While I Was Away...

...I turned 26 yesterday! Yeah me, now a year older, but feeling just the same.

My birthday was quite relaxing. I accomplished nothing of great importance, which is how I like it. My SO and I didn't wake up to an alarm. I watched crappy television while my SO slept in (damn you circadian rhythm). I ate a reasonably good breakfast, thin crust pizza for lunch, beer & crabs for dinner. I spent time with my friends, and we had a lot of laughs.

I did my best to not worry or think about family issues. I let my laziness rob me of playing pool or catching a crappy movie. (Aside: My birthday is the one time out of the year I can drag my SO to see a horrible movie with me. We were going to see "The Proposal," but alas, a nap won out instead.) All-in-all, a really good birthday.

One thing I was grateful for: I forgot about an auction that happened yesterday. When Ella died, I packed up boxes and boxes of stuff. Ever since then, I've been meaning to go through it all, but the task seemed so daunting. I let it all sit in storage, paying rental fees for an entire year.

Now that my SO and I are moving in, I decided to let the items go. I took all the lamps (5) and 15 of the boxes over. Unfortunately, I could only fit about six of the boxes on my table. I still have a lot of stuff left, but it will all eventually go up for sale.

I have fond memories of some of the items from my childhood, but I left it all in storage for a year. If I really cared about this stuff, it would have already been a part of my life. I was just holding on to the items as a way of holding on the Ella and, to me, that is not healthy. I'll get a letter and a check in the mail soon, itemizing how the sale went. I'm going to try to get everything else to the auction as soon as I can. It's been long enough. I need to let go.

Non Sequitur: I had another dream last night that I want to transform/elaborate into a story. It was odd, but interesting. The quick version: the story will center around people with the ability to send their minds to another place while their bodies remain. Yes, I know it sounds like The Matrix, but it's really not. Trust me. I already have my notes from the dream written out. Now I need to figure out the story arc, name characters, and elaborate on the conflict.

I will say this, counting down in your dream to when you'll wake up, and then it happening, is freaky. For about ten minutes, I thought my dream was real.

Sometimes I'm Sad

I suppose anyone can write this post. I suppose someone else has already written this post. Today, I woke up sad, and it hasn't changed much as the day has progressed.

I'm all alone in my office with repetitive, mind numbing work to do. Don't get me wrong; I am VERY thankful for my job. But today, I feel like poo.

I wonder if, subconsciously, it's because the anniversary of Ella's passing is coming up soon. I hadn't actually thought about it until I looked at the date on my computer. It's been almost a year since all that heartache and drama dominated my life.

I randomly saw her birth mother on the way to see my therapist. It was jolting, just seeing her walk across the street. I don't believe she saw me, thankfully. I haven't spoke to her in months. I hope it stays that way.

I've avoided getting rid of the stuff I took with me from the apartment. Boxes and boxes of random things sit in a storage unit I pay $63 a month to keep. I want to sell or give it all away. But I keep putting off that hurt.

There are plenty of things to be happy about. Sunday is Mother's Day. I bought my Mom a CD she requested, and I painted a ceramic box for her. I hope she likes it. Okay, I know she'll love it just because I "made" it.

I finished my first screenplay this week. It needs work, as all fresh fiction does. Having gone through the process of these last few months (conceptualizing the idea, hammering out the plot points, writing out the actions and dialogue), I'm left with the dread that my work is a piece of crap. What if it is too cliche? What if the characters seem one-sided? What if no one cares about them? It feels like I no longer have control and that's scary.

I am probably my own worst critic. No one has read the script yet. And it's only my first. There are many more to come, so long as I don't let my current negativity deflect my attention from the business of creating more stories and letting my ideas flourish.

Soon, I will bite the bullet and print out all 95 pages of my script. I will send it out to the world, first to friends with honest criticisms, and then to the people who could pay me lots of money or break my heart. Either way, staying in this state of creative limbo isn't good.

Now that I have exorcised my emotions, I actually feel a lot better. Maybe this day won't be so bad after all.

My Tick

Ever since high school, the first time a major family member died, and I was old enough to be aware of it, I've developed a sort of "tick". Each time my mother leaves me a phone message, and her voice is not happy-go-lucky, I assume someone has died, and brace myself for who it will be.

It didn't start that way, though. My freshman year, my great uncle died. That may seem like an insignificant relative, but he was more like my second grandfather. My mother and I lived with her Dad, but, to this day, I haven't connected with my father's side of the family like I should. So, for the longest time, my grandmother's sister, my great aunt, and her family were a major part of our lives. When my grandmother died, I was four months old. Aunties took over that role, helping my mother and nurturing me. Uncles, that's what I called him, died my freshman year.

My sophomore year, one of my mom's best friends, "aunt" Georgia, died. It was as unexpected as a sand storm in winter. She passed in her sleep one night. I learned about it after school the next day. My mother and I sobbed in the car for about 15 minutes, and then we tried to move on.

Junior year, it was my aunt Sharon. She lived a state away with her two sons. We visited once, before she passed. I remember her being kind, sweet, and boisterously funny. And she looked so much like my mother.

Senior year, it was my grandfather. He passed while I was away in Puerto Rico on a class trip. My Mom didn't tell me until I was waiting for a connecting flight in New York on my way back home. The day I got back was the day of his funeral. His was a retired police officer and received the full complement of pomp and circumstance. I was glad I was not there to witness it. My mother picked me up from the airport and took me home. I watched a comedy show and cried before taking a nap.

Aunties passed my junior year in college. Ella, as you know, was this past year. I suppose the creator gave me a slight reprieve, some padding to prop me up before the big falls. No one prepares you for this part of life, of being an adult.

I guess, from the series of unfortunate moments in my high school years, of course one would develop a complex. So now, I take a deep breath and try to relax every time my mother leaves a message, asking me to call her back. Who is going to be next?

Disconnect

For the past year our country's economy has slowly spiraled downward. The effects are everywhere and the impact has been felt by many, just not me.

As 2007 ended and 2008 began, my cousin Ella was diagnosed with cancer. That wasn't a good day. I remember sitting in the exam room with Ella and my mother. The doctor gave my mother and me the preliminary news, away from our cousin, before he performed any biopsies. A CAT scan showed there were masses in her lymph nodes and all over her chest. "Don't tell her yet," he said. "Let her have a good Christmas." I had to lock eyes with my mother to keep her from crying. The official diagnosis came a few weeks later. It was widespread and would require aggressive treatement: rounds of chemo and radiation. Thinking back on it, a meeting like that changes the path of your life forever.

That wasn't a good night, either. As the murmurs of recession and sub-prime started, I sat on the floor of her apartment in my bedroom, my back against the bed, tears kissing my face. I was suppose to be getting ready for my job's holiday party. Needless to say, my fun was subdued. I disguised my hurt well from my coworkers, and tried to dance my pain away. But I still had my sorrow at the end of the night.

The middle of winter brought less work for me, a fact that should've bothered me more. But I found myself floating in an emotional bubble. Yes, I worried about my finances, but I worried more about getting Ella to all of her doctor appointments and treatments. It hurts to note that, at times, I did breakdown. Never in front of Ella, but to my close friends I talked about my financial worries. I never wanted to put her through that. Who was I to talk about paying off my credit cards when she was fighting for her life. I would've taken on double that debt to keep her here, but that's not the way life works.

Ella died May 15th, the height of spring, when life was blooming. Work was up. I had been paying all her rent by then, and I had received my stimulus money. I used it for moving expenses and trying to clean out her apartment.

Since our economy has gone from bad to worse, my financial life has steadily improved. I received my first two insurance payouts as homes were being foreclosed on. It is an odd, raw feeling receiving money from the death of a loved one. It is possible to have survivor's guilt when you never had the disease. It is possible to feel bad about receiving money for merely loving someone.

Because I missed out on work to help care for Ella, I was low on funds during the time of her death. The first two insurance payouts saved my year. I paid off my credit card debt, loaned my mother some money (she had helped me with Ella's bills in the beginning of the year), and paid my first two months rent. I was okay.

Now, when our stock market sunk to a five year low, I received my last insurance payout, more than the first two combined, from a policy I didn't even know about. At first, I was scared. So much money on one seemingly fragile piece of paper seemed unreal to me. I hurried to deposit it, irrational fears of theft or distruction overwhelming me.

Now that I am more than financially secure, everything is put into a peculiar perspective. Two of my closest friends are getting married. I've blocked out the event days, not caring about missing some work. In fact, work has slumped again. Recession woes will do that. But I've just not cared.

I have a huge lump of guilt in my throat. Why am I okay when others are suffering? Why is my life soaring because of the death of a loved one, someone who was akin to a second mother to me? Yet, I have equally realistic notions about my life. Okay, work is slowing. Since I'll be losing out on hours, don't spend as much. I'm researching private health insurance in case I loose my benefits through my job. I'm making myself write, as evidenced by this entry and the other ideas I've written but not fully conveyed on paper. I've got to start somewhere.

I cannot let my built in worries about work, money, and how people view me take away from the opportunity I have been given. This is the first time in my life where I have financial freedom. It was paid for with the love of my cousin. To squander this would be unthinkable, reprehensible, and just not me. Too many people are scared about their financial welfare right now. I'm just not one of them. This was the last gift Ella gave me. I will not waste it.

Surprise (part 2)

On a Friday afternoon, towards the end of August, I received a phone message from a woman who worked at my cousin's employer's Death Benefits department. In her message, she said she needed to speak to me, and could I call her back by 5pm. Unfortunately, I was working, and was unable to reach her before then. As luck would have it, the Monday following this call was the same day I went in for dental surgery. (I needed all four of my wisdom teeth removed.) As my significant other drove me to the surgery, I gave the lady a call.

It seems she had been trying to contact me for some time. First, she tried Ella's mother, who said she didn't know where I was, and had no number for me. Then she tried looking through the phone book. She found my mom's home address, but the number she dialed was my uncle's line. At some future point in time, I will better explain to you just how out of touch he is. For now, I'll just say he's not all there, and told her he didn't know my number. He didn't bother to mention my mother was in the bedroom across the hall from his, or to give the representative her number. In a last ditch effort, she sent a letter to the house for me, asking for my current address and phone number. Hence, the call.

The reason the representative wanted to speak to me was that I was the sole beneficiary for yet another life insurance policy. It was through the company and I knew NOTHING of it. Also, I was to recieve the stocks in her 401k retirement account. When combining the two, they were double what I had already recieved. I found myself shocked and sad at the same time. I thanked her for her efforts and for the news. After I hung up, many curse words came out, as well as a prayer and thank you to my cousin.

The icing on the cake came after my surery. I received a call, while happy on percosets and ice cream, from the representative from the cemetary. Yes, that was the day I found out I didn't owe them any money, and my uncashed check was being mailed back to me.

The best way to describe that day was the intersection of blessings and karma.

Surprise (part 1)

The intricacies of putting a loved one to rest are, at times, overwhelming . One specific instance for me, though, was enraging.

I recently received a phone call from the cemetary, where my cousin's body now lays, regarding payment for the plot. This was a shock to me considering 1) the payment for the plot was arranged through one of her life insurance policies, and 2) the call came three months after her burial. The representative we worked with tried to politely point out that I, along with her mother, had signed a promissory note that legally bound us to pay this debt. Also, since my percentage of the insurance payout was 60%, I needed to pay 60% of the bill.

It was at this moment, that last statement, when my blood started to boil. I could understand up until that point that this man was doing his job, just trying to collect what his company was owed. But he asking me to pay what amounted to $1000 more that my familial counterpart went too far. Obviously he had spoken to her first. This woman's conniving just would not end.

When paying for the funeral home, the insurance agency took the amount off the top for the bill and then paid out the remainder. The cemetary, or just this representative, didn't see it this way. I was being penalized because that woman manipulated the situation.

This story does have a somewhat pleasant ending. The insurance company did in fact pay the cemetary bill, my uncashed check was mailed back to me, and I have not heard from the cemetary representative, or that woman, in about a month.

Going through the death of such a close relative has been hard enough. Dealing with her mother, however, has been almost unbearable. She wasn't a part of my life before Ella died. I hope she stops interjecting herself into my life in the time to come.

Grieving

Recently one of the most important persons in my life died. The circumstances around her passing were not quick or easy. The aftermath has been just as bad. Family squabbling made the process of putting her to rest almost unbearable. Now, I am left with a place in my heart that never stops hurting. I'm just able to ignore it at times.

No one taught me how to grieve. I was given no instruction manual or handy tips. I just let the days go by and try not to let my pain overshadow the importance of now.

It is possible to be sad, even when you are truly happy.