymore. I have an 8 page paper to write, a digital library project to start, 50+ pages to read, and Excedrin to take. 

86 more days, 86 more days, 86 more days...

Rough week

Vincent Yeh via Flickr

I've had a rough week. School is sucking my soul, work is either crazy busy or mind numbing-ly dull, I've been super tired, the boyfriend doesn't like my crabbiness.

Despite these downers, I'm okay. I just have to remember that most things in life are temporary and that all of these things will pass. School will be over soon and a better job will come my way. I'll catch up on sleep and stop being so short tempered. As long as I think in the long term and not in the short, these little things don't consume me.

Lovers' quarrel

I'll be the first to admit that I haven't been the sunniest person lately. Having to deal with school again, after such a short break, and making myself read until my eyes bleed so that I fulfill a silly goal I set for myself, are taking their toll. I feel like I haven't been able to fully enjoy my summer thus far and I'm becoming frustrated. When I want to write about my past, I have to write a paper for school. When I want to lie in the grass and read, I have to sit inside and read off a screen for school. When I get painful wanderlust, I remember I don't have the time nor the money to travel and won't for another year or so when I'll be done with school and can get a better position at work. When I just want to relax and have a nice evening with my beau, we wind up fighting over seemingly nothing.

Last night, my beau said that I was quiet and asked me what was wrong. Nothing was wrong. It was finally Friday and I just wanted to wipe my mind clean and have a quiet evening of being lazy. I didn't really have anything to talk about as nothing newsworthy had really happened this week. I've just kind of been keeping my head down, dealing with things I've been procrastinating for awhile. Thinking that my quietness and seeming inability to talk about anything meant that something was wrong and that I was mad at him about something, he kept asking me what was wrong. Well, nothing was wrong until I had to answer the same question over and over with the same answer. Asking me, practically pleading with me, to talk to him made my brain lock up further and I could think of nothing to talk about. He did find something to talk about and I joined in, but my voice betrayed my building, hidden frustration and he took offense at the way I had corrected him. I sunk back into silence, afraid of hurting him again. He then stopped talking to me because I wasn't talking to him. I asked him what was wrong and he said that nothing was wrong despite all body language clearly answering in the affirmative. I told him that when he felt like being honest with me and telling me what was really wrong, I'd be right there, checking my email. At that point, the argument really started.

Around and around we went on this sickening cyclical argument based on nothing. Nothing was wrong to begin with and now we're arguing about transgressions based on that nothingness. It made my head hurt just thinking about it and made me increasingly frustrated. If I'm going to argue with someone, I want to argue about something, not nothing. Despite my desire to keep my annoyance at bay and to speak rationally, my attitude reared its ugly head and made snide, snapping remarks to him. He called me out on it and I felt awful, biting my tongue and sinking back into silence. My guilt overcame me and I apologized, knowing that loved ones do not deserve to be spoken to like that- no one deserves to be spoken to like that. We had had this conversation before and knowing that we had reached this point again made me feel sick.

My mother hates me because of my attitude. She can get nasty when she argues and years of arguing with her coupled with teenage cockiness conditioned me well to have a quick tongue and biting words whenever I enter a disagreement, especially with her. It's a hard instinct to break and her incessant harping did little to change my ways as I had lost what little respect I had for her when she drug me through her hoarding hellhole for a decade. I honestly cared little if I hurt her feelings. Now that I'm in a relationship with a sensitive man, I find my words coming back to bite me in the ass after I have a fleeting moment of relief when they bite him in the heat of an argument. I need to rewire my brain to speak calmly and rationally, lovingly and full of understanding. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt him and yet my tone of voice is the exact opposite. How can I break this callousness that is such an unwelcome part of my personality?

Absence

I had a bad week.

I felt barfy and feverish.
I got the "let's just be friends" speech from dude.
My schoolwork is reaching epic proportions.
My mother called me to apologize and raked my heart and mind back through the smoldering ashes of the past for the umpteenth time.

I've got a bad case of wanderlust. I dragged my feet too long to sign up for a study abroad program in London and now I'm on the waiting list. I'm waiting for more information on a program in Salzburg. In the meantime, I'm drooling over these:

Aptly described as "travel porn" (I've been to two of these places which seems to make my longing worse)
The world in a bubble

Luckily, I've got good friends, Harry Potter, The Office, and my cat to give me some buoyancy.

Speechless

I've been feeling rather disconnected the past few days. I found out a high school friend of mine passed away this week. I met her in 5th grade. She introduced me to the Babysitters' Club and Pokemon. She taught me how to play chess. The first and only game I played was against her and I somehow managed to win. She was the first person I knew who had an iPod. I remember how truly excited she was to attend my birthday parties. Incredibly intelligent and an unbelievably talented musician, I cannot believe that her life ended so soon. Her dedication to everything she did pushed me to be a better person. I deeply regret not staying in contact with her after high school. I no longer have the opportunity to change that.

Far too many people have been passing away lately.

To lighten the mood, I will leave you with two things that made me smile recently.

The Bobcats from the Oatmeal: when cats work in an office.

My future, in a nutshell:

That secret that you know, but don't know how to tell

The perfect music to listen to while walking to and from work on cold, winter days while contemplating life, death, and unhappiness: Bon Iver.

The perfect sounds to listen to while walking home alone from bars and parties in the wee hours of the morning while crying, cursing men, and feeling sick, drunk, exhausted, and unwanted: your own breathing, the pounding of your heels on packed snow, your sniffling, your discontented sighs. 

12 days before Christmas

My mother called me this morning. Let me repeat that for added emphasis: my mother called me this morning. Shortly after 8, my phone rang and I automatically knew that it was bad news. No one calls me that early. Her strained voice further gave her away: something was most definitely wrong. I thought instantly of my grandmother and griped my stomach with my free hand, having felt my heart drop there, in anticipation. It was not my grandmother. My oldest female cousin's husband passed away on Monday night of what appears to be heart failure. He was only in his late 30s - early 40s. He and my cousin had a baby almost a year ago. I wasn't very close to him and have never been especially close to that cousin, mostly because of our age difference and distance, but the news is still shocking and distressing to me. My cousin is incredibly smart and nerdy and found an equally as smart and nerdy companion in her husband. They married about 4 years ago while I was in college. I remember my brother and I sat at their table at another cousin's wedding a few years ago and got to know the both of them better, bantering back and forth about literature and sports. I was surprised when they decided to have a child since she was never one for kids and it sounded like they had decided to abstain shortly after getting married. I guess the ticking clock made them both a little nervous and realize that it was now or never for the baby train. On the way down to Florida to visit his parents this summer, they stopped in Richmond to say hi. I met them at the capitol for a half hour or so and got to see their baby boy for the first time. He was the sweetest, happiest baby and was showered with love from both of his parents. I feel awful for both my cousin and their baby. To have such a short time with someone you love is a tragedy.

It was hard to listen to my mom cry on the phone to me since she so rarely shows her true emotions. Something really moving has to happen in order for her to cry in front of anyone. She got to see them over Thanksgiving (I missed them by one day), so she relayed how happy he had been holding his baby and how she'll always remember him that way. She discussed details and logistics with me, voiced her worries. After apologizing for having to share bad news, telling me she'll keep me updated on the memorial service, wishing me a good day at work, she started to wrap up the conversation. When I realized she was going to say goodbye without telling me what I most needed to hear, I stopped her mid-farewell and told her, "I love you, Mom," with a quivering voice.

She started crying again and choked out, "I love you too, Sarah."

Grumpy pants

Of course, after writing a nice upbeat post last time, things went to shit. I've been grumpier than usual these past few days. I'm blaming my mother, headaches, the cold weather, and boys who conveniently forget how to text message. My brother told my mother that she needs to apologize to me before New Year's, so all of the pain from the last 16 years of my life has been weighing on my mind. To top it off, my car wouldn't start this morning. Sigh. I went and saw the new Harry Potter movie with Lynn yesterday and then spent the rest of the day in Carytown with her, which significantly brightened my mood. Fortunately, I have many things to do today, including working on my two finals, so I won't have much time to dwell on my comparatively insignificant problems. I've got good health and the essentials, so get on with the gettin' on, little girl.