Showing posts with label Aunt Dana. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aunt Dana. Show all posts
11/30/10
5/31/10
I Dreamed a Dream
I try to make this blog positive and not dwell on the negative, but there are times that it's difficult for me to remain that way. There are circumstances and happenings that occur in which her absence is painfully obvious, and I get agitated. I really try to pretend that I'm not longing for her, or that I don't need her, but, sometimes? I really do. And usually I just get sad. But there are times that I get mad.
I'm pissed at my mom.
There. I said it.
You can slice it and dice it any way you'd like, but she's not here any longer because of her desire to be thin. And, not only her desire to be thin--NO--her desire to achieve her goal via a shortcut. She didn't die because of some freak exercising accident, or as a result of a diet gone wrong. She died because she needed to be thin quick and easy. And THAT is why I'm pissed.
Hey, guess what, mom? I would love to be thin too. But rather than undergo some elective surgery that someone with a heart condition probably shouldn't have had in the first place, I spend three days a week running. Yes, my large butt puts on tight pants and a sports bra and an ugly t-shirt and a headband that is so hideous, my two-year old laughs at it. But, it's better than sweating in my eyes. Which, BE TEE DOUBLE-U, I DID FOR THE FIRST TWO RUNS. Because I forgot to bring a headband.
And then, I drag my already-worked-an-entire-day-plus-a-3-hour-commute-haven't-seen-my-daughter-yet-today-butt outside, and I run. There are times that I am sure the oncoming vehicle doesn't see me and I'm going to have to slide into the nearest lawn. There are instances where I can actually feel my butt jiggle. And, the other day? I'm pretty sure the mailman laughed at me. But still, I press on.
And I keep telling myself, Oh, my mother could NEVER run...she could NEVER do a 5K. You know what? That's BS. Because you could have run, if you had ever tried. If doing things the long way, or the right way, or the hard way was of interest to you. But apparently it wasn't.
And so, I get to attend a BBQ where I watch a little boy's grandmother follow him around, doting on his every move. And I get to watch my brother practice changing Leah's diaper for when his daughter his born. And I witness some of Leah's more unsavory behavioral traits wondering what the hell I am doing wrong, and I'm pissed. I'm pissed off that Leah doesn't have what that little boy has. And that Marco won't have you to help. And I can't ask you for advice. And that our lives must go on without you and you could have prevented your death. You didn't have to die.
Don't get me wrong, if you showed up tomorrow claiming you had to fake your death to escape the Armenian mob due to gambling debts, I'd welcome you with open arms and delete this post immediately. But I know you're not living in the Caribbean, working the docks in a fishing village, answering to the name Bernice. I know you're gone. And I know that you didn't have to be.
My life, and the lives of everyone in my family, are forever changed in a horrible way because you died.
And today I'm pissed off about that.
I'm pissed at my mom.
There. I said it.
You can slice it and dice it any way you'd like, but she's not here any longer because of her desire to be thin. And, not only her desire to be thin--NO--her desire to achieve her goal via a shortcut. She didn't die because of some freak exercising accident, or as a result of a diet gone wrong. She died because she needed to be thin quick and easy. And THAT is why I'm pissed.
Hey, guess what, mom? I would love to be thin too. But rather than undergo some elective surgery that someone with a heart condition probably shouldn't have had in the first place, I spend three days a week running. Yes, my large butt puts on tight pants and a sports bra and an ugly t-shirt and a headband that is so hideous, my two-year old laughs at it. But, it's better than sweating in my eyes. Which, BE TEE DOUBLE-U, I DID FOR THE FIRST TWO RUNS. Because I forgot to bring a headband.
And then, I drag my already-worked-an-entire-day-plus-a-3-hour-commute-haven't-seen-my-daughter-yet-today-butt outside, and I run. There are times that I am sure the oncoming vehicle doesn't see me and I'm going to have to slide into the nearest lawn. There are instances where I can actually feel my butt jiggle. And, the other day? I'm pretty sure the mailman laughed at me. But still, I press on.
And I keep telling myself, Oh, my mother could NEVER run...she could NEVER do a 5K. You know what? That's BS. Because you could have run, if you had ever tried. If doing things the long way, or the right way, or the hard way was of interest to you. But apparently it wasn't.
And so, I get to attend a BBQ where I watch a little boy's grandmother follow him around, doting on his every move. And I get to watch my brother practice changing Leah's diaper for when his daughter his born. And I witness some of Leah's more unsavory behavioral traits wondering what the hell I am doing wrong, and I'm pissed. I'm pissed off that Leah doesn't have what that little boy has. And that Marco won't have you to help. And I can't ask you for advice. And that our lives must go on without you and you could have prevented your death. You didn't have to die.
Don't get me wrong, if you showed up tomorrow claiming you had to fake your death to escape the Armenian mob due to gambling debts, I'd welcome you with open arms and delete this post immediately. But I know you're not living in the Caribbean, working the docks in a fishing village, answering to the name Bernice. I know you're gone. And I know that you didn't have to be.
My life, and the lives of everyone in my family, are forever changed in a horrible way because you died.
And today I'm pissed off about that.
And still I dream she'll come to me,
that we will live the years together.
that we will live the years together.
But there are dreams that cannot be,
and there are storms we cannot weather.
and there are storms we cannot weather.
.
.
.
.
3/31/10
Dear Mom...
Leah turned two last week, and we had a small family party for her over the weekend. You were definately missed, but I have to admit it's getting easier to handle parties and holidays. Soon after you died, get-togethers were difficult. We found ourselves just standing there staring at each other physically missing the void you left.
When it would come time to clear the table, we'd still wait for your direction on who should do what. When it came time to make the coffee, we'd forget that you were no longer there and someone had to pick up the slack.
And pick up the slack is what we've done.
Daddy is now the only parent we have, and he must do the job of mom and dad. He is the only grandparent of Leah's that lives in NJ, so he must fill those shoes, too.
Adriana and I now take care of making sure the table is set, the food is served, the dishes are washed, and the coffee is served. Gone are the days of being waited on; we now automatically make sure it happens.
And Marco? You'll be happy to know that he is still the impatient, lazy PITA that he was when you were here. How proud you must be!
So, I hope this doesn't upset you, Ma, but we are doing a lot better when we are all together. It's no longer a pity party, where we all feel bad for ourselves and are reminded at every turn that you are no longer here.
We've picked up the pieces, and, although we drop a few occasionally, we are managing. And we are doing well. Very well.
SO WELL, THAT YOU'RE GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER AGAIN! MARCO IS HAVING A BABY!
So, there, internet. That is my news. You can re-direct your "Congratulations on the new baby" cards from me to Marco. Unless the card states, "Congratulations on the new baby, AUNT DANA."
Mom and Dad-2007.
Haha, totally kidding. It was the 70's, as if you couldn't tell.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
When it would come time to clear the table, we'd still wait for your direction on who should do what. When it came time to make the coffee, we'd forget that you were no longer there and someone had to pick up the slack.
And pick up the slack is what we've done.
Daddy is now the only parent we have, and he must do the job of mom and dad. He is the only grandparent of Leah's that lives in NJ, so he must fill those shoes, too.
Adriana and I now take care of making sure the table is set, the food is served, the dishes are washed, and the coffee is served. Gone are the days of being waited on; we now automatically make sure it happens.
And Marco? You'll be happy to know that he is still the impatient, lazy PITA that he was when you were here. How proud you must be!
So, I hope this doesn't upset you, Ma, but we are doing a lot better when we are all together. It's no longer a pity party, where we all feel bad for ourselves and are reminded at every turn that you are no longer here.
We've picked up the pieces, and, although we drop a few occasionally, we are managing. And we are doing well. Very well.
SO WELL, THAT YOU'RE GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER AGAIN! MARCO IS HAVING A BABY!
So, there, internet. That is my news. You can re-direct your "Congratulations on the new baby" cards from me to Marco. Unless the card states, "Congratulations on the new baby, AUNT DANA."
Mom and Dad-2007.
Haha, totally kidding. It was the 70's, as if you couldn't tell.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
3/25/10
News
I got some news tonight, and I'm not ready to share it just yet, but it's something that would have made my mom really happy. I had a hard time hearing the news, because my mom is not here to hear it, and I keep going through this bi-polar craze where I am happy for the news one minute and then devastated because my mom's not here to share it the next.
I have a feeling that this is how good news is going to feel for a long time. Or at least for a while. Until it no longer feels this way. Which I wish would come soon, but then that means that I am somehow forgetting my mom, and I don't want that to happen...so I'm thankful that good news makes me sad? But that doesn't sound right. So, clearly I'm confused.
If I am lucky to live to be 62, then I will have not had my mom in my life for as long as I did have her. My sister has to only live to be 50 for that to occur for her.
Today is emotional day. 1) The news, 2) Two years ago today my contractions began (more on that tomorrow) and 3) There are days where I don't do well. I'm just gonna lay my cards on the table and be honest with you all. There are days where I think about my mom, myself, my life, my job, my home, my everything, and the bad seems to outweigh the good.
Even when I hear good news.
.
.
.
.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)