Weepy Violets and Dry Eyes

There is one, lone purple bud on my African Violet plant that I discovered this morning. It hasn't bloomed in years, and I'm not really sure what prompted it to do so now. I recently moved it from the kitchen to the living room where it gets the same amount of sun, maybe even a bit less. I also recently overwatered it. For three days Zach complained of wiping water off the coffee table after his books or newspapers inevitably got saturated in it. I did feed it a few times last month. Who knows. It was a pleasant surprise, though, as I discovered it after hanging up from an hour-long phone "conversation" with Jennifer from my health insurance company. I was calling about two claims, one from last August and one from March 2004. We got absolutely nothing resolved. Basically I have to resubmit the claims, because they, conveniently, have no record of either of them. I felt like crying. It's funny that I felt like crying over unprocessed claims and not the recently (yet not uncommon) strained relationship with my mom. Maybe the tears were disguised for my mom. I've got nothing else tonight. My eyes and my fingers are dry.

Sticky and Sweaty

I've been overwhelmed by life's little nuisances lately, like paying bills, making dinner, remembering to water my plants, etc...I wish I could forget about something for once. I'm plagued by a super reliant, overly- efficient mind. At any rate, that's hardly an excuse for not posting more often. It's always on my mind, but it gets pushed back to the "Not-As-Important" corner of my brain where it just sits making me feel guilty.
Things have been "good enough" lately (what is with me and quotation marks tonight?! It's just something else to annoy myself with). Things are not great but not bad either. I've been babysitting a lot and expanding the limits of my patience. Sometimes I watch the kids trying to master a new skill and think about how much it's going to help them later in life, but then I wonder how much any of those skills has really helped me. Maybe I didn't learn anything the right way. Then again, maybe I'm just too hard on myself.
It's been really hot the past two days. It hardly ever hits 90 degrees in State College, but it has two days in a row now. I sound like I'm complaining, but really I don't mind it so much. Growing up my mom always kept the air conditioning at arctic levels. My sisters and I would come in from swimming and turn blue underneath piles of afghans. Now Zach and I don't have AC, but I find that the body adjusts. Of course, I'm not talking about living in the super humidity of the south, but it gets fairly hot and humid in Pennsylvania. So you can imagine me sitting at the desk typing while sweat accumulates underneath my bra and behind my knees making my legs stick to the chair, and how much I really need a shower right now after playing with a two-year old all afternoon. That's me. No appearances to be upheld right now.

Stupid, sunny day

The computer is sooooo slow this morning. I keep getting monstrous emails from my cousin-in-law including pictures of her baby cutting first tooth, wearing first bathing suit, eating first foods, out and about in stroller and drooling, pooping and any other "cute" things babies do. Don't get me wrong. I love kids, but I don't need weekly updates from parents of a kid who live 400 miles away who (it should be "whom", but it sounds so pretentious) I've only met twice before in my life. Have they never heard of a blog?! Then people can look if they want to without their inboxes getting jammed up.
I am irritable today.
I tried to do yoga this morning (on a video) and got annoyed at the stupid, pretzel people. Usually I am one of those super-flexible ones who can do all the contortions, but not today. Today I was just annoyed, and I don't think that's the point of yoga. Last night I got mad at Zach when he made a simple observation while we were playing basketball. I was "cheating" by standing too close to the hoop. All of a sudden every shot I had made was discounted and I felt worthless. He hit a sore spot, but he didn't know it. How does my mind jump to those conclusions? Yes, it is my time of month. It's not meant to be an excuse, but it may explain some of my behavior. Watch out jar of Nutella in the cabinet and Zach.

The World According to Children

It's a rainy day, the oppressive kind of rainy day where it seems like the sun won't ever shine again. I am usually good about not letting the rain stop me or get in my way, but it's always had an adverse affect on my mood from as far back as I can remember. When I was about five I thought that it never rained in the summer (there must have been a drought the year before). When I confidently assured my dad that it wouldn't rain that summer he politely told me otherwise, and I had to go about restructuring my entire world view. That may have been the same year that my grandmother told me I still had twelve years of school ahead of me at the end of my kindergarten year, when I had thought that the two weeks until summer vacation would be it for the rest of my life. I was so mad at her that I wouldn't speak to her for the rest of the day. Now look at me. I'm still in school.
I leave you with this anecdote. I babysat last night for a two-year old, one I've been watching for the past few months along with his 7 month old brother. The two-year old now says my name, and it's "Anna-week". Previous two-year old pronunciations of my name include:

Anjeek (this was by my cousin who is now 26, and my grandfather still calls me this on occasion) Jalaleek (my niece Ashley)
Reese and G (Maya)

Getaway

I got in late last night from a rejuvenating weekend getaway at Nancy's in Cincinnati. It was just what I needed. I love car rides, but only when I'm driving alone, because then I can listen to my music at full volume. In fact, I could have easily kept driving for another 7 hours. I listened to the Dar Williams CD Nancy burned for me for about 5 hours straight, specifically songs number 3 and 6. After about 3 hours I could feel my eyes welling up with tears, the ones I've been holding back for weeks now. Dar Williams and Nancy finally penetrated the thick skin that had been surrounding my soul. Thanks for a great weekend and for making me laugh! It's so important, seeing as how one day we're all going to dissipate* anyway.

* Since Nancy and I are both having trouble with the idea of god and religion lately, we decided that people don't really die, but rather dissipate. Their energy is just dispersed throughout the universe.

More about Ashley

I’ve been feeling anger toward my sisters lately. Neither one is around anymore. Ashley is gone and Alyssa hasn’t been in my life for ten years now. Why did they do this to me? Why did they abandon me? I know it sounds childish, but the child-like part of me asks myself these questions every now and then.

I try to remember back to when Ashley was well, and I have to reach way back in order to get there. My mind is jogged by letters I read and pictures I see. I remember her high standards and expectations from life, which, on one hand is very admirable and on the other is very frustrating to those she was close to. She was very determined and knew what she wanted and sometimes even what other people should want. Ashley spoke her mind, sometimes with words and other times with a sigh or gesture. She would impishly raise one eyebrow up to her hairline, and that was often accompanied by a barely-audible snicker. She could be very critical, just like my uncle. She took her time doing work, never rushing anything. She was very generous, and she loved dogs. Ashley and I got closer about three years ago, a little while after she had returned to school and after I had returned from Germany. She would call and email me, and most times I wouldn’t respond, or at least not initially. It took me a while to see the sisterly bond between us that had been there from the start, because it was often camouflaged by jealousy, animosity, or ambivalence. Once we started talking more, most of that faded into the background. It never completely disappeared, but it faded. I realized that we had a lot in common and how nice it was to talk to someone who understood me so well. We shared the same parents and a childhood; nobody else, except Alyssa, knows our past so intimately. It was reassuring knowing that somebody in the world was so much like me.

Ashley’s graduation ceremony from Bryn Mawr College was held last Sunday. My mom and I walked across the stage to accept her diploma. When it was announced that her degree was awarded posthumously, the crowd gasped a little, but then applauded until after my mom and I returned to our seats. It was spectacular, heartfelt, and highly charged. I couldn’t have imagined it going any better. I kept picturing what it would have been like had Ashley actually been there. She would have been irritated with my family, annoyed that none of us knew why some of the capes were fur-lined and others weren’t, what language was printed on the cover of the yearbook (I think it’s Greek), and other silly questions. But she also would have been really happy and excited about her future endeavors. She was going to go on to graduate school. Maybe she would have studied urban development or law. I miss having Ashley around. Even if we weren’t in close contact, I regret no longer having that as an option. It’s hard for me to be angry with her, despite what I stated in the beginning. It’s especially hard because she was so sick for so long. When I think back, though, I get angry at her for “letting” herself get so sick.

There will be a plaque and a book collection dedicated in Ashley’s honor at the Bryn Mawr library. Please let me know if you can think of any books that should be dedicated in her honor. They do not need to have anything to do with her studies (Economics/Urban Development and German).

More of my story

I want to thank Nancy for posting a link to my blog. I really appreciate everyone's comments and even just knowing that other people are reading my blog even if they don't comment. It gives me courage and the incentive to keep on writing. Here's some more.

April 24, 2005

Another week gone by in my life without Ashley, and somehow I’m managing fairly well. I feel guilty about that. I am resilient, and I view that as being negative somehow. It makes me feel like I am cold and heartless. I think about her often, though. Friday night I saw a Mahler concert with Zach and Sarah Melissa. Ashley played the violin for over ten years, and so I kept imagining seeing her up on stage in the orchestra. Then I started thinking about her upcoming college graduation and how difficult it is going to be walking up on stage to accept her diploma for her without her there. It’s really going to reinforce the fact that she’s not here anymore; that she’s not ANYwhere. I suppose someone could argue that she’s all around us all the time, but I just don’t see it that way, at least not right now I don’t. Her death hasn’t made me turn toward God or any kind of organized religion. Right now thinking about her death is too cold and stark a reality. I don’t see any way of glossing it over or trying to explain it, nor do I want to. Whenever I try to make sense of it, I end up back where I started from, and that is with no good explanation. What good is our ability to reason if we can’t come up with acceptable explanations? The problem there is that I rely on reason in life. Ashley is dead, but those words are meaningless. “Ashley is gone” resonates more deeply with me, but it makes it sound like a temporary situation. Maybe it is for all I know. The worst expression I heard in regard to her death was “Patient expired” spoken by a receptionist at UPenn Hospital where she had been seeing a specialist for a while. Milk expires, not people. Expire means something has gone bad that has been around for too long. People don’t expire. A lump rose in my throat, and I wondered if the woman on the other end of the line had ever experienced the loss of a loved one. She was so cool and detached, and while it pissed me off at the time, I can also appreciate her demeanor, because I can easily detach myself from just about any situation or feeling. I think that that is what has helped me get through some of the difficult times in life.

Thirteen Weeks

April 15, 2005

Today marks 13 weeks since your (Ashley’s) death. Every Friday I think about it, but it becomes less clear with each passing week. Most times I don’t even want to think about it. I have trouble remembering the details of that day, of your moaning, of your breathing become less and less regular, of calling an ambulance, knowing that you never wanted to be in a hospital again, of administering CPR and then watching the paramedics take over while a flat line registered across the screen. I had to carry your dog Zoë down the wooden steps and then, with her head pressed up underneath my chin in my arms and her back rigid against my chest, because you know how much she hates to be picked up and carried, I let the police officers in and directed them where to go. The police were called in as soon as I alerted the dispatcher that you had stopped breathing. Apparently that’s the protocol. Zoë didn’t want me to put her out. She wanted to be near you and all of the action. Your dog was loyal to you to the end. She sat outside on her leash with her back facing the house and her head facing into the wind, visibly upset and annoyed that she was relegated to the yard. I rushed around the house grabbing things I thought I might need. I grabbed mom and dad’s contact information for where they were staying in London. I grabbed my backpack and my water bottle. I went back upstairs and called Zach at the library to tell him that you had stopped breathing and that I had called an ambulance and would be at Lancaster General with you. I told him Zoë was outback, Tyler was outside, and Noelle was in the basement, because I assumed he would get back to the house before me. I hung up and forgot where I put down the phone. I turned off the TV. The Ellen Show was still on. Lastly I turned off your oxygen machine, because you didn’t need it anymore. I stopped and watched you lie there on the floor so still as the paramedics intubated you and injected things into your pick line. You were perfectly still. I turned away, not wanting to see them handling your body like that. My vision became hazy as my eyes filled with the tears I wouldn’t let fall. I wanted to scream out “NO!”, but I couldn’t, and I thought that you wouldn’t like it if I had. I realized later that the heartbeat I felt and thought had been yours was really my own; it was my own heart racing and pulsating through the fingers that held your wrist. I rode to the hospital with a police officer who asked me to write down our names and our relationship to each other. He also wanted to know what had happened. He asked about the scars on your stomach and if you had a terminal illness. He wanted to know if you had taken an overdose as an act of mercy. I told him no, that whatever it was you had was in no way terminal, and that that wasn’t the case at all.

The ride to the hospital was long. I was silent and so was he. There was country music playing, which was periodically interrupted by his radio alerting us of robberies and other unlawful things taking place. The tears filled my eyes again, but I didn’t want to think about why. I wanted to remain strong. I didn’t ask any questions, because I didn’t want to hear anything that I wasn’t prepared for. Thirteen weeks ago at this time you were still alive. It’s 12:30 in the afternoon now. That day, January 14th, in three more hours you would take some of your last breaths. They pronounced you dead at 4:47 p.m. at the hospital. They say you stopped breathing and that they couldn’t re-start your heart in the ambulance. I know it was before you left the house that afternoon. You never wanted to be in a hospital again and you never were. The last words you said to me were “Thank you”, after I took off your socks, which you had asked me to do. I don’t know if you knew what was happening or not. It happened so quickly. I’m not sure I really knew, but even if I did, I didn’t admit it to myself. This kind of thing doesn’t just happen to anyone, so why would it happen to us? I have so many mixed-up feelings about it.

Last night I was reading through some of an old notebook I found in your room, and I was simultaneously touched and angered by what I read. There were several letters in it written about four years ago to some friends and to me. They were written in German. In the two letters to your friends you talked about how much you missed having me around for the summer. I had been on the Cape with Zach all summer and had only spent a few days at home. You talked with pride about me going to graduate school at Penn State and me teaching there and then you talked about how much you couldn’t stand Zach and his ill manners. I remember those times. They were really stressful for me, because I was trying to balance school, my family and being in a long-distance relationship with Zach that no one, except Alyssa, seemed to approve of. I remember not really wanting to talk to you much then, because I could sense your disapproval. I know mom and dad had similar feelings. Reading those letters brought back those stressful, hurtful times. I felt like I had to choose between Zach and my family. Somehow over the next few years things quieted down. I’ll never know how much you thought about me and Zach and if or when your thoughts ever really changed. I guess it doesn’t really matter, but, believe it or not, your opinion mattered to me. There will always be answers to questions that I will never know. I can only try to fill-in-the-blanks myself. I’m sure Zach really did irritate you, as a matter of fact, I know he did, but I also wonder if part of your dislike for Zach was feeling like I was being taken away from you. I resent your disapproval toward my relationship with Zach, even though I think you genuinely warmed up to him over the past two years, but I would much rather have you here, knowing that you disapproved of my marriage than not have you here at all. I could learn to accept that and all the other things in my life you didn’t agree with, but accepting your never-ending absence from my life is so painful that it’s beyond comprehension, beyond words, and beyond feeling. The physical pain your death left me with is pretty much gone, but now there’s some invisible, abstract scar left behind that I can’t see or pinpoint. It makes my head spin, and nothing makes sense. I know I’ll die one day, too, but somehow I also fear that I will never die. I wish we could all die together and I wish that I could be in control of when and how I die. It’s the uncertainty, the elusiveness of death that scares me.

Chapter 1

Okay, so it's been way too long since I've posted anything. I get out of the habit of writing and then it's hard to get back into it. The thing is I find that I usually feel better when I write regularly. Go figure. Why do I avoid doing the things that are good for me? Sure I do plenty of things that are healthy, but often times they are forced and it becomes something that I think I should do rather than what I want to do or what might feel good. It's been so long since I've written anything that I feel like I'm rambling and I can't stay focused. I think I need to break this down into chapters or something.

st ends

Be Fri

So I think everyone has heard about my "therapist-week-from-hell" week. Zach and I are no longer seeing our couple's counselor and I hope to never have to deal with that grief counselor again. Like Nancy in regard to her classes and profs., I don't know how much I am "allowed" to say here. All I know is that my confidence in how I've been living my life was shaken to the core. I felt like I'd been trampled upon and left, battered and alone in a dark forest, to the wolves. Where did all the compassion go? So how do I regain my strength and patch my battered soul? I've decided that the answer to that is through my friends. Janet keeps telling me what wonderful friends I have and to use them, call them,talk to them, and cash in on my friendships, so to speak. She tells me that she has to tell some of her clients NOT to call their friends, because they attract people who are not good for them. Good friends say something about who you are. I can't thank my friends enough. Nancy, Jenni, Annie and Liz, I can't thank all of you enough.

Better

I'm feeling SO much better tonight. I talked to Nancy yesterday and Jenni and Annie today. All those I reached out to extended their love back toward me. **I should make note of this for future reference.** It's not that I ever doubted it, but rather that I didn't feel what I had to say was worth talking about. I suppose I doubted myself more than anything. Last night was rough going. I didn't get to sleep until after 1:00 a.m., and I was thinking all those terrible thoughts that only come at that time of night, when the world feels like it's ending and there's no point to going to sleep becuase that just means waking up again the next morning. By this morning I was feeling better, though.
I'll post more later. Have a good Thursday everyone!

How do I trust myself?

Do you often get the feeling that there is some better way to be living your life? That somehow we're just deceiving others with false pretense? Lately that's how I've been feeling. I have been "cheating" at life. I'm not really living, but pretending to do so. I have little tricks, habits, obsessions and addictions that dictate my life. It's not real. I often don't know who's in charge-me or my obsessions. Can the two actually be separated?
I'm not happy with my coping mechanisms. I resort to old habits, like weighing myself too much, trying to control what I eat, creating lists of things to do in my mind, cleaning when nothing is dirty, and cutting myself. Where the hell did that last one come from? I am an intelligent person and I feel like I should know better, but I get to a point where I just don't care. It's a form of self punishment. If I keep it a secret, then I start to go crazy. If I tell people, I feel crazy and stupid. I hate that I don't tell Zach these things, and then I feel like if I can't talk to him about it then I shouldn't talk to anyone about it. Ultimately it's me that I'm hurting and deceiving, but somehow that doesn't resonate with me. I don't feel like I'm important enough to acknowledge the hurt. Then nothing feels important anymore. There are so many people in this world. How can they all be significant?
I just don't know how to deal with this-the feelings of insignificance and the stresses of life. I think I'm dealing with it just fine, and then I feel hopeless. I am staring destruction in the face, what looks like a shattered image of myself, and I don't know what's real.

The importance of accuracy in diagnosing penile disfunction

It's almost 1:00 p.m., Zach has left for work and I still haven't changed out of my pajamas. I've gotten a lot done though. I cooked all morning-cookies and a big pot of chili; this in addition to the mac 'n cheese and the mushroom noodle casserole I made this weekend from the Moosewood Cookbook. I don't know what's prompted me to do all this cooking. It could be because I actually have the time to cook. For a while I didn't feel like preparing anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal and a peanut butter sandwich. I'm starting to enjoy this time to myself. I haven't thought once about the course I had been teaching since I resigned. I've been reading lots, watching movies and listening to music and, from time to time, picking fights with Zach. Right before he left this afternoon he said he thought he might have a bladder infection. I said that it would be really painful while urinating and that there might be blood. He disagreed with me. He said either way it's still an irritation. I said that that's not the same as an infection. I know I was being a twit, but I am the type of person who insists on using medical terms properly. Some things just can't be thrown around lightly. Maybe it has to do with my sister's sickness and the need for an accurate diagnosis. At any rate, I don't think he has an infection, but, then again, Zach's threshold for pain might be different from mine, greater than mine.
But somehow I don't think so.

March 5, 2005

Today would have been Ashley's 25th birthday. I keep trying to think of something commemorative, exciting or crazy to do, but I don't like any ideas I come up with. Instead I'll probably just remember it is her birthday and go have a drink with Zach, Liz and Jay tonight. According to Buddhist belief, the spirit wanders the earth for 49 days after death. Sometime between last night and this morning would have marked 49 days since Ashley's death.

The Land of Perfect

Today feels like a day of action. I went from paralysis yesterday to action today. I just need to be sure not to put it in overdrive. I'm realizing that when I have those awful days of being lonely, inarticulate, needy and down on myself that it usually means there's a change coming about. If I can catch myself in those moments, then I can do something positive about it. I just hate even having those moments. Why the hell can't I be PERFECT? Nancy, if I don't discover the cure for AIDS today, then I'm throwing in the towel and going to live in those Walgreen ads on TV (you know the ones I'm talking about? Where the sky looks so pretty and people are singing Ahhh Ahhh Ahh Ah in the background?). It's now or never.

A Pleasant Monday

I stayed in most of today and read a great children's book called Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata. I highly recommend it. It takes place in the 1950s, and is about a Japanese-American family trying to make a living in Georgia. It's also about Kate's older sister Lynn's illness and eventual death. Those are the only kinds of books I am reading right now. The end made me cry.
I also made banana bread, went food shopping and bought myself a pair of cute, black nylon, Mary-Jane-like shoes at TJ Maxx for $7.00. How could it get any better?

Note to Nancy: I will help you with all the wedding nonsense just as you helped me. I had to keep reminding myself that the wedding was more for my family than anyone else, and then I felt less guilty about all the money my parents put into it. And I did have fun.

Hitting a Nerve

So it's Saturday again. The weeks have been sliding by in a blur. The past few days have been good, though. On Thursday I realized that I don't need to "feel" sad all of the time. I can be angry, happy, depressed, joyous, tired, withdrawn, hyper, or fearful. Instead of forcing myself to feel sad, and wondering why I can't seem to cry, I can let myself be, and then cry when it comes naturally. This is a BIG relief.
Yesterday marked one month of the date of Ashley's death. It seems like it's been twice that long already. I feel like I'm swimming, or just trying to stay afloat, in the midst of chaos, and I'm waiting for that moment of clarity when it hits me again that Ashley is gone. I know that one day soon I am going to inadvertently pick up the phone to call her, and then will remember that I can't. The whole concept of death is beyond comprehension.
Last night Zach and I were discussing whether or not her spirit was around. Whenever I think of that possibility, it makes me nervous. If the spirit lingers, then is it aware of what is going on in the living world, and, if so, would it have any regrets or would it be lonely? I don't like to think about those possibilities. Whenever I think of Ashley's spirit, I can only think of an evil one. For me it's simpler to just believe that she's just gone, and that there's nothing more. Maybe that will change one day, but for now it keeps the harsh, cold reality of her death in my mind, and I don't want to forget it.

**Nancy, I started the Anne Lamott novel. I showed Janet, and she said she loves Anne Lamott and that she thought she had read all of her books (she hasn't read this one). My friend Liz is also a big Anne Lamott fan. There must be something in her writings that hits a nerve with all of us. Thanks again for the books.

Thinking that I should feel a certain way and that I'm a FREAK if I don't.

I don't have to teach anymore. They found a replacement for me. I'm happy about it, yet also saddened. I have to keep reminding myself that I did the responsible thing by resigning, even though it feels the exact opposite.
I'm feeling kind of numb to everything right now. I keep thinking that I should feel sad or angry or any certain way, and if I don't, then I'm a freak. I'm so afraid that I won't feel the sadness around Ashley's death anymore and that life will go on as normal. What kind of person am I if the death of my own sister doesn't make me sad? I know I'm overreacting, and that I'm such a perfectionist.
The books are great, Nancy. I'm almost finished with "Landscape without Gravity".
Thanks.

Grief hurts

Nancy, I'm writing this for you. Thank you so much for listening to me Saturday and for giving me great advice. I've written my letter of resignation and will be done teaching by Feb. 9th, or sooner if they find a replacement. I've been feeling sick about the whole thing and the fact that I even have to make such a decision. I knew I didn't want to continue teaching, but I felt horribly guilty about quitting. That guilt, or shame or whatever it is, is outweighed by my sorrow and the feelings of relief at not having to teach anymore when I really think about it. I miss Ashley. There's a knot in my throat and a tightness in my chest that just won't go away. I think there's also a hole in my heart, because it hurts when I think that there are supposed to be three of us, not two.

The evil voice that intrudes on my happiness

Okay, the part where I FREAK OUT has taken effect.

"Nope. I'm not going to write my dissertation" I said. "I'm not going to finish my PhD. You know, the thing with the classes, the teaching, and the exams and all that have contributed to my state of misery* over the past 5 years? Yeah, that's the thing I'm not going to finish".

And then there's this voice in my head, this evil voice that asks "Who says you're not going to continue putting yourself through this hell? Who gave you permission to decide to stop? What other rules are you going to break now? How will you support yourself without this as a career? Do you think you'll be able to do anything? And if there's something else you want to do with your life, don't get too excited because if you really want it hard enough it probably won't work out. The pressure of succeeding will be too great".

Seeing it written down really makes clear how harsh and unfair that voice is. I still think I can do this. I know I can change my career path and explore something that interests me, like speech pathology. But I'm still scared. I feel very strange, like I'm in some kind of state of limbo. It's kind of like "Chutes and Ladders", which I played with Alison yesterday. You're almost to the top, almost at the end, and then you land on that BIG chute that takes you all the way back to the beginning, but not the very beginning. You're neither at the beginning nor at the end. Is it human nature to want to create beginnings and ends for everything? I don't really know what the end is, but for some reason that's where I want to be. And that's where Alison wanted to be, too. She didn't handle losing to me (twice) well at all.

*The word "misery" may be a slight exaggeration, but only a very slight one.