You know, you only get one service in life...

Your loved ones only have one formal moment in their life to deal with their grief, to be given comfort, to say goodbye, and find some sort of closure. Now, what do you do if someone fucks up that moment for you? What if whatever expectation you had of how things should go, and what things should be said, weren't?

In a few words, my mothers service was terrible. It took all the restraint I'm capable of to calm the rage that I was feeling listening to the Chaplain prattle on and to keep myself from leaping from the chair to choke him to death.

The entire first ten minutes of his speech were basically him plugging Hospice, and giving us details of how we should go about contacting them should we or our families find ourselves dying and in need of in home care any time soon. But! As if that weren't horrendous enough, at one point he actually equated the feelings of sadness and loss we are feeling from the loss of my mother to the anger he felt recently when he locked his keys in his car. I mean, for fuck sake... 

He wasn't comforting, he wasn't helpful, he continually said my mothers name wrong after being corrected several times on the pronunciation before he even started the service. I was so, so upset.

I'm thinking of writing a letter of complaint to hospice. He was a discredit to an otherwise wonderful organization, and I think they need to know about it.

But, some of my mothers friends shared some of their memories with everyone, which was nice. Call me crazy, but I think funeral services should be more about the person that passed and less about the organization that cared for them in their final days. My aunt Ourania was the saving grace of the entire service, and her words were of more credit to my mother than the rest of the entire service combined.

Here is what she wrote:

My mom didn't recognize me yesterday when I went over to visit. That hasn't happened before...

When I walked in the door, I said hello to her and I walked up and gave her a kiss, and she didn't respond. She just sat, staring off vacantly in some other place.

 I don't think I can really describe that feeling...

 My mother didn't know me. I'm just...heartsick.

She is adorable though... I was sitting next to her on the couch, and she grabbed my hand and told me that she wanted to go for I walk. I helped her up, and braced her arms to she wouldn't fall as she shuffled down our hallway. She stopped at her bedroom door, and decided to turn right back around. She said she wanted coffee in a little girl sing-song voice, and that she wanted to sit at the kitchen table. Moving around is a feat for my mom, so I was proud of her for walking. Her poor little feet have been so swollen from inactivity--her movement makes me hopeful. She plopped down on our wooden chairs and hurt herself doing it. She is in pain anywhere you touch her, and she has no fat and little muscle on her body at this point, so there was no padding to cushion her plop and all she could do is wince and say "Oww" repeatedly while rocking, all in the same little girl voice. I started crying. I couldn't even help myself at that point. There was nothing I could do to help her, but all the same I just rubbed her back trying to comfort her, and commented on her poor little butt.  She didn't hear me. She greeted my words with the same vacant stare as before. Only when I was uncontrolably sobbing did my  mother come back to me, her eyes actually appearing to see me--and she said "What's wrong, baby? Please don't cry." and I told her, "I just want you not to hurt--I want you to be okay." and she said, "Me too."  Even with the constant pain she is in, a pain I don't think I even comprehend the severity of, she still worries about her kids...

My mothers friend Doris was visiting too while I was there, and she kept talking to my mom as though she were a child. It honestly pissed me off. She's not a child... She can hear, damnit! She understands! She is just having trouble speaking.

I really don't like Doris...

I just.. I don't want to see my mom suffer. And she is. Every minute of every day she is here, she is suffering. I feel  so selfish for wanting her around for as long as possible knowing that... There are so many things she wanted to do.

She wanted to go to Hawaii for her 50th birthday, and she couldn't.
She always wanted to see Italy.
She wanted to be at our weddings.  
She wanted SO badly to see her grandchildren...

About a month or two ago, my mom was talking to Araz's mother on the phone. It started out as just pleasantries, and ended with my mother begging her to be the best grandmother she possibly could, twice as good, to make up for her not being her. She asked her to kiss her grandchildren twice, once for her and once for my mom... and I just starting sobbing hysterically. So did they. Araz's mom begged her not to talk like that, and told her that they were going to raise their grandchildren together...

My poor mom. I can only hope that when I do have children I'm half the mother she is...

I keep wishing for something amazing. Like maybe today will be the day they announce that they've cured cancer, and that the antidote is free and all it takes is a shot. And my mom will be miraculously saved, and it will just be a few weeks before she is back to normal.

My mom is the only person in my family that I actually give a damn about. this is killing me.

   I haven't slept in three days. This week started out fine, I went to the job I hate, I kissed the ass of those I despise, and then I came home. Then, I woke up on Tuesday and I did it all over again.

Tuesday....

It was about 3:50pm, and I was on my break. I got a text from my oldest sister, Jen. This is noteworthy only because it has never happened before. It read simply "Call me now." and I thought to myself "How convenient. I'm on break. I will!" And so I did... My sister was sobbing, and so I of course ask what happened. Her life has been a tumultuous one and so I could only imagine what shit might have hit the fan for her.  She asked me, "Are you sure you want to hear now? You're at work."


I panic.

Of course I want to know! Even hinting at something negative makes me momentarily realize all of my worst fears, so with my heart in my throat, I ask her to please tell me what is wrong. And then she told me...

  " Mommy went to the doctor today. She is really bad, Steph. Her cancer counts are at 710. They've decided to cease all treatments on her now, and she is going to be in hospice care. They say she has anywhere from a week to three months to live. You should come home. Mommy needs us."

My mother. My  beautiful, inviolable saint of a mother. Dying. I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around the idea that she may not be here in a week. A week.  A god damn week! Not that three months is any more bearable, but at least it's not as finite. My mothers birthday is in three months... I took a week off of work, hoping to take her on a special trip somewhere...and not she may not even be here in a few days, let alone months. I just cant do it. I wont do it. My mother is all I have, all I care about in this world...

...and so I shrieked through the halls of USAA, crying hysterically and uttering sentences my manager couldn't even hope to understand. I told her I needed to leave. She knows vaguely about my mothers health... I'm sure she pieced together the details.

How I drove home, I'll never know. My eyes were so blurred with tears, by rights I should be a bloody spot on the road.

I got home to a scene I don't think I'll ever see again. There in the dining room of my childhood home sat my mother, father, and two sisters all poised at the dining room table, all in their long abandoned "spots" at the table talking. In the eight years since my parents have been divorced has that happened...  I took a picture with my cell phone. I think I'll have to try to describe that feeling another time...

All talking, all surrounding my mother with love... and when she saw me, her baby, her favorite... my mother went to tears, apologizing that someone called me at work, and that she didn't want me to know yet. She always has apologized for silly things. The entire family went out to dinner at my fathers suggestion, and for the first time in years seemed to enjoy each others company, even with heavy hearts.

I cant sleep at night. I've always had trouble. I've always had something to worry away about, finding sleep after I've convinced myself that my worries wont catch up with me. And now they have. They're knocking feverishly at my door, and this time, someone has beat me to the door. For the past 11 years of my life I've gone to bed every day wondering if my mother would make it through the night, if she would be there the next morning. Why her? She is the sweetest most innocent creature you could ever have the pleasure of knowing, and yet her life has been a living hell. They say that god is merciful, that he would never give someone a load that they couldn't bear, one that they didn't deserve. Reward the righteous. Punish the wicked.

There isn't a god. You wont convince me that there was a grand plan behind marrying my mother to an abusive drug addict at the age of 17. To work five jobs while your husband snorts away the money you've been hording to feed your new little girl, and to buy school clothes. To see your husband fuck another woman in your bed. To divorce him, and to have him and his lawyer friend file a bankruptcy so iron clad, that he never has to pay a dime in child support. To find a new life, with a new husband that the old one constantly tries to ruin. For financial struggle. For miscarriages. For ovarian cancer. For multiple sclerosis. For osteoporosis and carpel tunnel. For lung cancer. For pneumonia every year of your life. Having a piece of your lung removed. To see the cancer move from your lungs, to your chest, to your spine, to you hips and legs so you cannot walk, to your stomach so you cannot eat, to your brain so you do not know your children, and your blood and bones so that you'll die and leave them.

That is poor planning.
That is the absence of a plan, or any divine grace.

She says to me, "You have to forgive. Maybe I'm suppose to fulfill a grand purpose up there."

She also says, "You don't have to believe, honey. I'll believe in god enough for you, too."

I hope that there is a heaven so that she can be there. So that she can rest.

I'm so angry... I want my mother here.

Yesterday, she was crying her eyes out telling me what a good grandmother she would have made. How she wishes she would get to be here to see us on our wedding days, and when we have children of our own. My mother would make the best grandmother... the best.

I'm only 21. 21 years isn't enough. I want more. I need more time with her. I feel so weak. I've always been able to do something. I hate this. I hate it so much it hurts. My heart aches... I don't think I'll ever sleep again.

Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye;
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: -feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened: -that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on -
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul;
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft -
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart -
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer through the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished though
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led -more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. -I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. -That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear -both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee; and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance -
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence -wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service; rather say
With warmer love -oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

Good times:

- Alex came home last Friday for a visit.  I made dinner for her and Craig, which was nice. They have never had real Greek food before, so it was an experience considering they actually think the stuff at My Big Fat Greek Restaurant is good. Ick.

- Araz's mom came to visit last weekend. I love her. We all got together at his Aunts house for a BBQ. I like the women of his family because they cant seem to cook without dancing around to music either. We listened to my iPod during dinner, and they all seemed to really like my "Fob Mix." It's a lot of Greek, Arabic, Armenian, and Farsi music so it doesn't surprise me that they liked it. I ended up making his mom a mix cd for the ride home. Her and Seta dropped by the house before they hit the rode back to California, which was neat. His mom and my mom had never met before, so it made me really happy that they had a chance to talk. I sent home some baklava that I had made for his dad, since he has such a sweet tooth.

- Araz's brother got engaged. 1.8 ct fancy yellow radiant cut diamond surrounded by another .5 ct of white diamonds set in 18kt white gold. She is such a tiny girl, I can only imagine how huge it looks on her.

-Vegas! I'm going to go to Vegas for my birthday, which I'm fairly excited for. It seems kind of cliche, but I think it will be a good time. I'm excited to buy a new dress, and to go to the Chanel boutiques that they have there. Mmm, I love Chanel. So far, it looks like it will just be Araz, Ricky, Lawrence and myself, though I think Ann might come too. Araz's brother mentioned he and his now fiance might tag along but he is always so busy with work, he wont know if he is coming until last minute. I'm really excited that Ricky is coming, since his birthday is the day after mine, it's always fun when we can celebrate together. Non stop partying! -Pictures to follow.-

-I have the ability to get under peoples skin even though I haven't seen or talked to them in years. That gives me the warm fuzzies.

-Graduate school at the American University of Cairo, Egypt.


Bad Times:


-My mothers health seems to be worsening.

-I'm bored with my job.

-I found out this morning that my friend Jeff killed himself. It's a long terrible story. Maybe I'll post about it later, but it really sucks.

Today was neat. We shopped, we ate, we rocked at NTN.

I write to help the friends list.

An angel kissed my strings
While I slept last night
And her rhythm broke my hunger
And I died a little less
Well I just want to get some
Get some while I'm still tall
Oh, let's tell the world we're unheard
We're unsure
We're unstop
We're unstoppable
Oh Let's tell the girls to be strong
To be sure
To be heard
We want to be heard
And you're all
You're all I want
Yeah all I want
So tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me where have you been?

Well an angel kissed my hands
While I slept last night
And when I woke up this morning
God, I missed you something fierce
I just want to get some
Get some while I'm still tall
Oh, let's tell the world we're unheard
We're unsure
We're unstop
We're unstoppable
Oh Let's tell the girls to be strong
To be sure
To be heard
We want to be heard
And you're all
You're all I want
Yeah all I want
So tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me where have you been?
Fashion isn't dead
No it's just inside out
It's just inside out
She says she needs a priest
Wants to get closer to God
I say all I need's a ladder
I want to touch your sky
You want it all
Do you want it all?
Do you want it all?
Do you want it all?
And you're heavy in my heart
You're heavy in my hands
You're heavy in my mouth
Yes you're heavy in my day
You're heavy in my songs
You're heavy in light
And you're all that I want
Yeah you're all that I want
Yeah you're all that I want
God you're all that I want
Oh, you're all I want

My mom had a heart attack. Yea. A fucking heart attack.

She's at home now, resting.

I got told she was in the hospital before I had to go to work.

I got a phone call while I was at work telling me it was a heart attack. She wouldn't let me come home to take care of her. =(

Yesterday was not a good day.

Kites.

Do you remember those? I didn't until today. Sure, I knew what they were, but I didn't really remember everything I knew about them until I was reading earlier and it triggered a bunch of elementary school knowledge and I couldn't help but smile. I miss kites, and I didn't even know it.

Catsy, catsy.

I learned how to play chess tonight.

Really, I should have learned a long time ago. Mark loved it and would play often, and Lawrence has promising to teach me for damn near three years now. But yes, Ricky and I went on a special Super Wal-Mart trip at about 2 in the morning specifically to buy a chinsy little chess set that we could bring to Denny's to play. While we were there we also played catch with a nerf football and attempted to joust. Jousting consisted of us running at each other from opposite ends of an isle with pool noodles. Yea, Ricky and I are mighty juvinile. And mighty retarded. Anyway, back to chess...

First 2 games, he kicked my ass. Hardcore. Third game, not so much. I learned how to save my ass. It went on for a while. I'm not sure if we finished, or if we just left. Regaurdless, I am home in time for my beloved I Love Lucy reruns.

This episode, Ricky and Lucy have bought their own house in the country and after the explaination he recieved from his Dad, Little Ricky picks up his dog Fred and carries him over the threshold. It's cute. This show in general is chock full of cute. Heee. =)

Long story short, I am now addicted to chess.

Thanks to my extremely fucked up sleeping schedule, I see a lot of I Love Lucy reruns.

Not sure if I have mentioned me deep and unabiding love for I Love Lucy, but yes. Read that again and pretend I'm telling you...

Anyway, here I sit watching, it's a chilly 4:30 am...

Ricky and Lucy and son go to Cuba for the first time since they have been married to see Ricky's parents. There is this whole debacle with Lucy screwing up first impressions, but in the end they all wind up in a night club and Ricky and little Ricky play the drums to "Babalu" and it was just the cutest damn thing ever. They got so into it. =)

1. Who are you?

2. Are we friends?

3. When and how did we meet?

4. Do you talk to me a lot?

5. Am i fun to talk to?

6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.

7. Describe me in one word.

8. What was your first impression?

9. Do you still think that way about me now?

10. What reminds you of me?

11. If you could give me anything what would it be?

12. How well do you know me?

13. Whats one thing that we had and was only ours(isj)?

14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?

15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

Man.

Mitch Hedberd died.

I'm so bummed out.

An article explaining what little is known about his death can be found here ( Read more... )



=(


Quotes:( Read more... )

There are such things as perfect moments. I know this, because I have experianced them. I've decided to write about some of them, for many reasons, mostly selfish ones. I'd be sad if these things ever fell completely from memory and I know one day I'll be old and barely remember what I had for breakfast, so I go-- In the name of documentation!

I was six years old and in Tennessee for what could possibly be the last time, since I have not been back since. It was late June, early July and it epitomized everything a young country summer should be. We were visiting my Moms family; This is the only memory I like reflecting on of them since so much has happened since then, and not even fights, just people have died and it seems everyones health is failing.

The Fourth of July. The piece de resistance of all memories.

The entire day was oddly "All-American." We spent the day at the lake, but I wasn't allowed to go in because of some snake [Which upon researching, is pretty scary. Water Moccasins are unfriendly bitches.] My cousins and neighborhood kids just chased each other around, we flew kites, I ever remember picking flowers and putting them in my hair [And I wasn't even going to San Fransisco. Go figure.] Afterwards, the ENTIRE community turned out for this huge pot luck picnic. We spread out blankets, ate, drank sweet tea, talked and I saw my first fire works show. It was so pretty, I remember being in absolute awe that what I was seeing was even possible. It seemed like we were out there forever, and I ended up falling asleep in my moms lap. Those days I actually maintained a normal schedule though, so it was probably only on the virgin edge of nine. I remember being put into bed and muttering out a sleepy goodnight to my mom when she kissed me on my head and fell right back into the kind of sleep that only youthful innocence permits.

Whoever said highschool would be the best years of my life was grossly misinformed. I miss being wee...

Holy fuck.

It's moments like that when I have to rethink my opinion of myself, and wonder just how stupid I actually am.

I just endured the most uncomfortable and prolonged pain of my life. It wasn't even popping out a kid--No, my injury is duct tape related...

Let me regale you with the tale...

It all started with my buying supplies to make a corset. I was very excited, because I have never made one before. So here I sit, its the fifth hour in this wee morning and in a stroke of genius, and since I have nothing better to do [And I'm obviously not going to bed anytime soon anyway.] that I might as well get started! Well, I was told that the best pattern you can make for a corset is just by wrapping yourself with duct tape and cutting it off and using that as a guide. Well, I forgot a very important step in this process. Nigh, the *most* important step. I forgot the initial saran wrap coating (so the tape doesn't stick to you.) I forgot until about half way down, and then remembered suddenly with a resounding "Awww fucking christ!" as the unpleasant thought of the inevitable settled in. Getting that tape off of me was one of the most painful things ever. EVER. And while we are on the subject, I think our bodies should just evolve to where we don't have stupid tiny hairs everywhere that you don't even notice until they are very slowly and very agonizingly being ripped from you. They are there to control our bodies temperature, fine. I understand that. But you know what? How many hundreds of years have we been making and wearing clothes now? If I'm cold, I'll put on a sweater. If I'm hot, I'll strip! Get with the program, body. Those hairs are obsolete and hurt like EIGHT BITCHES IN A BITCH BOAT when being torn from me. Seriously, I'm fucking traumatized. Shaking! ME! Gah...

So, fuck this corset project for a while.

Next time I attack someone for being a dumb ass, please promptly tell me to shut the fuck up and remind me of this. I have no room to talk.

I really hate Burger King.

Not because of their food, or even for the service. I hate them for the commercial they have been airing lately. It grates at my nerves, and makes me pretty much instantly belligerent when I hear it. It makes me make this face:

( Read more... )

Yes, commercials make me snarl.

Now you know what the inside of my nose looks like. =)

Bashas' has the most gorgeous strawberries right now. Something like five pounds of these beauties for two bucks! It's insane. Insane and delicious. Insanely delicious? Yes.