#didn’t tell me when my uncle died of cancer i just showed up on christmas and he wasn’t there

[the-casbah-way]

stupid family bullshit below the cut

i just found out that my dad had an older brother who died in a car crash when he was 11 and no one told us. apparently it was the entire reason my granddad was so sad and quiet all the time because it fucked him up forever

[plant-dad-sulu]

Back in April on a Tuesday morning I got a call from my dad

He asked me if I’d gotten an email from my aunt and when I said no he told me that my uncle was sick. He had gone into the hospital feeling unwell and on Monday they had diagnosed him with cancer and hospitalized him. It was liver cancer they said, he couldn’t tell me what stage just that it was terminal, had already spread by the time they found it. He had tumours in his kidneys and lungs.

I had to work that day so I thanked my dad for telling me and got on with my day. I told one person that my uncle was sick, no one else knew.

On Wednesday I drove to Hamilton for work, or maybe Catham I can’t remember which came first. We spent a week there setting up our show, rehearsing, performing, striking, something we’d been doing every week for 6 months, it was easy by then. I worked and tried not to think about it. I’d already lost family and friends to cancer, I knew what to expect. I told one more person. She told me about her grandparents who had died of brain cancer. I didn’t feel like I had any room to feel sorry for myself so I didn’t bring it up again.

On Monday night I got into my hotel room past midnight, it was Tuesday morning now, we’d just struck the show and I was sore and exhausted and ready to sleep. My coworker I was sharing a room with was already sleeping in the next bed over. I got changed and collapsed into bed and I checked my email before going to sleep. I had an email from my aunt saying my uncle had died.

It took one week.

Seven days from him getting diagnosed to him dying. I’d never known anyone who’d died that suddenly before, everyone else I’d known who had had cancer had had a slow decline, months or even years, sometimes with a remission or two just to give you hope first. I didn’t have time for hope with my uncle. I hadn’t even been home.

We drove back to Toronto the next day, unloaded the trucks, returned them, took the bus home. I didn’t tell anyone he was dead, I didn’t know how. When I got home that night I told my friends I had gotten bad news and needed to talk to someone. One person was free. I told him what had happened and I didn’t know what else to say about it. I just needed someone to know.

He asked if I was close with this uncle. I said no. He asked if I was sad. I said didn’t know. We hung up pretty quickly.

The next email was to tell us there wouldn’t be a funeral or memorial. We couldn’t because of covid. She told us they would hold a “Celebration of Life” once it was safe. We still haven’t done it. We’re doing Christmas this year though, it’s safe enough for that. I’m not going.

After he died, weeks or months, I started to learn about what happened after he’d died. My dad had been helping my aunt, his sister, clean up all my uncle’s stuff, and they found out he’d been hiding a spending problem. His office was full of stuff he’d bought for hobbies he’d lost interest in. Unopened boxes and unplayed guitars - lots and lots of guitars. They found extra credit cards too, ones my aunt didn’t know about. They found so much debt.

My uncle, when he was alive, was one of the only good people in my family. That side of my family isn’t happy. They’re all angry or depressed or tightly wound, they were all on edge around each other, none of them were ever happy when I saw them, not for long, but he was. I loved him for that, I thought he was one of the only people worth the miserable Christmases.

And then I learned that he wasn’t really that. He was someone who hid his spending from his wife and left her in deep debt with closets worth of junk to show for it. He didn’t consider her when he kept getting cards to hide the problem or tell her when things got bad. And I know that’s not his fault, I know it, but it also was.

And suddenly he wasn’t the person I remembered anymore. I remember his smile so clearly and his polo shirts and his little rectangular glasses and the way his whole body shook when he laughed. But now I also had this other understanding of him. And this resentment for how he left things. And resentment too that I never got the chance to say goodbye to the wonderful, lovely, happy man I saw every year at Christmas and Canada Day, who made it worth enduring the other relatives and the crappy turkey stuffing and the decorative nutcrackers that watched you in the bathroom. I didn’t say goodbye before he became a man I didn’t like.

And it’s not his fault. He was always that way and I just didn’t know, nobody did. But I hate him for it. And I miss my uncle. And I’ll think of him anytime I see that guitar in my dad’s office, the one my aunt gave to him because she was in too much pain to sell it. And I’ll think of him at Christmas when I’m not there because as long as I’m not there he is.

Just like I’ll always think of my other aunt whenever I see her daughter. Or my friend Ryan when it’s our birthday. Or Dana when I go to Niagara-on-the-Lake or wear sweatpants on the bus. Remembering them all, too, at the strangest times. Thinking sometimes, by mistake or even when I know it’s not true, that they’re alive.

And it’s almost Christmas and I won’t see that side of the family this year because I’m seeing my mother’s family instead on the west coast. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see that side of the family again at Christmas, those unhappy people. I don’t know if I could stomach seeing that he really isn’t there. If I’m not then maybe he is.

It took one week.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Off Day: Nine

“She doesn’t want to be your friend, move along.”

15-year-old Rebecca Barnes starts at the voice that makes this 21-year-old college guy turn from charming to angry in a few seconds. In the back of her mind, she’s grateful. She might have been “blessed” with the body of an older woman but really, all she’s trying to do is get a cup of good cider before she goes home to watch Descendants again. She still loves that movie. It makes her happy.

She half turns and sees you, letting out a sigh of relief. She wishes it were Nat. Because Nat is scary and you. You’re really cool. But Scary? Nah.��

“Who the fuck are you? The police?” the kid sneers, “It’s a free country she can talk to whoever she wants.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you anymore,” you tell him, “Go strike out with someone your own age.”

Rebecca jumps backwards out of the way as the guy rushes at you, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh god. He’s gonna kill her!” is the first thing that pops into her head. But somehow, the sound of his fist connecting with your face it’s what she hears. There’s a meaty pop and a very masculine bellow of pain and the kid is laying on the ground, writhing in agony and pissing on himself from the pain.

“Becky,” you say quietly, “The cops are gonna be here in a second. Do me a favor?”

“Yeah?” she says trying not to cry.

“Run down to the store. Tell my Aunt Judy I’ll be home late. Then call your brother. I probably won’t need bail but I probably will be late to meet him.”

Rebecca nods, wide-eyed and bolts out the door. You’re calm, standing against the wall as cops show up, hands at your sides. Waiting patiently. You hate cops. You hate dealing with them. It reminds you of some of the worst days of your life. But still, when the officer and the EMTs arrive on the scene you do your best to remain calm.

When a shy Rebecca walks back in and corroborates your story, quietly giving her age as 15, the cop looks at you with something like respect. 

He’s graying now but, you remember him. You’d imagine he remembers you. He’d run into you often enough. A drugs bust here or there. Your mom’s overdose, a week later showing up when Uncle Jack found you laying in a pool of your own blood on the bathroom floor. 

Things that no one can really forget.

Rebecca tucks herself against your side, seeking a familiar adult. Feeling scared but not scared enough to run off and leave you by yourself. She’s looking towards the door. She couldn’t get Bucky but she got Steve and that usually meant Bucky knew about 2 minutes later. When he strolled through the door, she bolted towards him and he hugged her hard, “You okay, squirt?” he asked, looking her over for visible injuries. 

“I’m okay,” she said nodding, still wide-eyed. 

Bucky waited while the police finished up with you, itching to kiss you stupid then ask you what the fuck you were thinking. Then thank you profusely from the bottom of his greasy little heart for looking after his baby sister. 

The cop finishes with you and the EMTs load the kid onto a stretcher to have his arm looked at, unable to figure out what exactly you’d done to it. It looks dislocated but that might not be all the damage. 

Bucky is across the floor and kissing you about two seconds after the Cop’s back is turned. He’s anxious, searching your face and asking “What the fuck?” softly in-between “Thank you.” and “I love you so much.” Rebecca is giggling and Bucky, realizing he has an audience kisses you one more time for good measure before kissing the tip of your nose.

“I thought I was gonna have to call Ma and tell her we were gonna bring you Christmas in jail,” he scolded, “Not like she wouldn’t have done it though.”

You shake your head, “They’re not gonna put me in jail. Not if he came at me first. But, the kid might try and press charges later.”

“That sounds like a problem for future you,” Becky says sipping her reclaimed cup of hot cider.

“I think you’re right,” you say smiling a little.

“How’d you even do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“That thing to his arm.”

“Leverage and repressed rage.”

“Oh- what?”

Bucky chuckled and tugged the end of her braid, “I should get you girls home,” he said.

“I’ve got to finish up in the shop,” you say stretching, “But you should definitely get Becky home. Before your mom has time to worry herself sick.”

“Good plan,” Bucky said kissing your cheek, “I’ll see you in a little while?”

“The hospice nurse or Aunt Judy will let you in,” you say nodding, strolling out of the coffee shop and back to the book store, jogging across the street to get out of the cold. 

“I like her,” Becky said, hopping up into the passenger seat of Bucky’s truck. “Ma does too,” she added.

“Yeah, and?” Bucky said, suspicious. 

“Are you gonna Marry her?” she asked, looking up at him innocently. She was 15 and god bless her, she still didn’t have a clue. 

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, starting his truck.

“Maybe?” she asked affronted, “Don’t you love her?”

“Becky,” he said trying to be patient, “it isn’t that simple.”

“Yes it is,” she protested, “You love someone, you marry them, you have babies.”

He sighed, “Yeah, but after Kaity dies it’ll be a little hard to marry her if she just up and leaves town.”

That makes her stop, “But doesn’t she love you?”

Bucky knew you did. You’d not said it but, you let him in. You talked to him. You let him help you. You weren’t vulnerable in front of people you didn’t love. You’d shown him that you loved him. There was no judgment when any of his old one night stands tried to get round two when you were out. There was no nagging, just a simple request and an occasional gentle reminder. Hell, you just beat a guy up for his little sister. You loved him, but not saying it was protection. One last little flimsy barrier in case he decided he didn’t want you anymore. 

“Yeah,” he said, “She does. But that doesn’t mean she’ll want to stay here for me.”

“That’s stupid,” Becky protested, “How could anyone want to leave.”

“Becky,” he said gently, “I know you’re too young to really remember any of this. But just trust me. Y/N has reasons to want to leave. She’s got a lot of bad memories here. Shit that would probably give you nightmares. Just...  don’t you worry your pretty little head about us okay?”

Becky frowns, pouting but doesn’t respond, turning to look out the window.

_________

Bucky sat on the couch, waiting for you and listening to Kaity and her dad in the other room. He and the Hospice nurse were trying to help her get clean pajamas on so she could come sit with the family and do a little Christmas Eve gathering before you went with Bucky to the Christmas Party that Nat was hosting at the clubhouse. He knew today was a bad day. They had her on a lot of painkillers and she was struggling. Struggling and grumpy and very clearly, she was dying. 

Bucky watched as you shrugged out of your coat and boots, heading to the bedroom and slipping in quietly, “I’m sorry I’m late, Cat- Cat,” you murmur, “C’mon. Let’s get you dressed okay? Then you can sleep for a little bit while Aunt Judy and I get dinner around.”

“I’m so tired, dolly,” she half sobbed.

“I know,” you answer, “But you’ll sleep better in some clean jammies.”

Bucky can’t look at Jack as he slips out, leaving Kaity in your loving hands. The big man has aged about 10 years in the last month and Bucky can’t fault the guy for fixing himself a drink, though he declines one himself, still keeping to his policy of not drinking when he’s with you. 

When you slip out after getting Kaity settled in, bucky stands up and pulls you against his chest, hugging you hard. He’s convinced you might be one of the bravest people he’s ever met. And even brave people need some calm in the storm. When you bury your face against him and breathe him in, he rubs your back slowly and kisses your head.

After a long moment, you let him go and pad towards the kitchen to start putting food out and getting things warmed up. Jack catches your hand and squeezes gently, “I’m glad you’re home for Christmas, Darlin’. It’s never right without you.”

You smile a little and head into the kitchen. You don’t say what you’re thinking. That it still isn’t right. That it’ll never be right again. That you wish you’d tried to die a little harder so you wouldn’t have to watch your family torn apart in slow motion. That in the back of your mind, this is all retribution for something you did. What if it really is your fault. If Kaity got cancer from like meth exposure. Something that she’d only have gotten from your house second hand. 

“Dolly?” Bucky finally asked in the quiet. Cat-Cat, he understood. It was a cutesey name. Probably the way you mispronounced Kaity as a toddler. 

Jack smiled a little and walked to the mantle, picking up a well-loved photo in a frame. Almost four-year-old Kaity holding a very, very, tiny baby. “Y/N’s parent’s lost custody of her the first time before she was even out of the hospital... So when it was time for her to come home, she came to us. We had space and Judy was still at home with Kaity all day so someone could care for her... She was so small that Kaity thought she was a baby doll. Didn’t think she was a real baby and asked me where her batteries went.” He sighed, “And so the name just kinda... stuck.”

Bucky looked at that picture and tried to reconcile it with the woman in the kitchen. He couldn’t. And he couldn’t imagine not loving you enough to be around for you. Jack put the photo back and sighed, “This is killing her,” he said quietly, “Watching Kaity suffer. It’s been awful on her mom and me, I’d give anything to trade places with my daughter. But. Son, when Kaity does pass, you watch that one like a hawk. We- I found her that first time.” He takes a deep breath and a sip of his drink, “We thought she was fine. She was so grown up. Handled everything so well. Went back to school. Was passing all her classes still... But god. If that didn’t scare the life out of me. I don’t, to this day, know what was going through her head going back to that house. I think. I know she thought no one would ever find her. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.” Jack is watching you work and shakes his head, “If we lose her too,” he said softly, “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say and swallows hard, staring uselessly into the kitchen where Judy’s joined you. 

“Kaity left her the shop, and the house is hers according to the land trust,” Jack said quietly, “The shop... She can sell if she wants. I just. We want her to be happy.”

“Me too,” Bucky said quietly.

_______

At dinner, Kaity can’t be gotten out of bed. She’s just too tired to get up, so you sit with her, cuddled up next to her to watch Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer like you do every year. Bucky waits patiently,  helping himself to a little more to eat and trying not to think about how little he’s been able to get you to eat and how many times you’ve turned a little green just minutes after you’ve eaten and had to find a bathroom. Your plate is still mostly untouched, you nibbled a little between putting things on Bucky’s plate and fussing over the rest of your family, but there’s nothing missing hardly. 

When Kaity falls asleep as the credits roll, you tuck her in and slip out, hugging your aunt and Uncle, “I won’t be out late,” you tell them, “And don’t forget. I put extra blankets in the hall closet for you and the breakfast stuff in in the top shelf in the fridge.”

Judy chucks you under the chin, “You just get out of here for a while,” she said,  “Go have a little fun. Hell. Stay out all night if you want, we’ll see you in the morning for Christmas presents... go find some mistletoe to kiss that poor boy under.” She winks at you and you blush, shrugging into your coat.

“Whatever you do, just don’t get pregnant,” is all Jack had to say as he scrolled through channels looking for some sports to watch. 

Bucky chokes on his soda for a second and you giggle, making Jack chuckle and wink at him. He was a simple man. He had simple tastes. He liked fucking with people. 

___________

At the Bar, you and Bucky take your normal seats and you very politely order a Shirley Temple, with a smile. Nat rolls her eyes but hands it to you before handing Bucky another soda. “Merry Christmas,” Clint said kissing your cheek before kissing Bucky’s and getting swatted at. 

“Merry Christmas,” you tell him, watching him scuffle with Bucky. No one asked you about Kaity. No one needed to. Bucky had pleaded with them to just let you be about it tonight and that was all they needed to know.

You and Nat trade looks over the bar and she smiles, “Are you going to Winnie’s for Christmas tomorrow?” You nod, “Probably in the Evening,” you tell her, “It’s- it’s Kaity’s last Christmas so I kinda want to spend most of the day with her.”

Nat feels her stomach churn. There’s an eerie finality to hearing you say that outloud after pleading with doctors to help her for so long. Natasha nods and kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. You shake your head and wipe tears away, putting on a brave face. You don’t say anything else, but then, you don’t get a chance. 

The band Starts to play and Bucky pulls you into his lap, humming along, and holding you there, at least until they play a slow song and he can drag you giggling and protesting onto the floor. It’s a nice night. Nat coaxes you into a glass of wine and Bucky lets himself have one beer. You win a game of pool against Steve. You and Nat conspire to get Steve and Tony under some mistletoe. And by the time Bucky gets you into his truck again, you don’t want to go home.

“Can we go back to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Bucky nods and watches as you text your Aunt, telling her you’re fine just going to sleep at Bucky’s so you don’t wake Kaity coming in. 

He drives, holding your hand and helps you up the steps. “You okay, baby girl?” he asked softly. 

“I think so,” you murmur.

He helps you out of your coat and kisses your neck softly, “Think so?”

“Bucky?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. 

“Yeah?”

“I- I just. I love you.” you blurt out.

“I love you too,” he said, kissing your nose, smiling softly, “I always have.”

You smile and kiss his jaw, “Then will you do something for me?”

“Anything, baby.”

“Make love to me?” Your cheeks are burning as you say it, but the wide soft eyes that look up at him make him melt. He cant’ do much else but nod and claim your lips in a tender kiss while he tried to find the words to say.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly, “We don’t have to.”

“Please?” you murmur.

Bucky can’t do anything else after that. You’re in his arms being carried to his bed. The closest soft surface he can find to lay you on before you have time to talk yourself out of it.

Tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @blameitonthecauseway @thorfanficwriter @etherealwaifgoddess

[argylemnwrites]

Lending a Hand

Pairing: Seth Levine x MC (Jessica Parker)

Book: Red Carpet Diaries (between books 2 and 3)

Word Count: ~1200

Rating: G

Summary: In light of a tragedy in Jessica’s family, Seth tries to be helpful with some chores, but that’s not the help she needs the most.

Author’s Note: Yes, these are supposed to be fluffy little drabbles. Yes, I just wrote one about a death in the family, because my brain just can’t help but blend the fluff with some angst. Oops. This wasn’t even what I intended to write when I selected this prompt for this couple, but I don’t know, it just happened, probably because Jessica’s father featured strongly in my head canon, but in book 3, he’s not mentioned at all. So, this is 13. Washing Dishes from the domestic fluff prompts list. Trigger warning for mentions of death.

Seth sighed, sinking his hands into the warm water, pulling out a serving bowl and beginning to scrub it. It was strangely similar to when he was here not even two months ago. Except back then, he’d been helping Jessica’s father clean up after a Christmas Day feast. Now, he was tackling this chore all alone.

He’d been shocked when Jessica had called him, her voice so small and timid, telling him that her father had died. He’d been there with Jessica the day after Christmas, when her parents sat her down and told her that Mike had cancer - renal cell carcinoma, stage 4. He’d done some reading on Google and WebMD, so he’d known it was not good news, but Seth had figured he had a couple of years left, not just a couple of months. But things progressed quickly, apparently.

Seth had already been in the Midwest, doing a comedy show tour at some college campuses. He canceled his shows for the next two weeks immediately, renting a car and making the drive from Indianapolis right away so that he could pick up Jessica from the airport. He’d met her at baggage claim, wrapping his arms around her, trying to lend any support or comfort he could. He’d only met Mike a couple of times, and while he liked the guy, it wasn’t like that could compare to Jessica losing her father.

For the past few days, he’d tried to be the Parker family’s errand boy. Trips to the grocery store, calling the local paper to confirm the obituary, driving people to the funeral home, going to pick up take out, Seth had done it all. He felt like it was the best way he could help. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit like an intruder on the family’s grief. All of Jessica’s aunts, uncles, and cousins, plus their spouses and kids, on her dad’s side of the family lived pretty close, and they’d all known Mike for years and years. He was this awkward LA tag-along who barely knew the guy in the grand scheme of things.

Plus, Seth knew if he were to sit around and chat with any of Jessica’s relatives, he was likely to crack a joke to try and lighten the mood. It was his go-to move, and he knew it would be wildly inappropriate here. So he’d kept busy. Practically useful was better than awkward joke teller, he knew that as a fact. And since he knew nothing about Presbyterian funeral customs, he let the others handle that while he tackled the practical, day to day things that still needed to be done.

Which is how he found himself spending a lot of time in the kitchen, reheating casseroles that neighbors and friends brought over and cleaning up after all the meals. With dozens of Parkers swinging by at all hours of the day, there was plenty to keep him busy. Tonight he was cleaning up from a meal of tater tot casserole and seven layer salad. It tasted quite a bit like his childhood.

He’d finished the ceramic bowl and was moving on to a glass pan when the kitchen door swung open and in walked Jessica. Seth felt like he had barely seen her since picking her up at the airport. She’d been practically glued to her mother’s side, which Seth completely understood. 

“Hey,” he called out, “just finishing up the dishes. Do you need something?”

She shook her head and walked over to join him at the sink, grabbing a dish towel off the refrigerator handle on her way. She picked up one of the platters off the drying rack and got to work, “I thought you might need some help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seth replied with a little shake of his head, “I’ve got it under control if you want to-”

“Seth,” she interrupted, grabbing his shoulder with her free hand, “I wanted some company, okay?”

He just nodded at her before turning back to the dishes and taking a deep breath. “Don’t make a stupid joke. Don’t do it,” kept cycling through his mind. He just kept his mouth shut, focusing on the dishes.

After several moments of silence, he felt Jessica’s hand on his arm, “I want you to know you don’t have to take care of all of this stuff. Don’t get me wrong, we appreciate it, but you don’t have to do all the work.”

“I’m just doing what I can to be helpful.”

“Seth, you just being here is plenty helpful.”

He didn’t know about that, but when Jessica turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, he pulled her in for a tight hug. They stood like that for several minutes until Jessica stepped back, grabbing the towel and starting to dry the dishes again.

“I know this probably isn’t the most comfortable thing for you,” she said, not making eye contact, but starting at the bowl she was drying like it was completely fascinating, “but I’d really like it if you could sit with me tomorrow at the funeral.”

“Of course I’ll sit with you, Jessica, if that’s what you want,” he said, glancing at her as he picked up another pan to wash.

She nodded, but she remained oddly silent. Seth felt like he was missing something, and as scared as he was of saying the wrong thing, he didn’t like Jessica being so quiet around him, either.

“Jessica, is something wrong? I mean, obviously something is wrong; you’re here for your dad’s funeral. I just meant… well, it seems like-”

“Seth, I get that it might be awkward for you here, or whatever, but I kind wish you would spend a little less time hiding out in the kitchen and a little more time with me.”

At her words, he felt a wave of realization wash over him. He’d been so stupid, so focused on providing physical, practical support, that he’d not been great emotional support.

“Ahh, Jessica. Look, I never meant to ignore you. I just felt like I was intruding on your family’s grief. I figured you’d get more comfort from people that knew your father best.”

“While talking and reminiscing with my family is great, I really need you, Seth.”

Seth tugged her into another hug, not wanting her to feel alone for even a second longer. He wasn’t used to having someone rely on him like Jessica apparently did, but if she trusted him that much, then all he could do was try and live up to her faith in him.

“I’m sorry, Jessica,” he mumbled into her curls, “I’m here for you, I promise.”

He felt her nodding against his chest, letting out a sigh, “Thanks, Seth.”

“I can’t promise I won’t say the wrong thing, though. So I apologize in advance if I say something that’s supposed to make you laugh or smile and just makes you cringe.”

Jessica tipped her head back, looking at Seth in the eye, “I’m sure it won’t make me cringe. I like that you are always looking to cheer me up, you know. Come on, someone else can finish up the dishes, okay?”

And with that, she tugged him out into the living room. Seth didn’t know what he was going to say to all her relatives, but if Jessica wanted him by her side, well then that’s where he would be.

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal  @lilyofchoices  @thequeenofcronuts  @jamesashtonisbae 

Red Carpet Diaries: @octobereighth  

Seth x MC only: @choicesarehard​

[amarabliss]

Eia Au, Eia ‘Oe ~ Here I am, here you are - 16 (Steve McGarrett/Twin Sister & Danny Williams/Reader)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six* Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part TenPart Elven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen

*Contains music you must listen to, to better set the mood…Trust me…

Steve pulled the chair out at the desk in the dimly lit room. Sitting down in front of the laptop he adjusted the IV drip that was following him around. He swallowed down the knot in his throat and wiped a hand across his face before pulling up the secure video line and pressing call.

The dialing noise sent him back into the moments the day before…

“This isn’t going to be pleasant…” Steve watched Tibbs pour gun powder into his sister’s wound and flicking open a lighter setting it ablaze making Y/N scream and pass out, “That stopped the bleeding but…she’s lost too much…and we don’t have any on reserve.”

“What about from direct tap?” Tree looked at him, “I’ll do it.”

“You’re not a match…” Tibbs put a bandage over the wound.

“Use me…” Everyone looked at Steve, “Use me, we match…”

“You’re…100% sure.” Tibbs was already pulling stuff out as Steve confirmed, “Fine…we do this…but you feel anything, you let me know and we’ll go a different route. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Steve nodded holding out his arm.

“Do you?” Tibbs locked eyes with him, “Cause I don’t need two-”

“I understand…just save my sister…” Steve swallowed down the knot in his throat, “Please just save my sister…”

“Steve that you?” He snapped back staring at Danny’s face. The 5-0 office as his backdrop, “Man you look like shit? You coming home soon? Catherine said you’d be on a plane by now”

Steve didn’t answer him and looked down to his lap as he swallowed, “Danny…something happened…”

“I can’t tell if the bleeding it stopped…” Tibbs felt around her stomach, “How far out are we?”

“Twenty minutes…Flights have been redirected and I have the ground getting everything you need for surgery.” Tree told him.

“Good, she’s going to need it…” Tibbs muttered.

“Sh-she’s that bad?” Steve asked holding onto her hand.

“I can’t tell without an ultrasound and -fuck! Shit! LEO!” Tibbs shouted as he caught Steve from collapsing down onto you, “Goddammit…these McGarretts…”

“…are you okay?” When Steve didn’t answer him, he watched Danny’s hand move to his chest, “…where’s Y/N?”

“She’s…” Steve sighed moved out the way showing you in a bed hooked up to a ventilator and other wires. You were surrounded by the entire unit minus Cabbie, all passed out leaning against each other, the bed, chairs, anything with some sort of cushion, “she was shot. It was bad…”

“Is-is she gonna be okay? Where are you? I’ll be right there.” Danny continued to spout off.

“Danny, Danny!” Steve called for him to calm down, “She can’t move for a couple of weeks and I can’t tell you where we are…but we are coming home.”

Danny didn’t say anything for a long time until he sighed hanging his head, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine…gave her some blood… Too much. Passed out before we landed.” Steve sniffed, “Just groggy and drained.”

“You idiot…” Steve smiled when Danny looked at him, “Do you know how furious she would be if you did something stupid enough to seriously hurt yourself? Especially if it was to help her!”

“Keep your voice down…” Steve hissed at him, “Or I’ll mute you!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Danny rolled his eyes before looking back at Steve, “Tell me she’s going to be alright…”

“She’s going to be fine.” Steve sighed, “She just needs to rest up for a bit. With her cancer and the chemo…is changes how things work. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know…” Danny frowned, “What do you want me to tell your mom?”

“Nothing.” Steve sighed looking away.

“Steve, she has been hounding me…”

“I will call her myself.” Steve told him, “How’s the team?”

The rest of the call was catching Steve up to what was happening on the island. Some shit different day, really. He was looking forward to getting back to it.

So, when he was greeted to the salt air and warm humidity he smiled. He looked at you rolling down the ramp next to him groggy from the drugs, “We made it home.”

“This…good…” You nodded smacking you lips together, “Christmas is fast…”

Steve looked at Tibbs who was escorting them to hospital to do a proper hand off, “How much did you give her?”

“I didn’t want her to mess up her chances of getting the treatment she needs.” Tibbs said quietly, “If the doctors here find out she was overseas…they’ll push her treatments back. They don’t need to, she’s clean but you know how it works…”

“Right…Los Vegas trip gone bad…” Steve reminded himself. It was a twin’s trip to just get away, and a mugging went wrong.

Steve’s smile grew when he saw Danny running toward them. His Camaro was parked next to the ambulance. He ran right to your side taking your hand, “Y/N…”

“Babe!” You said loudly through the haze, “Why are you here…Santa said no…”

“Jesus…” Danny looked to Steve for a reason why you were so out of it.

“I will explain on the ride over to the hospital.” Steve told him as the loaded her up, “Everything.”

“Right…” Danny stood there watching them strap you into the rig, “She’s…okay though, right?”

“Yeah…just really drugged up…” Steve smiled slapping a hand on his shoulder, “Come on let’s follow behind.”

“I love him…” Tibbs paused looking down to you as the ambulance took off, “I really love him…”

“Isn’t he a little short?” Tibbs smirked as the face you made.

“He’s-he’s compact…and sweet…like those…candies…” You held up your hand indicating with your fingers ‘small’.

“Miniatures?” Tibbs laughed as you nodded, “Alright…I suppose…if he makes you happy then we all approve.”

“He does.” You smiled at him, “Very happy…”

Danny glanced at Steve after he explained everything. He looked back at the ambulance, “…and this asshole didn’t give any reason why he changed sides?”

“He didn’t say much except that he was owning everything…He didn’t deny that he was a spy. He didn’t deny that he sold information…he didn’t deny trying to kill everyone as one point…” Steve sighed shaking his head, “Everything Catherine sent over he confirmed…nothing was good…”

“Well that’s just fantastic…” Danny hit the steering wheel with his hand.

“Danny…just keep calm…” Steve looked at him.

“Keep calm!?” Danny’s voice raised, “That lunatic almost killed Y/N, which in turned almost killed you! What would I do if-if I lost…”

Steve watched his friend get hysterical staring at the ambulance, “Danny…we’re okay.”

“Yeah, but…” He frowned running a hand through his blonde hair. His were full of worry as he looked at Steve, “I don’t think I could do any of this without the two of you.”

Steve smiled a little, “I love you too man…”

“…I mean it…” Danny stared at him as he parked, “Losing you…losing Y/N…I’m not sure I could be the same person I am right now.”

“Danny…you’re not going to lose us.” Steve told him confidently. He reached over patting his arm, “We’re home now, and we don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Your eyes opened slowly taking in the dim light of the hospital room. You swallowed trying to wet your mouth. The last thing you remember was Danny and Steve hovering over you before you went into surgery.

Looking to your right you saw Steve asleep in a chair. You smiled a little seeing how badly he was going to have a crick in his neck later. Chuckling you turned the other way seeing Danny asleep, but Grace sitting in his lap staring at you, “Grace?”

“You’re okay?” She asked quietly.

You smiled sadly, “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay. What are you doing here? Di-did you dad make you stay here all weekend?”

Grace smiled getting off her dad before crawling up to your bed. You looked surprised as she carefully snuggled into you, “I wanted to stay.”

“Oh…okay…well we’ll make a better weekend next time.” You adjusted your arm around her feeling your chest tighten at her next question.

“Y/N, are you still sick?”

You looked down at her frowning. You and Danny had never really agreed what to tell Grace. She knew you were sick, but that was it. You nodded slowly, “Yeah…I am.”

She frowned breaking your heart, “Will you ever get better? Daddy and Uncle Steve say it’s uh…uh shot…”

“I don’t know, but there is a shot.” You told her, “But Grace, I want to be honest with you…we don’t know. There is no…100 percent.”

“Can I help you?” Grace perked up making you smile. That’s when you noticed Danny’s eyes open and watching you both.

“You already are.” You gave her a squeeze, “Being here. Giving me hugs. Seeing your smile, what else could I ask for?”

You looked back to Danny seeing him sniff as he was getting teary eyed. He swallowed before reaching over, “Hey Monkey, get back over here. Y/N needs rest and she might rip her stiches with you crawling all over her.”

“She is fine and warm, and I wouldn’t dare have her move.” You squeezed Grace tighter getting her to laugh. You smiled at Danny reaching over toward him. He took your hand squeezing it tightly. The look in his eyes told you that he’d been in this through the long hall…but the little girl in your arms gave you pause.

Great pause…

[nightwingism]

5-Years in the Making

So hey, uhm. Hi guys. This isn’t Nightwing related at all, so if you’re following me for that, I’m sorry. This post isn’t the content for you. It’s also VERY long - 5 years long - so if you don’t want to read it, don’t worry about it. It’s also why I’m posting this at 3:13 AM.

I just wanted to take the time and tell a story of my life. Just stuff that has been effecting me since mid 2014. You obviously don’t have to read it. I just wanted to air it out. Get most of it off my chest. 

I feel like it’s important to talk about things that hurt you. That effect you. It’s better to do that than to bottle things up inside you. You know? Because if you just keep it bottled up, where’s the healing? If you let it out, maybe you can make room for something better.

That’s my philosophy anyways. The stuff I tell people. And this is me practicing what I preach.

Please don’t try to figure out who people are, or anything like that. I’d like to keep that a secret. Thanks.

In 2014, during my Junior year in High School, both my Uncle and my Grandpa died. My Uncle, who I was named after, died from an 11 month battle with cancer. My Grandpa died due to smoke inhalation during a house fire a month later that destroyed my Grandparent’s house, due to possibly arson caused by a person who was living in the home. This happened during the months of May - July, roughly. If I’m being honest, this time period really blurred together for me, as it happened just so fast. During this time, my maternal side of the family got really close to each other.

I mean, when I talk to other people about family and stuff, we were always abnormally close, but we got even closer during this time. We had a shirt made up and everything “(Blank) Strong” and what not. Over summer, we spent an ungodly amount of time with each other, as a sort of “mending period.” Slept over at each other’s house, never went anywhere and just stayed cooped up in the house. To be able to lean on each other for comfort. 

Which was very odd for me, since for the previous 17 years of my life, I was essentially bullied by most of them for showing any kind of emotions, for being too emotional. Verbal, emotional, physical. The normal bullying. I’m the youngest, and a boy, so I guess I was supposed to be this unfeeling, unemotional, robot? So to be expected to let out these emotions was weird. I don’t know. I wasn’t able to do it. It just never felt right for me to express sadness when the pain was so much stronger in others. It was a really hard time, feeling like my feelings were invalid due to others and the fact that I just felt like I couldn’t let them out.

It’s not like I didn’t feel bad, or missed - miss - them. I do. Still do 5 years later. But seeing how hard it was for my mom, dad, siblings, and just that whole side of the family, I felt like I had to kind of just saddle that shit up and put on some kind of front. I don’t know. Like I said, it was a really hard time.

My cousins weren’t much older, but they sure loved to act out the adult stuff. For that week, I went to every single party I could go to. Which was basically all of them. And I got my first taste of the stereotypically “high school parties” and all that comes with it. 

I got drunk for the first time, I got high for the first time, I got cross faded for the first time. The whole 9 yards. Turns out? Not a fan of the former and latter - the middle is alright I guess. Being doing the former a lot recently (but that’s a whole different can of worms). So after that, I basically said “nah, not for me. I don’t need that.” Can you really call it cutting it cold turkey if it was only for a week? I guess to just illustrate that point.

2014-2015 senior year went by and we continued to be a really close family.

For Christmas that year, in 2014, my Aunt boasted that she had got us all tickets to go to Cancun for the 4th of July weekend in 2015. Cool, great. During this time we all /loved/ each other, we’re all so close. We would all be 18 years or older by then, so we would all be legally able to drink in Mexico. What could possibly go wrong??

The answer is everything. Everything could go wrong.

This was during Summer School during my 1st year in college, where I was doing Cross Country and in the middle of the training days. So during the trip, I would have to run on a treadmill and workout. Not important to the story, just trying to situate this in my own personal timeline.

The first two days were fine. My cousins and I went to the “club” and I danced with a girl twice my height and totally out of my league. I swam with my newborn niece, babysat my young cousin. My dad recommended me some drinks that mask the taste of alcohol. It was fun. At night my cousins and I would “FaceTime” all of our girlfriends before going to bed or whenever. I put FaceTime in quotes because we had to use this special app due to location and everything. it was weird. I also don’t have an iPhone so.

It really was a great trip those two days.

Then the third day came around. It was on July 3rd. I only remember the date because it was literally the day before the 4th. So 4 - 1, yeah. Anyways. I forget how this whole thing started, but basically I wanted to stay in the room and talk to my at the time girlfriend. I missed her and all that. And I really didn’t want to play volleyball with random girls? But I was talked into it, and i said fine. Whatever.

Went to play, we played a few rounds. It was whatever. After those rounds, they said they were going to clean off and we’ll start a new round. I didn’t want to clean off, since we were still playing and that would just be a waste, so I waited around.

And waited. and waited. and waited.

Half hour goes by and I’m wondering where the hell they were. Turns out, they went to play a whole different game in the pool and just never told me. Ditched me in a game I didn’t even want to play to begin with.

Rude.

But whatever. So I went to go hang out with my niece because I love her and she was barely going to be 3 months. So still cute. 

We were told that we would have to wake up early for the next day (the 4th) because we had something planned, and to make sure we had alarms and room service and all of that situated. I made sure to set that up.

That night, the two cousins wanted to go out to the club again. I was still upset with them so I said no, it was going to be an early night for me. And it was an early night. That is, until they came back into the room at 3am drunk out of their minds with two random girls.

They were the opposite of quiet or considerate. I woke up basically right away. I forget how the conversations went, but the main thing that stuck out to me the most was one of them saying “If he wakes up, I’m leaving.” So I pretended to be asleep so they can have their fun. Whatever. I just want them to shut up and let me sleep.

After an hour of them talking loudly to each other and failing to get them in bed, my cousins take them back to their rooms. So this is roughly 4ish

Me being me locked the door on them, but had second thoughts and unlocked the door. That would have been funny but cruel.

But it probably would have been better than what I did.

So remember when I said I put alarms and room services? Yeah well I totally forgot about that. Turns out I asked for room service for 6am?? Which is an ungodly hour anyways. Lots of metal pans and plates and metal stuff was ushered into our room, and it was like a scene from a movie.

And I was irrationally pissed at everything. And I take full responsibility for being an idiot and not taking the high road. But at the moment, and at the time, it felt like the thing to do.

So I banged on a few of the pans. Turned on the TV and for some reason Women’s tennis was playing. Great. Turned that shit up high. And I really just wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine. Show them how it felt to be rudely woken up.

Well they didn’t like it much. After a few verbal spats thrown towards me, which is nothing new, been told most of those things by them my whole life, whatever, one of them says “he’s a (last name), of course he’s a bitch, all the (last names) are bitches” and that really got to me. 

Because, sure yeah, I can be a dick, an asshole, a douchebag, whatever. But he brought my family into this. My mom, my dad. My whole paternal side. And that really just broke the camel’s back.

To this day, I don’t know how I was able to get out of my bed, get into their bed, without spilling my bowl of cereal, and without them reacting before I was able to throw my 4th punch, but on God, I did it.

Though, I really wasn’t able to get a 5th one in, when they were able to react and go all 2v1. One held, one hit. That was a fun time. I learned I have a pretty solid head that could take a good amount of punches. Almost went blind in my right eye because one of them did the old “thumb in the eye socket” technique. Still have the scar under my eye from it too. But I got a nice clean cut on that one’s neck.

After that we had a very long verbal spat about how “we’re a family goddamn it” and “grandma and my mom thought you’ve been a douche this whole trip” and “you’re just jealous of how we are closer than you could ever be”, oh and a few more random things thrown in there.

They went back to bed, and I sat there on my bed. Watching Tennis. Each wack of the racquet just kind of reminding me of the events prior. 

Oh and it turned out we didn’t have to be up until like 9. So I laid there for like 2 hours like that. I just remember typing everything that happened and sending it to my girlfriend, because I just needed to tell someone, and I didn’t want to forget any of it.

It was also then that I basically had a dilemma.

If I told my family what happened, the trip was over. Completely over. This getaway adventure to escape our troubles would turn into a family spat. And I just couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t.

So i didn’t.

I remember thinking up a lie on the spot to explain why my eye was bloodied. I said I fell into the side of the drawer. I remember my rational was something along the lines of “I needed something to be so obviously a lie, that they wouldn't bother to ask me to elaborate now”. And they didn’t.

This was the 4th. And I think we went home on the 7th? So I just needed to avoid everything for the next 3 days and then I was home free.

Before it was over, my mom and sister got into a little fight, so we both isolated ourselves from the group. She asked me what really happened, and I told her. So she really helped me throughout those days.

The trip was over. Woot. Now I never had to see any of them again, because I would be able to just say no to family get-togethers. Get a life of my own.

NOPE.

We had a dodger game THAT Friday. And we already bought the tickets. So I couldn’t really say no. And my girlfriend was coming too, so at least I’d have her to keep me sane.

Well, here’s the funny thing. It wasn’t until the drive to the game where my family finally turned to me and asked “So what really happened”.

Before I told the story, I literally BEGGED my mom not to say anything. I made her promise multiple times that she wouldn’t. And she promised and agreed. So I told my tale of astonishment, everything up to this point. How they were all called bitches and that’s what set me off to turn it physical.

Again, I just want to say that I know I shouldn’t have turned it physical. But insulting me is one thing, insulting my family is a whole other level.

Anyways, we get to the game. (There’s a part where my grandma was upset because I didn’t hug her? But I honestly don’t remember that because I just remember trying to find the bathroom. So maybe it happened, maybe it didn’t, I still don’t know) I get my food, and we go up to the seats. I’m already sitting on the top - away from everyone as much as I can - and everyone starts to work there way in. Eventually my mom and dad start walking up.

And this is where all hell breaks loose.

My mom shouts “the bitches are here” and that was really just. Wow. Insults are hurled, slander is tossed. It was a very lively discussion. And there I was. Just sitting there, because the ONE thing I didn’t want to happen, the ONE thing I tried so hard not to let happen, is unfolding right in front of me.

I remember one of the female cousins who wasn’t involved try to argue some point, one of the male cousins crying, and my aunt saying “did you see what he did to (my son’s) neck!” and my mom responding “Yes I did!” all proud. 

Fast forwarding to April 2016, and to sort of just fill everything in from Dodgers game to then, it was basically full of Facebook digs directed towards us, my grandma saying for us to knock it off and stop enticing them, and then more digs. 

For someone reason, no one in my family was safe. All of us had something negative to be said. But it basically boiled down to it being targeted at me (of course), my mom, and my oldest sister. 

Anyways, in April, my grandma was having a birthday party. I forget how old she was turning, but we had a big celebration. I remember it was only supposed be “X” amount of money, but it seemingly doubled over night to pay for things that weren’t needed to be paid. A lot of wasted money.

It was my grandma’s birthday though. And that wasn’t a thing I was going to miss, regardless of how everything was.

A lot of things transpired that night. Small things. But things none the less.

The next day, I sent a text to my aunt, telling her what I felt and why I felt that way. I believe it was mainly addressed to talk how she was being rude to my girlfriend, and I didn’t appreciate that, and asking her to treat her with more respect. Didn’t go over well. I think I got a meme as a reply that was saying “the world doesn’t revolve around you”. Yeah.

A few days later, my oldest sister and I went to my grandma’s to talk to her. Because we felt like this was just an awful situation for us and we wanted to try to get her to see that we weren’t doing anything. Anyways, I guess during this time, one of the male cousins was texting my other sister.

Essentially, he said my sister lied about a very traumatic effect that happened to her, which still effects her to this day, and that if it “really did happen, there would be a police report”.

I don’t think I’ve cried that hard in a long time. I remember breaking down and just. Yeah. We showed it to my grandma, because there’s no way this could be real? Right? And I remember I was furious. I was so fucking pissed off. I was /visibly/ shaking.

For the next, I don’t know, 2 hours, me and him went back and forth in text messages. Just hurling insults at each other. I eventually started to target his mom, my aunt, because he made a side comment about “don’t talk about my mom” and, cmon, that’s like, an invitation at that point, especially in that mindset. 

Side note, a lot of those insults thrown at me are now inside jokes between my friends and I because they were just the stupidest things I’ve ever been called.

So I was insulting him, insulting my aunt, and just ready to take on the world at this point. Because, honestly, at this point I was just holding on to my anger. It wasn’t good at all. And to have something like that be said about my sister? It really brought that fire to life. And it’s the main reason why I can never really forgive them. At least him. 

But that’s a whole other story on why.

So maybe a couple days later, my whole family gets a message on facebook. It’s a 6 paged message that essentially boils down to “this is what is wrong with you, you, you and you, and you guys are toxic as hell and you guys are out of our lives.

My favorite part is when I’m called a “selfish, ungrateful, self-entitled punk” and how I’m jealous and want to be like my cousin. Which is hilarious. She also mentions the traumatic experience in quotes, which pissed me off, because quotes usually indicate the idea of a falsehood that is being passed along as facts. 

From there, we don’t talk. We don’t talk for a year or so.

I don’t think it was until mid to late 2017 where people started to talk to each other again. Thanksgiving and Christmas usually forced us. But we slowly started doing things together, and having family events with each other that last longer than an hour.

And now it’s 2019. And we are doing full on holidays again. Inviting each other to these things out of the blue. Acting like nothing ever happened. Back to the “old days” sort of deal. 

“The healing process.”

And I just don’t know. I don’t like going to these things still. I’m still angry at everything. I’m still hurting from it all. 

I’ve been wearing this fucking mask at these events all these years, reinforcing it after each use, acting like I can stand to be there, that I don’t want to get up and just run away. I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to use school as an excuse to leave events early this year. But that could only go so far.

And it’s been 5 years. And I don’t know what to do. 

Except write it all down, throw it into the wind, and just try to heal I guess. Heal as much as I possibly can.

[demoninblue]

(( so my grandma finally passed away about 3 1/2 hours ago (right after I went to take a nap). I’m super glad that on Monday I got my husband to swing us by the hospital (she’s been there for about 8 days now in ICU) when she was seemingly getting better; I just had a feeling considering how bad she’d been last Sat/Sun that we’d better visit her since due to each of us being sick, etc. we haven’t seen her since Christmas Eve (her birthday). We laughed, joked, she was cussing the nurses out then hugging them (she was pretty drugged up, lol) and we had a good time, but I think I knew then so I made sure to give her extra hugs and kisses.

I’m a realist I guess, I’m not the person you’re going to see breaking down and holding out hope when I know there’s not any, so as she took another turn for the worst at the end of this week I already prepared myself, it was just hard seeing me dad and aunt up there. I kinda already steeled myself for this when they initially admitted her because they lost her a few times over the weekend. She’s not been in good health for a long, long time, and I know she was ready after the last couple years.

I went up there to see her around noon, but that was more for my dad since she was basically half way gone and not really aware by then. My brother is sick (so he’s not allowed to go in there around people in ICU), and my sister has a young baby, so she can’t go either, and I knew if SOMEONE in our direct family didn’t show up, he might snap -- he’s the sensitive type underneath it all, and I didn’t want him to think we didn’t care.  

The shitty task of messaging all my cousins was also left to me (we’re a pretty big family) so I had to feel like the grim reaper or something telling everyone like, “Hey if you want to see her, you gotta go NOW, or call one of us at the hospital and we can hold the phone up, and if you don’t want to/can’t then that’s okay too,” and having to keep messaging them once the nurse came in and checked her and told my mom that they weren’t going to make the decision for them, but that my dad and aunt (they were stepping out for some air) should consider removing the tubes/etc. and letting her go in peace.

 Bumped into one of my younger cousins leaving as I was arriving, had to calm her down enough to drive since I think she’s been out of the loop and didn’t realize how bad this shit actually was. My parents and my aunt who’s in town have been posting on fb but that doesn’t really give you much info, especially when most of the posts are just about how she was improving until today -- my mom has kept me in the loop since she knows I can handle it, but still, that’s not really the sort of details you post online. Then I had to track down some cousins that don’t live in this state and tell them; they’re brother and sister (but live on opposite ends of the country basically) and my one cousin literally had no idea my grandma was even in the hospital -- her dad (my uncle) didn’t even bother to contact her but he told his son???? I mean I know she’s a bit of an outlier, and considering her dad... I should have known, but do you know how shitty that is to have to tell your cousin, “oh sorry... thought you knew...”

 There’s just about to be a lot of drama over this shit -- she had 5 kids, one of my uncles passed from cancer about 2 years ago, so it’s my dad, his brother, and 2 sisters and it’s basically going to end up a war zone because certain ones don’t realize that my grandma cut them out of her will a while back for reasons (trust me, it was deserved but you know some people only care about themselves). The only ones worth a damn are my dad and my aunt (his youngest sister), the other two are just such... bad people, I know this shit is going to turn into such a huge thing... especially because it’s the bad ones whose kids don’t KNOW about all this drama, all the rest of us do (my family and my good aunt’s family).

I’m sure I’ll grieve over it in my alone time, I just worry about my dad. My grandpa died very suddenly about 10 years ago and he never really recovered, and then my uncle 2 years ago, and now this, on top of the drama that’s coming... I just don’t want him to have a heart attack or some shit.

I also feel weird because I feel like... people except me to be sobbing and shit, but that’s just not me, never has been. I’m gonna go to work tomorrow and find out the bereavement info, and I hate working the place I do during times like this because while I could probably explain to my manager and get extra time off if I really needed it, they have such a strict bereavement thing that I don’t even wanna use it tomorrow because I don’t know when the funeral is gonna be, etc. etc. and I don’t really have the time off to use for it without bereavement right now. shit like this also makes me feel weird because I feel like people think I’m lying BECAUSE I’m not distraught or something, idk, it’s hard to explain but hopefully that makes sense. I accept stuff like this as a fact of life -- my grandma was old, in terrible health, and ever since my uncle passed that was the last straw. I’m thankful she made it this far... ))

[strangegreensoul]

My family emigrated to this country five generations ago... I'm the fourth born here... I carry last names that aren't theirs cos someone wouldn't pay attention while writing them down or they wouldn't understand a dialect. Sometimes I blame them sometimes I don't.

I don't know my family story, they had a farm, says my grandma. I ask names but they cant remember anymore.

One thing I know is my grandma's grandma was what we now call a witch, she passed that down to most of the women on her family. Her name was Calogera.

My father's grandma was an Arab descendant woman from whom I have no idea but her skin color and her name. Amalia. The woman that could actually buy enough food to make her family a fancy meal.

Another grandma had to leave her husband behind, a child or two came with her. She lived till she was 70. I cant remember her name. Her last name was Altavista. Another name that it's not in my family anymore.

My father's father is an asshole. He never loved his family, he now misses a wife that he cheated and mistreated her whole life. She died 10 years ago. He wants to dream about her but can't. My family says that's because he made her life miserable. Everyone hates him. He now sits alone in his house. We all grew apart from him. The children he would hit or mistreat. My father was practically raised by his uncle and a neighbor whom he spoke marvels of. He left his house at 16. Never went back. He hasn't talked to his father since my grandma died.

My grandma has six siblings, one of them died around two years ago. Two siblings. Twins. Were stolen when born, supposedly dead, one appeared a few weeks ago, he is alive and grew up 50 minutes away from my family's house. The other died a couple years ago. They say he was the living image of my great grandma. The sibling that still live are all women. I cant recall all their names but I know them by nicknames i gave them when i was a child. The funny. The grumpy, the witch and my grandma. Susana.

I dont want to forget my family.

My family is one of immigrants. Farmers. Woodworkers. All they did in their lives was work.

My grandpa was barely there when my mum and aunt grew up. He was working. He loves them fondly. My grandma and him managed to build a home. Several times. They are in love. 56 years of marriage. Political and economical instability broke them down but they got up again. My grandpa says they are happy cos I can go to college. They didn't finished school. My mum finished it at 50. They say my life is going to be better than theirs. The have big Hope's and dreams.

I learn about my family's homeland online, atleast i think that's it. The country is correct. The town isn't. Far folk and myths seem to be everywhere.

I dont want to forget my

My father's mother was an artist. Sometimes I think it was the only way she had to escape. She painted landscapes of forests and houses of stone. She talked to plants. I like to think she was a fae folk. The magic in her hands was passed down. My father is the best with plants, they remind him of her, he calls her by her name, not mum, Nelly. Her magic got to me too. I can do almost everything with my hands. My friends call me Plant Girl. Flora. I like to think she would be proud. Illness took her in a week. My family was never the same again. Her mother was still alive, noone would tell her she died. My mother did, everyone hated her for that. We never ate together at Sundays again after she died. My baby cousins barely remeber her. One of my aunts can't let her go. My older cousin was rised by her, she got her name tattooed. She'll graduate from college this year.

I dont want to forget

I have lots of cousins and a niece I don't know because her mother was 16 when she was born. The smallest one is 2, she has purple eyes. We used to meet a lot. My grandma died. I don't see them anymore. My father family is a mess. He loves his cousins fondly. We had lunch the other day. I found out my grandpa was sick. Cancer. 2009. He didn't die. He made a full recovery. Everyone hates him for that. My grandma died shortly after. He saw her best friend last week. She hates him. She told him the truth noone wanted to tell him. He deserves all that he haves now. He is alone. I felt pity for him for a long time, I dont anymore. I called him a couple months ago, he didn't notice it had been 4 years. The last time I saw his face he asked me for a naked picture. I told my mum, she doesn't let me go to his house anymore. I hanged up the phone. I have no more hope on him nor pity. He is a monster and deserves it. He never loved anyone.

My mother's mother family was from a farm. Her father was a drinker, her mother was forced to marry him. 7 kids 2 dead. He died when my grandma was a child. My greatgrandma fell in love again, he was married, they loved each other. She died alone. Catalina.

My mother's father mother died wanting to eat something she actually enjoyed. Victorina. She followed diets her whole life. People could talk. My mother and aunt did the same. Sometimes I think so many diet pills was what made them easier targets from cancer. My aunt was given 8 months of life when I was child. She decided to see the world. She had breast cancer. It's been 10 years. Last year she was told she was cancer free. We now travel together. My mum was diagnosed when I was 2, skin cancer. Surgeries left her body full of scars. She shows them proud. 5 months ago she finally got told that she was fine, that's was it. The cancer was gone.

When my mother was pregnant a economical and political crisis torn down the country. My father lost his job. The had to leave the house they loved behind. They came to the house we now leave at. When my mother was 6 months pregnant there was a problem. I was born with 7 months. A underweight child, no job, no education. They managed to bring me up. My mum tends to leave half her plate, says she is not hungry. Gives it to me. We are okay now.

I don't want to

My grandma tends to switch languages to make me smile. My grandpa takes pictures of us when we are cooking or sewing. They teach me everything they know. They say it is just in case. They dont want me to start from nothing as they did. I'm their only grandchild. At some point I will be alone, they'll leave me. All of them. My life is perfect now, I don't want it to change. My grandparents worked all their lives, they are paid the minimum.

All my family comes from this place I know I shouldn't call mine because it isn't where i am from, tho, I think it it where I belong. I'm afraid I won't belong nowhere in my life. The country I was born at usually doesn't feel like home. I dont want to emigrate but I know I most likely would have to. I love my country but still it doesn't feel like...

The violence and lack of work made my family come here and are the same thing that's going to make me or my children go back to their country. No. I won't be welcome there. Fourth generation, I can't apply for citizenship.

I don't want

When I was a child my grandparents had to sell their farm, my grandma got sick. They came to the city. She is fine. My grandpa is sad they had to leave behind that life. Victor. City air used to make them sick. They bough a small land in the countryside, made a home for all of us.

They got me a dog too. Moha. She is 12, I'm afraid I'll lose her. She is a puppy at soul. She loves that farm. A friend of my father found a turtle on the street. She's been with us for 13 years. She loves strawberries. Sol.

My mum says she'll teach me a healing prayer on Christmas, her mother tought her. Her mother was tought by her sister whom learned it from her grandma. My mum's greatgrandma. The witch.

I'll like to think there is something hidden about my family. There are too many of us for life to be so...

I don't

My grandma can't remember her grandma's name, I don't want that to happen to me. I want to remember them forever.

My greatgrandpa's name was Emilio. My mum says I'm like him. An anarchists, a naturist. He ate different types of meat in a sandwich, as i do. I never met him. He died. Someone on the street stole his pension money. He was so angry.

Two years ago I went to the cemetery with my grandpa, we went visit his mother. I saw him cry for the first time. She is in a beautiful place. Someone stole the cross from her grave.

There are people that roam my house at night, my mum says I shouldn't worry. That it is her grandma, the woman from the cemetery. I know it's not just her, my grandma visits from time to time too. There is a dog in the garden too. We say hi to hummingbirds and monarch butterflies cos my grandma used to love them. They are her messengers.

My grandpa's grandpa was one of three sibling that emigrated here. My father half knows something of the bloodline of one, the other was lost for a long time. I started college. We had a group assignment. I'm used to spelling my last name but this girl tells me to just tell her cos she is used to. She tells me she knows my last name. No one does. She was the classmate of triplets with the same name on secondary school. I cry when I get home that day, it's the first time I heard of someone with my name. I'm so happy. My father tells me I have a cousin that has it too, the girl that left when she got pregnant. I've never seen that classmate again. I have so many questions but I know it's dumb to ask her. She wouldn't know.

I visited my grandparents. We made a genealogical tree. I know so many people now. I have everyone written down. I learn names and places that I've never heard before. Grandma and I laught for hours, now i can keep track when she talks about her cousins.

I

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 58

My grandma Betty died. I was sitting in my bedroom upstairs one evening, when I heard the phone ring. There was a vent in my room so I could always hear a little bit of what was going on downstairs. I heard my father gasp, and then he seemed to be sobbing. The conversation was brief, and I already knew what it had to be. I couldn't help feeling badly for the guy. Despite the fact that he really was a terrible person to me in some respects, he lost a lot in a year's time. First, Patti – his then recently separated ex girlfriend had killed herself, and then his mother died. I think in a lot of ways my grandma kept my father emotionally grounded, and with her gone from the world, I believe my father felt very much alone – ungrounded.

I am thankful that her death was not a terribly slow or painful one. She had just begun exhibiting the signs of having cancer. She had chainsmoked her entire life since she was twenty-two. She also had a bad heart. Had she not suffered a stroke that killed her instantaneously, she might very well have suffered for a few years in a slow battle with cancer. I guess her and Gayle had gone out to eat at a Chinese restaurant that evening – their favorite, and they ate to their heart's content. Afterwards, they had gone to the movies, a sentimental corny movie most likely, where a lost young person finds their purpose in life by rescuing an animal that shows them how to be a better person and care again. The kind of movie my grandma always bought me for Christmas. She came home, listened to her favorite Celine Dion Titanic theme song, washed up, and began watching public television till she dozed off. At some point in the night while she was asleep she had the stroke, and she died almost immediately. I know this probably sounds awful for me to say, but I mean it with a sincere sense of compassion – it could have been so much worse.

The next week we traveled down to Ontario Oregon to connect with the family. It would be the last time I ever saw the extended family on my father's side. It was also at this very same time, that there was another family ordeal. Basically, my uncle Bob got caught in a sting operation for buying child pornography. I guess I failed to mention that this had happened sometime around Christmas. Looking back, I am so terribly glad I didn't end up living with him and my aunt Marty. Who knows what could have happened to me, and I remember distinctly feeling weird about my uncle, even though he technically never did anything inappropriate. He was the professional of the family, and I felt that we were supposed to look up to him – so hearing about what he was guilty of was a surprise – though I was told he was getting put in prison for tax evasion at first – not for buying pedophilia. The double secret life he was living was horrendous and disgusting and I believe I felt it off of him in very subtle ways when I had been down there to visit about a year and a half before he thankfully was caught. This little matter of feeling a strange energy off of him gave me insight that I should trust my instincts about people – particularly predatory men – but anyone. He ended up getting six years in prison – becoming an extremely talented artist – he could of course never go back into the field of education – and he is not allowed on the internet. He eventually remarried. My father keeps in touch with him, but most of the family has emotionally disconnected with him. I personally don't feel all that compelled to talk to him or visit, for very obvious reasons. You can't look at child pornography and not see clear as day the devastating reality of it all. It's staring you straight in the face. If you view that stuff to get off, you are sick.

Some of the family felt that my grandma finding out that her son had been arrested and was a sex offender was what broke her. I personally think it was just a life of smoking and eating 50's canned goods and watching soap operas. My adult cousins were down there. My aunt Gayle was a wreck. My uncle Steve and half uncle Adam were there, as well as my aunt Sylvia. We had rented a hotel. There wasn't going to be a funeral, as my grandma felt they were phony and gaudy. We all at one point went into my grandmother's apartment one last time. I thought a lot about the kindness she had shown me as a child. In a lot of ways, my grandma was a much softer person than both my parents, who were/are both far more chaotic, brutal, funnier, abusive and contradictory in nature. My grandma Betty was no survivor – she lived in fear – which is why she never learned how to drive. I remembered watching Bob Ross with her, and holding her hand and pushing on her protruding veins in her hands and wrists for fun. Even though the stuff she sent me for holidays was kind of awful – bad Christmas themed pajamas and such, she always remembered. She remembered every single person's birthday. She bought literally everyone Valentine's Day stuff, Easter, 4th of July, Halloween, and Christmas boxes – no matter how many family members she had to send them off to.

I looked for, and found this cat that always hung off the side of the couch. It was where she often kept her smokes, her TV guide, reading glasses and such. Nobody wanted them. Nobody wanted the cat things used to prevent cat toys from rolling underneath the refrigerator, so I took that too. And since nobody wanted them, I was given her entire Stephen King collection – about thirty or forty hardbacks that I took with me back to the hotel and began reading. We went out to eat somewhere – a buffet. My aunt Gayle was totally a mess. I felt kind of mean – and perhaps I was mean, but I couldn't help wondering what she had expected. Losing a parent is devastating – but there was some part of her behavior that was sensationalized and attention seeking. She was sincerely upset and lost without her mother, and I think even the attention seeking was a sign or that devastation. She obviously needed to be comforted, and I would never suggest that a person stew I their misery. But she seemed to revert back to being a child. A very loud child who wildly looked around the room for attention. She began sobbing and crying very loud in the restaurant for instance because she saw a fork – and I guess that forks now reminded  her of my grandmother's death – which seemed very put on to me. Other family members were silent for the most part. My father was seeming to hold it together okay. In a way, I almost think my father's resilience is his undoing. He can't really break when he needs to – survival simply won't allow it, and it almost seems to make him a bit crazy.

Watching all these people cope with the death of our beloved mother/grandma Betty, I worried about what it would be like when my beloved family members in the future would begin dropping off someday. It really hadn't occurred to me before – not that I wasn't aware of death. But now it seemed like a very practical reality and less of a concept. I decided to prepare myself for that day – so that I didn't react like aunt Gayle, and felt safe to consider everyone half dead already. Most of the human beings who had ever existed were already dead anyway. I know that sounds morbid, but if you remind yourself daily that the people around you are conscious meat sacks that can be squished, or malfunction at any given time, you not only prepare yourself for the day coming when it happens, but you are also appreciating the time you have with those people and how you treat them – since their mortality becomes more real to you. We have to get the most out of our connections with the people in our lives. What 'the most' is can be very subjective, but whatever is there to be gained from one another, it's an intrinsic part or our life's purpose to get it and to fully appreciate the mystery of knowing one another in the limited time and circumstances that we have.

On the way back from my Ontario, perhaps as a sign that I was very capable of being an insensitive teenager, I listened to The White Stripes very loudly in the car. Eventually my father had to tell me he couldn't emotionally take it right now, and he turned it down. I felt like a complete jerk. He had just lost his mother, and I was already just enjoying music and whathaveyou. When we got back home, we never really ended up visiting again. My father basically cut contact with Gayle. I don't know why. It didn't seem kind to me. Sure, they were never close. She could be annoying, but cutting ties with her kind of freaked me out. She hadn't done anything wrong. What's more, he still talked to our uncle Bob. He didn't talk to him for about four years granted, but he talks to him now – I don't care, except why has he decided never to speak to Gayle. I am really unclear about why that is. I have at times felt compelled to personally reach out to them, only I have been given the very strong impression over the years that they have little to no interest in who I am now that I am an adult – and the same goes for my siblings. There was always this weird sense with me that – since my mother was somehow a very obvious flawed human being that somehow she tainted the bloodline on my father's side and therefore we are of less quality.

On the last day of school, we took a trip to a strange special little exclusive resort called Boyer Beach. It was difficult to get to, and wasn't particular fancy – just a beach with some trees and buildings that weren't open for another month, since it was several miles up the Clearwater River. There was only one strange road to get to it, as there wasn't a road on that side of the river, you had to go several miles around to get to the one road that came back down. I remember sitting on the bus as it drove us down the small windy downhill path, and I began studying my feelings in a way I hadn't thought to. I felt depressed – but I chose not to blame anyone. It's instinctual when you feel pain that won't go away to want to blame someone. I recognized that I was feeling the urge to be angry at Sarah, but rather than say anything or let myself react emotionally – I just sat there and reflected on it. It felt counter intuitive, but I just did it anyway. And the more I reflected on it, the more I realized that I wasn't even angry – not really. I felt abandoned – and there might have been some reasonable justification for that – but I also understood that there was very little I could do about it. All those times I had become lathered up and convinced I was angry, I had actually just been sad. Feeling angry had made me feel like I was in control of my life and of the world around me. It made me feel justified. Really I was just a lost person. I felt disappointed and powerless – which made a lot more sense. There was nothing I could now do about the way my life was going. And as I realized this, the rage seemed to disintegrate. I felt like crying – there was a lump in my throat the entire day, but the blind anger was gone. I was calm the entire time, and Sarah and I managed to make naked people out of sand on the beach and have a good day.

Sarah and I ended up getting invited to Samantha's house that early summer soon after, which ended up being a strange night. Samantha's brother – the one who used to prank call me was there. I think Adam, Sam's boyfriend was there as well. We watched a really dumb movie called The Boy Next Door. And then everyone went out to the living room to play Super Smash Bros. It was sort of a ritual that everyone did at Sam's house – though I rarely participated and if I did I always chose Kirby. At some point in the night, either Sarah or I left a drawer open. Samantha's dad Steve came home drunk, saw that the drawer was left open, and started becoming wigged out and violent. Sam's dad was the kind of person to beat someone if lids weren't perfectly put on, if drawers and cupboards weren't completely shut. He was/is a horrible person, and it was baffling and startling to even try to imagine what it must have been like being raised by this guy. Samantha and Jake looked humiliated and nervous. Jake stood up eventually and took the blame for it – even though it had most likely not been the one who had done it. I don't remember what Steve yelled at Jake, but it was horrible and abusive, and though I couldn't see it, I heard scuffling in the kitchen of Steve trying to beat Jake up. I think Jake managed to shove his father and I remember him yelling 'I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TRIED THIS IN FRONT OF THEM!!'. I felt badly. And I guess when I saw how things in this household, it was easier for me to understand why he had gone above and beyond to make life difficult for me at school.

Steve ended up leaving again thankfully, and we tried to play poker and pretend nothing had happened. I never got the hang of poker. From what I remember, I never had a hand I could play. So I spent the entire time trying to understand how to play without having any options.

Sarah's boyfriend Alex was coming to visit mid June for the first time, which basically meant that I only had about two weeks left to hang out with Sarah for the summer. After that, she would basically be around – but kind of not there. She wanted to spend the whole summer alone with Alex. She halfheartedly told me we would hang out sometimes, but it didn't seem very likely to me. And we both knew that after the summer she was moving to Texas. So for those two weeks, I swallowed every bit of disappointment I could swallow, and I tried to just enjoy being Sarah's friend in the moment. It was basically pointless to be angry anymore, as unfair as it all ended up for me. She had made her choice. Don't get me wrong, I was devastated, and I wanted her to understand fully that I was devastated. But my options were nil, and thinking about my own future was extremely unpleasant to me. The only thing I had to hold onto was the idea that some magical thing might become of me somehow. I didn't even know if I wanted to stay in school anymore. I didn't feel like I had any real talent. I could barely go into a grocery store without having a strong nervous reaction. How was I going to cope with being on my own?

To make matters worse, I remember Samantha asking Sarah 'What's Renee going to do without you Sarah?'. She asked it condescendingly. There was some truth to it which made it all the more frustrating – what was I going to do? But to a degree, I felt like people filled in a lot of blanks about me, and Sarah. Her meaning, behind the surface was to point out that I was weak, or that I couldn't form an opinion, and was incapable of growth – I was the helpless mooch. Sarah shrugged, and knew better than to insult me, and probably feeling guilty, wanted to hope for all the best concerning what would become of me.

My mom had somehow temporarily been able to rent the Nye's house again – the one Danny had us move out of for a few months. They were on their way to selling the place I guess, and were allowing us to stay there for the time being until someone came along. And it kind of ended up being a bit of a shitshow this time around. Germaine (remember her?), from the first house my mom moved into after the divorce was moved in there for some reason. I guess she found my mom bartending and she herself needed a place to stay and asked if she could stay at my mom's place. So, she moved into one of the rooms. She was a drunken narcissistic mess as always – I realized even more nearly a decade later what a truly annoying woman she was. And she had this strange deadbeat guy who she called her boyfriend there too. He was small, thin, had long black hair pulled into a ponytail and a beard. He looked filthy, and didn't say a word. He would sit outside at night against the house for hours. His eyes drifted strangely.

For whatever reason, Maria was homeless too, so she was staying there with her kids. I hadn't truly realized any of this, and had I, Sarah and I would not have decided to visit. The house smelled bad. What's more, my mom was on some kind of strange rage kick. She was acting aggressively towards Maria, finding any cheap thing to criticize her over. She kept making fun of Maria's suicide attempts. In old cartoons it is common for the sleeping character's soul to come out of their body in some kind of astral projection/ghost form, and run amok. I knew I couldn't just smash my mother's face in, but my ghost-self would do just that, and I envisioned angrily knocking her to the ground and forcing her to apologize. My mother can be this horrid  cruel person that you never want to see again. She wants to hurt people – Maria being the easiest person to hurt. She liked pushing Maria to a point of harming herself. And my mother also thrives with chaos. So if things are working well, she finds ways to undermine that. She was being that person completely that night. Sarah had never seen my mother like that, I don't think.

What ended up happening was that in the early evening Chantelle, Maria's two and a half year old daughter was sick with a high fever over 100 degrees and she wouldn't stop sobbing. My mom had been storming around screaming at everyone, but she set her sights on Chantelle. She dragged Chantelle by the wrists and began screaming psychotically in Chantelle's face. Of course, Chantelle was a deliriously sick two year old with a fever, and she couldn't and wouldn't stop crying. My mom then started accusing her of faking it. Maria, stepped in of course to defend her toddler, and my mom started screaming at Maria saying she should kill herself if she can't figure her life out. Maria started crying and arguing about something petty. At this point, I stepped in. I couldn't just stand there and watch my mom do her thing. Plus, Chantelle was a little child and wasn't fair game in my book. I told her to knock it off in some form or another. So she turned her total attention on me and began screaming at me – saying I had ruined her life, had prevented her from sleeping (I think she was probably hung over since Germaine was there). I wasn't quite there yet, but I had started reaching a tipping point with what I could handle of screaming and intense meaningless anger. I felt like I was either going to implode, or explode. In either case, my sudden intense feeling of frustration and rage was enough to turn off a good portion of my brain. I was afraid I would simply shove my mother to the floor and begin pounding her face – but at the same time I knew I couldn't do that. My mom almost had a twinkle of joy in her eye – as she could see she was getting an effect.

Then Germaine came out of her bedroom. She had been hung over as well, but had just started her second round of drinking. She sounded like the wicked witch of the west, and had those curling things in her hair. She came out and began screeching at me about how I was to RESPECT MY MOTHER NO MATTER WHAT!!! and that I had somehow been brainwashed by my father to try to destroy my poor mother – which was beyond absurd. I felt like she just wanted in on the action since she had always disliked me but hadn't had a good chance to get involved. The two snarling mean spirited bitches were both hollering at me, and I had to get away then and there, else I would have killed the both of them with my hands or a kitchen knife. I ran out the door crying hysterically. Sarah following me in a state of shock. This resembled absolutely nothing of what she had ever been raised in, and I think it was hard for her to fully imagine having such a wretched mother. Of course, Germaine's creepy boyfriend was hanging around outside the house, seemingly unaffected by any of the fight, and I just ran past him.

We ended up sitting in the gravel a ways from the house. By this time it was night. Sarah hugged me and said she was sorry. I explained to her in a state of misery that this was what I had to look forward to without her being around anymore. It was a true and realistic statement, and at this point my pains and woes were not theoretical anymore. The reality was, that when Sarah left, this essentially was what I could look forward to at random intervals from both my mother and father – in their own styles of course. There would be no escaping to Sarah's house anymore. There would be no good times for me. Despite the fact that Sarah and I fought, she really was a great joy of mine to have. She was my only friend, and the only person who remotely understood me. She may have been kind of self centered and empty headed, but she was endlessly patient with me – and I think she had done the best she could. For all her faults, I had troubles imagining anyone else really actually getting it. She seemed like the only person in the world that actually liked me. And of course, there wasn't an answer. I just cried until, as I talked, I said something funny, and then I laughed and somehow carried on. We ended up driving back home that night.

Three weeks later, Germaine's creepy boyfriend ended up murdering someone. Germaine dumped him a week later, and I guess he must have immediately found another woman to date, because he strangled her to death. My brother reflected recently on the fact that my mom was leaving Allison and David to be watched by this guy. David played video games with this creep alone in a house with him. A testament to my mother's observant parenting skills.

My father, all that year had dated numerous women online. He was trying to fill a void left by Patti, and maybe that void in general that exists with everyone. He even flew down to California to talk to one woman named Suzanna. The names of these women I know vaguely – they failed to make a real mark, the majority of them. They were all my father's world for a month and then they were replaced. I learned to not even think about them anymore, and online dating seemed incredibly unpleasant to me. I never hated any of these women. Most of them heard lies about me and never met me in person, and when they did they approached me with clueless friendliness masking underlying judgment. It didn't feel particularly like anyone involved was really connecting. There was probably twenty or thirty of them – and it never lasted. Tanya, the woman he dated for six months during the summer and fall of 2006, was probably one of my favorites. She was the only girlfriend of his that seemed to actually like me, or understand me even a little bit.

Tanya lived in Spokane, and my father wanted her to meet us. Part of my father's shtick – not that it was altogether inaccurate was that of the single father raising children alone. This wasn't a lie exactly - if you exclude the abuse towards me in my earlier teens and all throughout. But it was used as a corny agenda in order to show women how sensitive he really was, since many father's choose not to  be involved with their children and all that. It was all rather phony to me. He also lied about his height. To be fair, I honestly believe that he believed this stuff about himself and about our family. He had sort of erased any wrongdoing he had ever done from his own mind concerning beating me up that one time. He was able to justify and ignore just about anything regarding him expressing violence towards me. And truly, what good would it have done to try to tell these women different? Honestly, most of them were hoping he would pay a bill or two, which he often did and then they would break up with him for someone else they were talking to online. It was a very shallow world. People were afraid of being lonely – and truly – to each their own, but I can't think of anything more lonely than these brief relationships – if you want to call them that.

We first met Tanya in this sort of wannabe Hard Rock Cafe in Spokane. It was night time, the place was loud and my father was nervous. She didn't look at me with judgment and she seemed fairly together and reserved. I liked her overall. At first I was a little insulted because she compared me to Kelly Osbourne – which mostly insulted me since I thought Kelly Osbourne was a little bit campy and was a spoiled brat, but I probably shouldn't have taken it as nearly as insulting as it was not meant as such. We stayed at her place for one night. Her two sons were little hellions – and I could tell she never reprimanded them for anything. All they wanted to do was break things and pull their pants down. They screamed and tore things apart. Allison, David and I slept in her living room watching the first Narnia movie. The next day, Tanya pulled out her collection of Anne Rice novels. She gave me a few of them. She thought I would like them. I guess she had once been the goth of her high school and she wanted to be supportive of me as she felt I was a goth – though I still don't think that I actually was. I had dyed my hair dark again, and whenever I wear my natural hair color I have always been told I looked like a goth since my skin is pale and I like to wear a lot of make up sometimes.

The next day we went to this amusement park of sorts that was in the middle of Spokane near some rivers. It was sort of surreal for me being there, since I had sudden memories of having been there as a child in the early nineties, back when I guess that place had been rather busy. We got on the merry-go-round that I remember riding around when I was one and a half or two back when my parents had just gotten married and had gone up to Spokane for a shopping spree. Everyone was walking around together – me, my siblings Allison and David, Tanya, my father, but it was starting to strongly occur to me that even though people look like they are together, they really are a million miles apart in reality. Nobody was in solidarity here. We weren't a family – or at least, I was not a part of them. I wasn't apart of anyone anymore. I was beginning to feel incredibly alienated. These relationship dynamics were beginning to stick out in my mind everywhere that I went. I would see two people holding hands or kissing, and I couldn't help but notice in conversation they had nothing in common. Neither person actually knew what the other one was going through.

Tanya came to our house one more time a month later, but I wasn't around the house for very long. She might have been trying to scope out to see what my father's home was like. Because in conversation, we lived a Queen Ann style mansion (for it's time) styled home built in 1889, and considered a historical site by the state of Idaho. In reality, the house was this awkward cold place we made worse, and it had numerous issues. Going inside, it was very apparent that we weren't rich, but it might have seemed as though we were from conversations my father had on the phone. My father had this neck massaging thing. Basically, it had these two finger like things on either side of the place where you put your neck, and this machine would turn on and these things would vibrate and rotate around – an attempt to simulate a massage. I remember going downstairs at one point, and Tanya's boys were down there and in broad daylight, right in front of everyone, the were pulling down their pants trying to make the thing touch their privates – which was embarrassing for Tanya and awkward for all of us. These boys were ten and eleven years old, and I couldn't imagine doing what they were doing at that age. Anyway, Tanya eventually broke it off with him sometime after that – though I don't remember why, or how long after. Still, I always regarded her positively. She was never unkind to any of us.

My father had this new social life too. On top of buying absurd amounts of speakers and talking to random women online, he was starting to hang out with this guy named John who made Nickelback styled music in Clarkston – letting John borrow his speakers in hopes to play bass in his band. He also started working part time and semi for free for a friend of his back in the 80's named Rob who was starting a granite business that custom cut granite and other stone and installed it in people's kitchens and bathrooms. My father, as he was learning how to make granite smooth and polished, started collecting the scrap granite and making these weird granite cutting boards out of it, which he would sell cheaply to whoever wanted one. So there were granite cutting boards all over the place as well as speakers. Lastly, and more strange than anything, my conservative anti-drug father began spending a lot of time when he was in Kendrick with Billy, and other prominent drug dealing older teen guys. He was basically trying to assimilate with the druggy crowd from my high school, which was beyond strange. He started wearing his hat on backwards and talking with an attitude – particularly about women. He started drinking a lot and being out late with these guys who were thirty two plus years his junior. I felt like I had lost the plot completely.  

It would be about a week before Alex finally came to visit and Sarah would essentially be gone and I would have some new kind of life. I would look back and I couldn't believe that three and a half years ago, I had had over ten people I considered some kind of friend. Where had everybody gone?  I felt lost and depressed – but in a way I had never felt before. It felt like parts of my core personality were being stripped from me – that thoughts and words held no truth in and of themselves. They had to be sharpened like weapons and used in abstract ways. The world seemed upside down. I was losing my certainty about everything I thought that I knew. I wanted to get down to the bottom core truth of everything, but where could that be found? Was it love? Was it in art? Books? Religion or philosophy? Was the world we lived in primarily made of essence of perception, or were we living in the material? And why did I exist? Why did anything exist at all? It seemed impossible for me to know what to do next with my life. And I felt this burning sense that there was a truth that existed, and I needed to find it.

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[canna-base]

Veterans tell of medical marijuana use in defiance of backward federal policy

WASHINGTON – Joshua James Frey is clear: “Without medical marijuana I would be dead.”

This Marine Corps veteran is a two-time Purple Heart awardee. He is among the former warfighters, led by the American Legion, who are on the frontlines of the fight for a sensible, federal medical marijuana policy.

They are pushing a reluctant Uncle Sam to catch up with overwhelming public opinion that favors allowing cannabis for medical use. We covered the Legion’s Capitol Hill press conference on Thursday with Frey, other veterans and a bipartisan group from Congress. Veterans, among the most respected citizens, are a potent force in the effort to move the federal government from a backward, anti-marijuana stance that resembles the 1936 melodramatic film propaganda of “Reefer Madness” more than today’s reality of widespread medical cannabis use.

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aside.wpf_related.inset-links.right {float:right;clear:right;}Now, we hear the stories of two veterans who use medical marijuana and one who didn’t, but whose mother believes would be alive if he did. In powerful, emotional statements at the news conference, they all complained about the dangers of the drug cocktails prescribed by doctors who are prohibited from even discussing the marijuana that has proven far more beneficial for the two vets. Their stories differ starkly from a presidential commission on drug addiction report this month that said “there is a lack of sophisticated outcome data on dose, potency, and abuse potential for marijuana.”

Let’s start with Frey, a Melbourne, Florida, combat veteran of the Third Battalion, First Marine Regiment. “Medical marijuana saved me,” he told the Federal Insider. “I feel like I did before the war (in Iraq) mentally and . . . know this could help not just the veterans struggling, but it could help anyone struggling with addiction and PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). It’s time we all stand as one voice and truly move forward with real hard-lined research and move forward with real compassionate care.”

Frey was wounded twice in 2004, once in November by a rocket-propelled grenade. Less than a month later, shortly before Christmas, he was shot in the right shoulder, shattering it and detaching his right bicep. He spent two years at the Naval Medical Center San Diego, also known as Balboa Hospital, had six blood transfusions and 22 operations.

“I’ve been real quiet about my medical marijuana use,” he said at the news conference. “If it wasn’t for medical marijuana, I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t have kids today. I wouldn’t have a beautiful wife I’ve been married to for 13 years now.”

He resents the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) saying “you are doing something bad.” “We need to stop the madness. We need to get this stuff on the books. . . . It could help a lot of vets.”

Special report: Cannabis & fitness

Boone Cutler is an Army veteran who spent two years in Walter Reed Army Medical Center recovering from combat injuries suffered in Baghdad. Host of the Tipping Point show on KNEWS, 107.3 FM in Reno, Nevada, he has been diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s disease, related to his wartime blast injury. He authored the Spartan Pledge, the veterans’ commitment against suicide, and is a national spokesman for the Warfighter Rights Movement on PTSD issues.

During his two years at Walter Reed, “I was given just about every chemical cocktail you can imagine. When people look at that cocktail they want to know two things. One, why am I still alive and two, why isn’t somebody in prison, because it was that dangerous.”

At a low point, he “grabbed my gun and put it to my head,” blaming the prescription drugs for losing “my self-preservation instinct.”

He turned to marijuana to help him sleep.

“My story is not one of Cheech and Chong,” he said, sunglasses perched just above his eyes. “It wasn’t a good time when I started using cannabis. It was simply a way to survive.”

When he tried marijuana he slept for five hours. “At that time,” he said, “I hadn’t slept for five hours in five years.”

Janos “Johnny” Lutz isn’t here to tell his story, so his mother did. She told a sad tale of depression and prescription drug complicit suicide. He saw combat in Iraq and Afghanistan, where 14 of his colleagues died during Operation Khanjar in Helmand Province in 2009.

“It is our hope that the story of my son, who was lost because of prescribed pharmaceuticals will open your hearts and minds to research,” Janine Lutz said before an emotional pause, “to research cannabis, the most safe and effective treatment for our veterans today.” She started the LCpl Janos V Lutz Live to Tell Foundation in Davie, Florida, in support of military and first responders.

Her son was diagnosed with severe PTSD and brain injury. The two dozen drugs he was prescribed included Klonopin, which he took in June 2010. “Within a week, Johnny attempted suicide,” said Lutz. Her son was saved, and “Do not give Mr. Lutz Klonopin” was noted on his hospital chart. But the veteran was not told that, and he continued to believe that “he wanted to take his own life by his own free will,” his mother said, “not knowing that it was the medication that was messing with his mind.” Three months later he was given the drug again, only to be followed by another unsuccessful suicide attempt.

Don’t miss our reviews of strains, vape oils and other cannabis products.

This scenario repeated in 2012, but this time her son was successful in his suicide by overdosing on the drugs doctors prescribed.

“I think my son would be here today,” Lutz said, if medical marijuana had been available.

But it’s not for veterans at VA facilities. Almost two-thirds of the general population, however, live in the 29 states and the District of Columbia where doctors can recommend it. At the VA, medical professionals are not allowed to even discuss marijuana therapy.

Many veterans, some using medical cannabis from other sources, have asked VA doctors such as Katherine Mitchell in Phoenix about it. “I was not officially allowed to discuss the subject,” she said.

“Whether the establishment wants to recognize it or not,” Mitchell added, “because marijuana use has moved into the mainstream, health-care providers have an ethical obligation to help our patients understand the potential positive and negative impacts marijuana could have on their health.”

Instead, she and other VA medical professionals must act like medical marijuana doesn’t exist.

What sense does that make?

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[dontcallmekoda]

Loss hurts more than once

2019 has been a rough year so far. I lost my grandpa on my mom's side (Mike) in January. Lost my dog who got my dog that got me through a lot in April. Even more recently my grandpa on my dad's side (Doug) died on father's day. My mom has always said "when it comes to adversity you can either let it define you or let it drive you" and I'll be coming back to that later.

So me and my grandpa Mike were not very close because he has always seemed to be on the move but I made an effort to answer if he called or say hi through my mom as she talked to him more often. It wasn't until I went with my mom from Tucson to Dallas that I actually learned who he was. After talking to many aunts, uncles, and cousins I didn't even know existed I tried to meet my grandpa after he was already cold and it hurt alot. I originally went to help my mom but the more I found out, the more I felt like I squandered my chance to really get to meet an amazing Craftsman and interesting storyteller that was my grandpa. Upon going through his things I found myself balling upon finding a folder of his that was dedicated to me with every birthday or Christmas card I sent, every picture he had of me (from birth to graduation to military and so on) and knowing no matter how distant we were he still cared for me. He also had folders for my mom and sister and they appeared to be in similar situations. His death was sudden, a heart attack at 56.

Next I lost my dog and friend. This may not seem like much but know that a dog can be more than family to some. His name was Koda and I've raised him since 2 days old as my parents were attempting to breed huskies. He was this little cinnamon Siberian husky who stayed golden his whole life. Koda helped me many times when I didn't want to go on, he could sense when I was down and broke my screen jumping through an open window when I had a knife to my wrist once. He was a huge part of my world and he helped me feel not alone. A while after my parents split he was who kept me together until my Dad went through a hard time and he couldn't stay with us anymore as we moved into a place with no yard and my dad was very against inside dogs. So Koda moved to my dad and Grandpa's shop and became a pseudo guard dog and he was good at it. With him being further away I started seeing him less and less and when I moved out on my own I always wanted to bring him with me but it wasn't possible in any of the places I could afford. I got a text from my Dad that he had passed and I was heartbroken that I'd never get to see my friend again. I spent that night alone with a bowl and a bottle of vodka. It was a hard night.

On to my grandpa Doug. He was a a good guy who lost his wife in March. He had remarried after my grandma and Joy and himself had been happily together as long as I had known my grandpa. It had become obvious that he wasn't going to last long after her passing as his age started to show and his behavior changed drastically but when the illness came it struck fast. My grandpa was drafted into Vietnam and had battled cancer before but this time he didn't have Joy in his corner and the battle was one sided. In the span of 3 weeks we watched him go from making plans to go to a car show with my dad and I over father's day to being hospitalized, told he was too weak for treatments, being placed in hospice, not waking up, and eventually passing with my dad next to him on father's day. I did my best to be there for my dad and didn't have time to let this affect me so I bottled it and let it out later on my own time. My last conversation with him was a harsh one as he asked me to sell my truck so that I can put it towards buying a house a logical plan as my other truck runs better and is my daily driver however as he painted the truck he asked me to sell it feels like my last momento from him. He died from a combination of cancer and kidney disease at 71.

So all of these loses have affected me in one way or another but the pain doesn't stop it just seems to dull a little each time. I'll continue to pay respect to their memory and part of that is looking after my own well being so I have started making changes to improve my own health emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I've begun going to the gym and cutting alot of fast food and fried food out of my diet. I've been working on letting myself be emotional and identify why I am rather than repressing it and telling myself it's stupid or doesn't matter. I feel like this has pushed me to be better thought this pain. I'm trying to let this drive me.

[acelucky]

I left work early today, I got half way through the day, I’d already cried in the toilets twice and just... I couldn’t do it. I went into the toilet again and watched the end of the short film ‘Grandpa’ based on Raymond Briggs’ book, I know I’ve spoken about this movie movie and how I often dream about the ending... I then watched the ending of the Snowman. I was uglyyyyy sobbing, so my lovely managers drove me home and made sure I was okay.

I figure one of the best things I can do is write out about how I’m feeling about my grandfather, my mother, their deaths. It’s gonna be long, I’m gonna cry writing it but I think it’ll be cathartic and quicker than writing in a journal. 

Also y’all today is Blue Monday so it fuckin’ figures you know? 

Here come the content/trigger warnings because there’s a fair few....Death, suicide, emotional manipulation/abusive parenting, blackmail, eating disorders, self-harm, depression and discussing PTSD. 

As those of you who saw yesterday, my grandfather passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning. In a way it was a relief, it was a long time coming and he’d been sick for some months, diagnosed with terminal cancer just over a week ago.

I’d thought about whether we should go see him again, but we’d already said our goodbyes in December and made peace the best we could. I realised if I saw him again and he was like his old self, or accidentally called me Cathy (his daughter/my mother’s name) or started talking about my mother and how she died, or got angry at us... well it wasn’t worth ruining the somewhat nice memory we had from last month. 

His death for me is closure, and whilst closure is good (I guess the real closure is at the funeral) there’s parts of this closure that I didn’t want. It was a thing I didn’t want to end because I had hope beyond hope, that somewhere in the middle of the madness that is my mother’s family, I might get answers, I might get an explanation, a sincere apology, I might receive some of the things I was promised. With his death there is a death also of that hope. I suppose in a way, whatever was said, nothing is going to bring my mother back, nothing can make up for the years we’ve had of pain and fear and confusion. Nothing will take away the fact that all three of his children and two of his grandchildren were left with many mental scars, depression, anxiety, alcoholism in some instances, self-harming in others, suicide in the case of my mother.

Now, it wouldn’t be fair to lay all the blame at the feet of my grandfather, especially so recently departed. My grandmother has something to answer for also, all the adults do, the world/society does and of course my mother/individuals themselves. I do have happy memories of my grandfather, he had this smile, he gave hugs like a teddy bear, he was one of the few people who did encourage me when I said I wanted to work in the film industry, he gave me some money when I was younger which helped, he used to teach me history, tell me stories of all the countries he’d lived in... He’d teach me about Australia and about what Dubai was like once upon a time, he’d recall takes from his youth, how his father was the manager of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. He’d tell me south African folk talks... He was wise in many ways and foolish in so many others.

He was the richest man I’ve ever known and yet with all that money, he couldn’t buy happiness. He could have made a real difference in the world, but he didn’t. He shouted at his children and grandchildren, he emotionally blackmailed us, threatened to disown us from the family if we did things he didn’t like (get tattoos, date people that weren’t of the opposite sex, he didn’t like the idea of us dating people who weren’t white...) He was sexist, racist, homophobic and it wasn’t just an elderly thing, there was hatred there...At times it softened, at times he demonstrated that he was growing, understanding even, becoming a better person, but then something would happen and it would be back to normal.

I developed an eating disorder because of him (as did my mother) and have never been confident with my body or my looks, a lot of this is down to how he used to speak to us. I used to self-harm when I was younger because it was a behaviour i’d learnt from my mother, it was behaviour that I didn’t think was even that strange, I was so used to being shouted at or told what I was doing was wrong. The pain was a short release from everything else. 

He struck fear into the hearts of all his family, to the point where every time the phone rang my mother would have a panic attack and shake and rock backwards and forwards on the floor in tears. 

My grandmother told me when they were younger, an exorcism was performed on the family. I don’t really have a lot to say about this, neither does anyone else, that’s all I know.

My mother went on a pilgrimage to Walsingham, when she returned she was never the same again, so driven was she, so committed to the idea of ending her own life. She believed she heard the word of God in the Cathedral, believed he spoke to her and told her it was her time to join him. It’s pretty fucked up, I don’t have much else to say about this.

There is a sorrow for a thing that could never be, a type of nostalgia for a life, a love, a grandfather that never existed.

I spoke to my uncle in New Zealand and he feels the same, my grandfather spent half his life retired, he could have done so much more. He promised to show me and my brother and world and didn’t. Promised to take me to LA, to send me to the New York school of Film and didn't. He could have made it up with his eldest son, but he didn’t. He could have helped my mother more, and didn’t. After my mother committed suicide, my uncles, grandmother and grandfather sat round a table for the first time in years and vowed to try, for the rest of us. my grandfather dominated the conversation, shut everyone else out and that was that.

I’m glad we went to see him in December, I decided that in the end it wasn’t worth hating him, it wasn’t worth fighting with him in his dying days. I know it must be easy to feel remorse and apologise when you’re so close to death. My grandfather was stubborn, proud and a coward. He probably feared what people would think of him when he was gone, and worried there really was a hell. He apologised in his own way, told us if we made only half the mistakes he made, we could be much better and greater humans than he ever was. He told us if we lived with more love in our hearts than hatred and shouting/anger/discipline... 

He told me he loved me, he would always love me, he HAS ALWAYS loved me. And it broke my heart, these were virtually the same words my mother spoke to 10 year old me, stood in her bedroom when she had already overdosed. The last words she ever spoke. 

He also told me how proud of me he was, it’s funny, all my mother ever wanted from him was to know her father was proud of her and that he loved her. 

The thing is, I thought about it for several years, whether or not to confront him about my mum’s suicide, about everything.. But I realised something, hatred begets hatred.... In the end, it wasn’t worth me sacrificing myself for that and letting him win. If I’d confronted him, he might have had a heart-attack and died, then I’d never of forgiven myself. He’d have written me out of the will and probably my brother (and even my cousins too) to spite us... the others don't deserve that due to my decision, it would be selfish of me. Plus, his money did little good in death... But what we inherit, it’ll be enough to make sure if I have children they have a good life, I can donate a lot to a mental health charity in my mother’s name, I can adopt a dog, I can afford the film equipment which would make up for his broken promises, I can afford to see my mother’s family in New Zealand. The word is full of so much pain and suffering, and in the end I couldn’t bear to inflict anymore on my grandfather in spite of everything he’s done. I chose to live with love in my heart and forgiveness, to be the bigger person and say - No more, this ends here.

My heart breaks because there is no resolution now, it is done. There are people who won’t understand, they’ll say grandparents die, that’s just life. I know how lucky I am, to be 30 and have 3 (now 2) grandparents left. But what people don’t realise is when half your family live in New Zealand, your uncle, due to alcoholism and depression when younger (now ill health) loves you but cannot be there for you, when your mother committed suicide when you were just 10, when you had to raise your brother, protect your father. When you had to be the one that was strong, to stand up to people like my grandfather and fight the good fight. When life isn’t remotely simple, those grandparents were more to me than just grandparents...

I feel tremendous guilt about everything, even though he doesn’t deserve my guilt, he barely deserved my forgiveness... I feel bad that I didn't call my step-grandmother last week... But then I remember

* I went and saw him last month, we said our goodbyes, told him to say hi to mum if an afterlife exists, told him how much I loved him. We hugged and cried

* They had a card, plant and christmas present from me

* i sent a letter with a photo of us to him a few weeks ago which he loved and took to hospital

* Every time I called my step-grandmother I told her to pass on my love and to hug him.

It sucks that we only got the direct number to the hospice late the night he died... I feel bad I didn’t call sooner, but what I did or did not do, would not have changed a thing. Just like my mother’s suicide, or being a victim of sexual assault and rape, or being in a controlling relationship.... The death of my grandfather triggered my PTSD in the worst ways, i’ve had nightmares, keep thinking about drinking and taking a bunch of tramadol to help with the pain... I’ve had panic attacks, been hyper-ventilating. I’ve been re-living moments, hearing my mother’s voice... I’ve been shaking and scared but I’m determined not to let this moment be my undoing. I will not give him that satisfaction in death. I know it is not my fault, I don’t have to carry this guilt on my shoulders anymore. I hope that with his death I finally learn how to let it all go, at long last, this pain has cut far too deep and I cannot let it go any further....

Links to Grandpa if you need a cry - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbXF2oASor0 

[flyingmustachio]

I miss my Granny desperately tonight.

I’ve been missing her more and more as my health has turned to shit, probably because she was always the one who took care of me when I was sick as a child, which was often. I think I remember my mom taking my temperature once, but usually when I was sick she would dump me off at Granny’s for a few days since she couldn’t get work off.

It’s always interesting to me what people remember most vividly about their dead loved ones. My Pop Pop, I remember his clothes the most. He always wore khaki’s and short sleeved button downs, all from the 80′s or before, mostly wide vertical stripes. If it was hot he would wear an old wifebeater, worn thin and soft but not quite see-through. I only saw him once in a suit. He planned his wardrobe with Mr. Roger’s-like regularity. I also remember his laugh. When he would laugh too hard, somehow it would pass a point of no return, and tumble into a waterfall of high pitched laughter, and eventually a distinctive, voiceless, uncontrolled wheeze, tears rolling down his cheeks. I inherited this laugh and it’s something I treasure about myself. I remember how he used to watch political shows on a little 13 inch black and white TV set. He would set it up in the breakfast nook so that Granny and I could watch cartoons or PBS in the living room. I remember him shouting at the TV. I wish he had lived until I was old enough to ask him about his opinions. I remember his twisted body before he died, how his hands curled up on themselves, and his head was flaky and greasy because it was so hard to bathe him, even in the nursing home. He lost the ability to speak long before he died, so we never really knew how much his mind was affected. Most of the time it felt like he wasn’t in there, it just wasn’t him, but once in a while he would wave his crumpled hand and there would be a glint in his eye all his own, and that was worse, knowing he was trapped in there. I was terrified of him at the end. I hated visiting. I still feel bad for not going to see him much.

My father, I remember his hair, the most. Exactly the same color as mine, waving effortlessly into a perfect, naturally styled mullet. His mustache was wide and matched his hair exactly. His face waves in and out. Sometimes I think I can remember it, then I realize I’m just remembering pictures of him. I remember him playing guitar in the living room. Plucking out the baseline to “Smoke on the Water” over and over. I remember gleefully breaking in to the house after he kicked out his girlfriend who abused and neglected me, and she stole the key. I remember yelling, always yelling when my parents were together, but I don’t remember how his voice sounded. Everything else I have of him is completely untrustworthy. My mother presents one version of him, his sister another. I trust neither of them to be objective. It’s difficult to know what I really remember and what I’ve constructed from photos and people’s stories. He feels more like a mythical creature to me than anyone who was ever a part of my life. I have snippets of fractured memories of things I’m not sure I want to recover. I don’t like thinking of my father anymore.

My Granny, I remember her hands. She had gnarled, twisted, sun spotted, arthritic hands with large middle knuckles from arthritis. She had scars covering them from getting benign cancer spots burned off. Her pinkies curved inward, one more than the other because she had run it through a plate glass window by accident as a child. That one was always a bit stiffer. The way her pinkies curved always looked so effortless when she knitted. Almost elegant, though she was one of the least elegant people I’ve ever known. Her hands were always eager to hold my own, even when I got “too old” for that sort of thing. When I would stay overnight, she would sleep upstairs in my uncles’ old bedroom with me. We shoved their beds together so that we could hold hands as we fell asleep, because I was always so afraid. I could wake her up anytime in the night without being afraid she was going to be angry. She always, always comforted me. She always made me feel wanted and welcome and loved, when I didn’t feel that anywhere else. She was always so happy to see me, and she included me in everything she did. I was never a burden. We gardened and pressed flowers and painted and tended kittens in the summer. In the spring we would make pie, and in the fall we would can the vegetables we grew and collect leaves and iron them between waxed paper to make suncatchers. In the winter we watched a lot of TV and read a lot of books and she would teach me to sew. We would make an intricate Christmas village on the pool table, with tin foil ponds and construction paper roads.

She is still so vivid to me. I dream of her hands. I once dreamed that I found her alive in some nursing home, and she was thin and starved and skeletal. I picked her up in her bedsheet and tied her across my back so that I could carry her. She was so light - not at all like she was when she was living, with her massive breasts and her soft stomach for enveloping you in hugs. We had to get out and to find.... someplace. Someplace I could get her help. But it was going to be a long journey.

For several years while she was declining and after she died, every single dream I had took place at her house. She infused the house so thoroughly with her presence that her land is a sacred place for me. It is the only place I’ve ever felt safe and at home. Even when I drive down to see my aunt in the same town, I feel an almost magnetic pull to go instead to those five acres. I knew where every flower patch was, what would blossom from each bush. I knew every tree in the yard by name and spoke to them all. I’ve driven past it several times now that it’s been sold, and each time I recognize the terrain more and more as we get closer, and it feels like gears fitting back together one by one in my heart until everything is running properly again. It’s still searingly painful to have to just pull up to the old neighbor’s abandoned house and look for a moment instead of running out and rolling in the grass and clinging to the tree in the corner by the road again. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever felt to the concept of “Vaterland.” I think I would be able to tell if I were on her farm even if I went blind. I’m not much one for nationalism or anything like that, but I belong to Her Land, and it belongs to me, just like I belong to Granny in a way unlike I’ve ever belonged to anyone, and she belongs to me.

[burlybard]

The Living and the Dead and Undertale

I wrote this in October 2015. Four months later, my grandmother died. Six months later, my mom died. Grappling with so much tragedy has absolutely altered how I look at pop culture now, especially our culture’s relationship with death and mourning. But looking back at this piece, I don’t think I’d change a word. Only one thing has really changed: I believe, more than ever, that Undertale is perhaps the wisest and most emotionally honest game ever made about the subject of death, which is something most games are inundated with but never have the courage to address. It’s about sadness, mourning, remembrance, and love. It’s about the things we are so often afraid to confront when we experience tragedy. It is almost certainly my favorite game ever made.

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As a child, I didn’t comprehend death until a whole bunch of it hit my family all at once. When I was five years old, over a six month span aunt died at 23 of bone cancer, my grandfather died at 62 of pancreatic cancer, and my uncle died at 30 after he was struck in his car by a drunk driver. I learned then, before I knew much else about anything, that death was permanent, that death disabled entire families (some temporarily, some permanently), that death presented a wall of grief that simply has to be endured until every individual affected has the strength to move on, on their own terms.

As I grew older, the stories I consumed pretty much ignored all that.

In stories, death is typically a device. It is an obstacle for a hero to avoid. It is a convenient way of setting stakes. It is a means of taking large numbers of enemies out of the equation and assuring that they will not bother you again. It is a way of showing how much a character has changed, for the good (in how and why they face death) or for the bad (usually in inflicting it). This is not inherently a bad thing. Storytelling relies on tension. To create tension, characters need to have something to worry about. Death is hard to beat in that regard. Of the greatest TV dramas of all-time, how many didn’t rely on the possibility of death to provide impetus for the plot? Breaking Bad, The Wire, The Sopranos, Deadwood- all had death and killing around every corner. The same for Lost, The-X-Files, 24, and Game of Thrones.

Or what about films? Of the AFI’s top 50 films, by my count 35 feature death as a major plot point. Citizen Kane opens with the protagonist’s final breath. The Godfather is about a man’s descent into cold-blooded killing. Shane is about a man’s inability to escape a life of killing. Some Like it Hot is about two men who witness a murder and go on the run. Death moves stories forward. It’s natural to use to it to that effect. But sometimes, I wish more stories reflected on the aftermath. Sometimes, I wish more stories were about what happens when it feels like everything is crashing down at once, because someone you know and love has died. The way death affects the living is different for everyone. Stories are rarely about this.

That video games feature killing and death goes without saying. Ludonarrative dissonance permanently entered the gaming thinkpiece lexicon a few years ago as it became harder and harder to sympathize with a protagonist who commits mass slaughter simply to move the plot forward. I remember checking the stats while playing Uncharted 2 and seeing that I had amassed more than 900 kills and wasn’t close to finishing the game. The sheer absurdity of the number made it impossible not to imagine Nathan Drake- the game’s jovial and good-hearted protagonist- as a harbinger of death, wiping out entire bloodlines. It’s easier to make no attempt to reconcile the dissonance. It’s easier to accept it and get back to having fun.

My favorite work of literature about death is James Joyce’s short story The Dead. It’s title is up front about its theme, no? And yet the story itself meanders through a day in a man’s life, not broaching its titular subject until the very end. You’ve probably read it. If you haven’t, please do so now. It won’t take that long. The plot isn’t really about death. It’s about a man named Gabriel who builds his ego up a bit too much over a speech at a Christmas party. He hears someone singing “The Lass of Aughrim” in another room. He gives the speech. He is proud of himself. He is flushed with affection for his wife, Gretta. On the way to their hotel for the night, he asks her how she feels. Gretta reflects sadly on a boy she’d loved when she was young. He sang “The Lass of Aughrim” to her. Got caught in the rain. Died. Snow falls. Gabriel reflects on how this young man whose life was so short, who accomplished so little during it, could still so deeply affect his wife. They are all still bound together. The dead never really abandon the living. Humanity is in a perpetual state of overlap, those who knew the dead keep living, passing on their memories to others who never knew them. Joyce writes: His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

We never leave Gabriel’s point of view. Somehow, by the story’s end, we know Michael Furey. Time stopped for Gretta when he died. Sometimes, it still does.

Undertale. What does that title evoke? Graves, perhaps. A vague sense of the unknown. It takes place in a world of monsters. You are thrown into this world with no preparation. Early on, one monster asks you very kindly, to please have mercy when you get into a fight. This is easier said than done. You play the game as you are accustomed to doing with these games. Fight monsters, defeat them, level up. Progress through the story. But this game gives you options. You don’t have to fight. And if you do, you don’t have to fight to the death. Granted, it can be hard. But you don’t have to. You are reminded of this regularly. A character you kill might be referenced by someone else later on in the game. Characters you speak to might mention a frightening entity who has come down from above, killing innocents. But this isn’t new. You move on. You reach the end, beat the game. There’s much, much more to it than that, but I’m trying leave this experience as fresh as possible. The first playthrough of Undertale took me about six hours, and I enjoyed every minute.

After winning, the game does something that was surprising when it happened and, in hindsight, is sort of remarkable.

It asks you to play again. With absolutely no killing.

Is this a gimmick? It might look to be. It’s not. It’s where Undertale becomes something truly remarkable.

One of my favorite films about death is The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. Have you seen it? There’s a good chance you haven’t. It was directed by and stars Tommy Lee Jones, and written by Guillermo Arriaga. It generated some buzz at the 2005 Cannes Film Festival, where Jones won best actor and Arriaga won best screenplay. It came and went in February 2006, earned mostly strong reviews, grossed less than $10 million. I believe it’s one of the best films ever made about the living and the dead.

Melquiades Estrada (Julio Cellido) is a rancher in southern Texas. Pete Perkins (Jones) is his work partner and closest friend. Estrada (this isn’t a spoiler, look at the title) is killed senselessly by a border patrol agent (Barry Pepper) who, as men in positions of power and holding weapons that kill often do, fires without regard. The agent attempts to cover up the killing. Pete digs deep, finds out what happened, and exacts justice. A normal telling of this story would involve revenge. Eye for an eye. A killing for a killing. Death as a device. Jones and Arriaga have a better story to tell than that. Pete wants the agent to see what he has done. To honor the life he stole. Pete kidnaps the agent and takes him on a journey to Melquiades’s home town in Mexico. To say any more would be to spoil the quiet richness of this film. In refusing the easier path, it finds truth and beauty. Revenge makes for shallow stories. Pete’s method of justice accomplishes something deeper. He makes sure his friend is not forgotten. He ensures that Melquiades will survive for unforgiving march of time.

On my second playthrough of Undertale, I noticed a detail in one of the first locations. A diary. Its contents were amusing at first. Knowing their full context is impossible without beating the game once. Seeing it again, I felt my spirits lift with a sort of happy recognition, its meaning coming full circle., before falling back down with sadness, knowing its full context.

I found myself being more careful. Not just refusing to fight. Getting to know characters I hadn’t talked to before. Talking my way out of conflicts that I thought could only be resolved through violence. I found myself unlocking new relationships, new stories, and even new places in the game. I was more than happy with the novelty of this experience, of how different the game was with this approach. Then I neared the end.

A character who’d been my adversary in both playthroughs found themselves changed by my actions. They wanted to change. But time was running out for them. I hadn’t fought them. As in life, death comes to all, one way or another. I was given the chance to reach out to them, to forgive them for our differences. They reached out physically and embraced me. I don’t want to let go, they said.

They were the first character to die in this playthrough. I was moved to tears. Screw that. I was sobbing. Games are so often rife with death. Undertale, more than any I’ve ever played, is about the dead, as well as the living. It’s a game where the dead are meant to be remembered. And for the living in their wake, time stops.

[chatting-leaves]

Somebody From The Internet (6/?) - “Serious Business”

Content Warning: This story involves some adult situations, albeit presented in an SFW context.

A noted Boston-area hospital - February 2018

"You really should reach out to her," my therapist suggested to me. "It seems like you have a lot of overall trust issues stemming from Courtney that you need to resolve to move forward. Do you have a means to contact her?" 

"I have her old phone number saved away somewhere, and I could go and see if she's on Facebook, I know she has been on and off there several times," I responded with an anxious tone to my voice. The treatment methods of my therapist, a recent psychology grad stationed at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world, could be seen as a bit off-the-wall, but it can be argued that said hospital did not get the groundbreaking reputation that it has earned through nearly two decades by being conventional. I had some vague idea of what had become of Courtney, the first serious relationship I had a little over a decade earlier; last I had read, she had become an ER nurse somewhere in the suburbs of Detroit, a long distance from where we had met back when we both lived in Albany. However, with a parade of difficulties in my own life I needed to go back and make peace with some actions we had done to each other so many years earlier.

Albany, New York - October 2006

I originally had met Courtney while trolling Facebook, looking for people who lived geographically near me who seemed interesting enough. Two months younger than I and a graduate student wrapping up her studies to be a cancer screener, her profile picture showed a young woman with shoulder length strawberry blonde hair, glasses, freckles in some blessed places, and a wide open yet slightly forced smile. Her looks were a mere cherry on top of the real reason why I wanted to meet: she lived literally a block and a half from me. As my friends were clustered further uptown and even in the suburbs closest to Albany, it would be nice to have a friend within walking distance and my original aim with this was just that. So certain that we would be "just friends" that our first meeting was in her apartment, a third story walkup near a key intersection. We talked about the typical first date material without any expectation that this would end up anywhere near a relationship, in fact her profile said that she was "in a relationship" though she assured it was tenuous at best. While her DVD of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" played on her small television in the background, she made a risky admission.

"I don't think my relationship with my boyfriend is going to be lasting much longer, and to be honest I'd rather leave him and at least try to be with you," Courtney admitted. "You seem much nicer than he is and I don't have to drive an hour to do anything with me." Courtney went on to detail things regarding her current boyfriend, a friend she had met in high school who had his life unravel after being arrested for drunk driving. Given my hapless track record with women, the idea that for once I was going to be the man someone else got dumped for made me feel lucky. Our friendly evening then drifted into hugging and cuddling, a form of affection showing that was physical if not deeply romantic. After five hours, we went our separate ways for the evening with plans to meet up a few days later, during which time she said she would give the boyfriend she loathed the news that their relationship was no more. I was elated, yet somewhat cautious of what was to come. I knew that before I could enter a relationship with her, I had to get the approval of my friends which came about a week and a half later at the 21st birthday party of a friend who Courtney immediately bonded with given their similar personalities and interests in the health field. My friends overwhelmingly approved and welcomed Courtney into our ever growing circle, yet logistics of actually starting a relationship had gotten in the way thanks to a series of pre-existing commitments. That weekend, while out of town for the wedding of a cousin whose branch of the family I had not seen for quite some time, I awoke to a text message the morning of the wedding that was sent at 3:00 AM.

"I'm drunk and I miss you."

Our friendship had reached the point of drunk texts and had I been back home I would have been over to her place by 3:05 at the latest. Alas, I was in a hotel room in New Jersey, the wedding was the next day, and I regretted not knowing her sooner because she would have easily been my date to this wedding. As I would not return to Albany until Monday and she had a class on Monday nights, Tuesday night would be the next chance for us to act on these feelings. While at the wedding, one of the few people there without a companion of some sort, I felt an emptiness that I knew how to fill, I just couldn't fill it at the current time.

Tuesday night came and as soon as she met me at the door, we instantly kissed for a good minute and it felt good. While cooking dinner for her that night, I popped a question to her. "If you missed me so much, why shouldn't we be boyfriend and girlfriend?" Courtney didn't know. "Well, why don't we then?", I continued.

"Sure," she responded, not fully sharing the enthusiasm that I had in this case but more than willing to give this a try. Regardless of how she felt, our relationship went full steam ahead, my spending many nights at her apartment, often up into the wee hours of the night mocking assorted weird television and just talking about our lives. That weekend, Courtney revealed another thing that was on her heart.

"I wish you could come home for Thanksgiving with me." I had already committed to making plans to visit a good friend and his family for the holiday, my regular destination of Mom's house not an option given she had recently undergone a gastric bypass and was on a liquid diet. Courtney then went on about how Thanksgiving at her home was going to be quiet this year, her younger brother had enlisted in the military and the family was still hurting from the suicide of her father three years earlier. Tears of rage stemmed from Courtney's face as she detailed the events that led to her father taking matters in his own hands, that the fallout from being pushed out of a state job he had for twenty-five years just short of retirement was too much to bear. Thanksgiving this year would be just her and her mom, a semi-retired teacher, a loneliness she didn't want to deal with. I could not relate to the suicide but I could relate to feeling alone during holidays where the opposite is supposed to be true. While I was away for Thanksgiving, we talked multiple times a day just to see how the other was holding up.

As 2006 came to a close, we had started to delve into making longer-term plans as a couple. As I was going back to finish my bachelor's, a long story in itself, and she had finished her masters and was going into her first "real" job, we spoke of the things we wanted to do and the places we wanted to go when the weather got warmer. Montreal, Boston, Philadelphia, all the overnight travel I didn't want to do alone was now within reach with Courtney to share it with. There was one bigger piece of fish to fry: I was invited to a late Christmas gathering with my Mom's side of the family and I wanted her to pass the test of meeting Mom and some of my family. Courtney and I piled into her mess of an early 90s Plymouth to make the hour drive to visit Mom at her cottage on an apple orchard on the eastern foothills of the Catskills, spending the night in separate quarters before making the trip down to Long Island. The trip itself was eventful, Mom decided to take her old minivan which died en route, but an assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins loved Courtney and saw us as a cute couple. Given Mom's lack of luck with men, it was good to see that this apple fell very far from the tree. While things on the surface seemed fine, meeting my family set something off in Courtney that would lead to the demise of our relationship.

The Monday after our trip to meet my family, I was going to meet with Courtney that night to see how her first day of work at her new job (a branch of a known testing lab) had gone. Once I arrived, she confronted me with a bit of shocking news.

"You know, if we're going to meet each other's families and such, we really should have sex."

I had told Courtney that I wanted to wait until a time I was ready before going down that path because I wanted to make sure our relationship was solid. While a Christian at the time, I was not opposed to the idea of premarital sex but I wanted it on my terms and on my time, not hers. Needless to say, anything and everything short of it were things we had previously had done and I had looked to losing my virginity for some time, just not like this. I asked her if we could wait a little more, perhaps after a trip to North Carolina I was taking with friends that was starting that weekend before the spring semester kicked off.

"If you really do love me, you'll have sex with me right now," Courtney flat out guilt tripped me. I didn't want to lose our relationship so I gave in, my first full-on sexual experience lacking the passion and unbridled glee that happened every time we fooled around. Truth be told, we had given each other wedgies with more passion than this sad act of fornication. Afterwards, we ended playing the original Super Mario Bros on her 1980s vintage Nintendo, the best way to try to bleed out coerced intercourse. After this, I felt something wasn't quite complete with me, as if this earth shattering experience turned out to be a massive void. When Courtney and I had met up with some of my friends for coffee later that week, they could tell that there was a feeling of cloaked frustration between us two yet I couldn't flat out confess that we had done something for fear that my more Biblicaly-minded friends would judge me.

My trip to North Carolina, with a one-day detour in DC en route which eventually would change the course of my life, was what I needed after all of this. I met people who I am still friends with to this day and have made memories that will last with me until the day I die. On the last night of our trip, one of my new friends - Wally, a lead campus minister for a student group at UNC Charlotte - asked me some questions about my relationship with Courtney, some biblical but mostly general relationship questions. Afraid to entertain judgment regarding having had sex, if you could call it that, with her, I tested his limits with the questioning, even bringing in my campus minister who was present to try to take my side.

"Remember when Jay knocked up Maddie the first time either of them had sex?," I said with a sarcastic lilt. Our student leader Vice President and Secretary two years earlier, Jay and Maddie were head over heels in love and "randomly" lost their mutual virginity while stuck inside during a blizzard. Our group survived that and at this point they were still members, albeit with Jay a senior and Maddie a stay-at-home mom to their one year old daughter.

"Yes. And it wasn't a clean situation to be in. I'm not going to violate their privacy, but I know that everything wasn't as you and anyone else saw it as," my campus minister said. 

"If Courtney really loves you and wants to be with you, she'll wait for you. Ideally until marriage," Wally said. Wally had been blessed in a way, he married his college sweetheart two weeks after she finished her studies at a Christian university in Indiana, that he was off the market at the mere age of 22. At a seemingly ancient 24, I didn't know how long I could meet.

The next day was spent solely on the road, 13 hours from Charlotte to Albany less a few stops to eat and use the restroom, Somewhere in rural Virginia along Interstate 81, I brought up the idea of waiting for any further sex with Courtney via text message. Naturally, she seemed resistant.

"Well, if you really do love me, you'll wait, right?" I responded somewhere in the fifty mile mess where the states come fast on that highway - Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, absolutely using the words Courtney used on me a week earlier against her.

"When I'm in a relationship, I have an expectation of sex," Courtney replied, somewhere near Harrisburg.

"And fooling around and doing everything but that isn't enough. What about a relationship of true intimacy that is built to last?," I responded.

"Either we're going to have sex or our time as boyfriend and girlfriend is over," Courtney fired an ultimatum somewhere near Allentown. I didn't know what I wanted at that point, frankly what we had pre-sex was ideal for me, that wasn't good enough for her. The romantic aspect of our friendship was seemingly dead at this point. Once we got out of the car to get dinner and fuel up somewhere in northwest New Jersey, I was livid at everyone involved. Standing firm on my morals cost me the most viable relationship I ever had and I was not happy at all, as if the advice of those I trusted blew up in my face and cost me what I had yearned for for so long. Years later, I came clean to several friends about what really happened and the consensus was that through my denials that they knew something had gone on. So much for putting up a poker face.

Needless to say, Courtney and still stayed friends in the resulting months. We stuck to our plans for a Valentine's Day date as being together would be preferable to being apart and while our romantic chemistry had fizzled, we worked great as friends without the cloud of romantic tension. That March, she had been sent to a conference in San Antonio by her employer and after two days stopped responding to anything. I began to get worried, if she was in harm's way I would be heartbroken given that even our friendship was something I had wanted for some time. A week later, she broke her silence: She had gotten very drunk and ended up having a mental breakdown in the aftermath, the week she was not responding was spent under observation in the mental ward of a large hospital. I didn't seem to make much of it, everyone has had mental health issues at some point in their lives and the best thing she could use after returning home was a solid friend who wouldn't abandon her.

As Spring sprung, our friendship resumed as it ever was. While the idea of a romantic trip to Montreal or Boston was off the table, we still spent time together on a regular basis, often going out to eat at least once a week. In an attempt to get me to finally get my driver's license, she took me out driving and had promised her beaten up Plymouth as a set of starter's wheels to me when she was to get a new car later that year. While I was always a welcome presence around her friends and she was even more welcome around mine, my friends started to have some concerns about how long this could be kept up.

"You know that if she ends up finding a guy that you're going to end up on the back burner," my friends warned me in consensus. I already was trying to deal with losing a few good friends to graduation and to get my own, more adult, life set up and the looming truth of having my friendship with Courtney get curtailed wasn't something I wanted to confront. As time passed, she moved to another part of town, within walking distance, and I helped her shop for housewares and furniture. If it wasn't for our bedroom conflict, her new apartment very well may have been mutual, my own being basically a room with a miniature kitchen and bathroom. That July, everything came to a screeching halt.

"I've been seeing a guy and I think you two should meet," Courtney said. "Why not meet us for dinner one Friday night," she suggested a hole-in-the-wall pub right down the street from her new apartment. I arrived to find her and her new boyfriend, Greg, one of many cogs in the machine of New York State. Keeping conversation to basic small talk and trying not to make too much eye contact, I made it through meeting him. I had hoped that Greg wouldn't have much of a presence in my life. I guessed quite wrongly.

The next week, Courtney invited me to a play at the Park Playhouse, a theater inside Albany's sprawling Washington Park. I accepted, having not much else to do and wanting to have some time with her as a friend. Unknowingly, she had invited Greg to come with and while I was engrossed by the play I found that I was being wedged in as a third wheel of sorts and got the feeling that she wanted Greg and I to be friends even though her romantic past with the two of us created conflict. Greg saw me as the friendly ex she could easily take advantage of, I was jealous of Greg because if not for my own hangups it would be me in that position and I knew damn well that I'd never put my rebound girlfriend in such a position unless it was a fair double date. While all of this went on, Courtney was fired from her job at the lab because of performance issues that escalated after her breakdown in San Antonio; this job loss only made her lean on Greg further. Needless to say, I still considered her a good friend and lent any moral support I could give, however she soon would reach the point where my limits of friendship would be tested.

My birthday is in mid-August, a time of year when the looming presence of autumn makes itself known with earlier sunsets, the occasional chillier night, and ads for back-to-school sales plastered over the airwaves. For my 25th birthday, the weather in Albany leapt straight to October, barely hitting 60 degrees and having me make the rare-for-August wardrobe choice of corduroy pants to work and my resulting birthday dinner. I had called a restaurant I liked, a small neighborhood joint in a lull before colleges resumed, to save a table for myself and about ten of my friends, one of which being Courtney who swore that she'd go solo as Greg had to "work late" that evening. Imagine my shock when she walked in with Greg by her side, my failures as a boyfriend on full display. My birthday was already gloomy thanks to the weather and a professional reduction of duties that was a prelude to my own looming job loss, the last thing I needed was to have the girl I once dated to bring her new boyfriend to my birthday dinner. While I acted diplomatically, I felt a lot of internal anguish. After all this, I vented to a friend about the awkward state of affairs.

"Courtney has always been a bit...condescending when we've been around her. I don't think she really liked you the way you liked her, that she was with you as a matter of convenience than for an actual relationship," my friend brutally told me. "That she dared bring her boyfriend to your birthday dinner showed that she clearly didn't give a crap about your feelings." I knew that I wouldn't dream of doing the same if I was the one with a girlfriend and she was single and as such I asked her to not have him around me as what she did made me feel very uncomfortable. Surprisingly, she honored my request. We still met up for lunch here and there, but things faded away once she moved into Greg's apartment when she was no longer able to maintain her own rent. Eventually, she took a job at a fur store in a suburban strip mall, often inviting me to stop by to keep her company during her slower shifts. The last time we saw each other was at this shop, a dark and gloomy afternoon that winter, at a time when I myself was trying to get hired at said fur shop to help her out so she could return the favor. I never got the chance to do so, deciding to decamp for the greener pastures of the Maryland suburbs of Washington, DC, a goal I had set on the side trip I took en route to Charlotte a year earlier.

After I left Albany, Courtney and I kept in touch from time to time as she returned to college to stake a new career path in the field of nursing. Several months after I moved, one day she reached out to me that a mailer from a church I briefly attended was "a sign" that perhaps she should go herself and we used it as a chance to catch up. Eventually, we drifted away on our own paths minus a conversation a couple of years later where we both shared stories of our individual premarital anxiety, her wedding with Greg happening two months prior to my own wedding. Since we were both off the market, obviously with people we were both happy with, I felt that I could close the book on any sort of friendship with Courtney. However, she still had left quite the mark on my life, I just didn't want to admit it until it was dragged out that I needed to resolve it to move forward.

The evening after my therapist challenged me to reach out to Courtney, I shot a message off to her via Facebook Messenger saying that I felt bad for how our relationship ended and how I was standoffish regarding how she tried to make Greg and I be friends. I had figured that things in her marriage had gone south as she had reverted to using her maiden name. A few minutes later, I got a quick response from her that chilled me: "What did I do?" "You coerced me into losing my virginity to you," I bluntly said.

"We had sex? I thought that we just fooled around a few times," Courtney replied. "I don't ever remember having sex with you."

I was floored at her admission. I had felt guilt for eleven years over the fact that I felt the loss of my virginity wasn't 100% consensual, that she used meeting my family as a cudgel to get laid, that our breakup was because I wanted to wait until I was ready to have relations on a regular basis. I went through all of this anguish for her to forget that we even did it!? She mercifully changed the topic though soon I would find out how she could forget.

"I'm not doing good," Courtney said. "I had another mental breakdown a little bit after I moved back home from Michigan." I remembered the incident in San Antonio so many years earlier and how that ended her days as a cytotechnologist.

"After the breakdown, I lost my nursing license, then Greg and I broke up because I wanted kids and he didn't want them and wouldn't budge. Then my brother committed suicide," Courtney continued. My heart broke on the last statement, remembering how her father's life ended under similar circumstances. "I can't work, I'm hoping to get on disability, and I've earned and wasted two degrees now. I'm 35, my mom pays my rent, and if it wasn't for me being all she has left I would probably kill myself too."

I apologized for her abysmal string of luck, yet deep down inside felt that I had dodged a massive bullet. I don't know how I would have dealt with this as a husband, especially given the shaky reasons I would have had to marry her. While she probably would have fulfilled her goal of having kids, there are tons of opportunities that got to pursue thanks to our relationship going south. In an odd and somewhat gallows way, Courtney ditching me was just what I needed to grow as a person. We spoke for a time until she deleted her presence on social media at which point I realized that I could finally move on from any regrets that I had.

Sometimes we need certain people in our lives to help us grow as a person. As much as things between Courtney and I were unstable, I needed her to get over the idealization of relationships I had. While she has had awful life luck and I feel for her as such, at least I've been somewhat successful in my life, maintaining a successful marriage and bouncing back from personal and professional instability. I hope she reaches the same sort of peace sooner than later.

[ricandhaiz]

Blindsided, Chapter 6

A week later, Allie and Nic arrived with Aunt Lara at the Welch residence at noon with Charlie’s cremated remains. Uncle Mike had dug a hole next to the shade tree in his backyard the night before while Aunt Lara had set up a table in the backyard with flowers and framed pictures of Charlie on it. They were greeted by a small group of friends, family members and a few dog owners whose pets had often played with Charlie in the park.

After placing Charlie’s urn on top of the table in the backyard next to Charlie’s photographs, Allie joined in on the potluck set out on the dining room table. Nic and Aunt Lara sat on either side of her while her cousins and Tara Olsen, the woman who had raised and trained Charlie to be a guide dog, sat across from her. For an hour or so, they fondly exchanged stories about Charlie as they ate their meal and expressed their condolences to Allie over his passing.

Once everyone had finished eating, they all gathered around Allie as she stood with the urn in her hands in front of the shade tree. The mood was solemn as Nic and the others watched her place it in the hole in the ground. He looked up at the darkening sky and prayed that it wouldn’t rain.

Allie, who seemed oblivious to the weather and everything else that was going on around her, bowed her head as she sat on the ground with her hands on the lid of the urn and prayed. When she was ready, she stood up and turned around to face everyone. “Thank you all so much for coming,” she said, fighting back tears. “As you can all probably imagine, it’s been a very difficult week for me. Charlie just wasn’t a pet. He was my right-hand man. He was also my protector and best friend. I’m going to miss him.”

With that said, Nic took her hand in his and held it tight as she came and stood by his side. Uncle Mike came forward, shovel in hand, and began to fill the hole with dirt while everyone in attendance paid their final respects before departing.  

Nic and Allie went over to the porch swing directly facing the shade tree and sat in companionable silence for some time afterward as they slowly rocked back and forth.  He had his arm around her while she leaned her head against his shoulder. Finally, Allie said, “Do you believe that pets go to heaven too?”

Nic smiled. “If there was ever a dog that deserved to, I bet Charlie would be at the top of the list.”

“I can totally see my parents spoiling him right now,” Allie replied. “My dad’s sister, Aunt Susie, told me how good he was with dogs while they were growing up. I just wish I’d had more time with him, you know.”

“Do you remember much about him?”

Allie shook her head. “I was only five when he died on 9/11.” She bit her lip, then added, “The only clear memory I have of him is running into his arms after opening all my Christmas presents. Right after he died, Aunt Lara said that she often found me crying while looking through family photo albums with him in it.”

He pictured her as a little girl and wished that he could go back in time to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. “Tell me about your mother. What was she like?”

“I was only eight when my mom died of lung cancer so even my memories of her have gotten a little fuzzy,” Allie replied with notable regret. “I remember watching her through the screen door while she smoked. She always seemed kind of sad. I don’t think she ever really got over losing my dad.”

Nic replied, “I was thirteen when my madre died of breast cancer. She was diagnosed when I was twelve. She underwent a mastectomy and did a round of chemotherapy. Afterward, the doctors told her that she was cancer free. But then, when she went in for a checkup a year later, they discovered that it had spread to her other organs. She died less than six months later.”

It felt good to tell her this. Outside of his padre and abuelos, he’d largely kept these painful memories of his madre to himself. But with her, it was different. He felt like he could talk to her about anything without judgment. He was also firm in his belief that she would keep his secrets in the strictest of confidence and would never use them against him.

“I don’t think you ever really get over losing a parent,” Allie said. “I used to get so jealous of all the other kids at school when I would see them getting picked up by their mom or dad after school. Don’t get me wrong, my aunt and uncle have been awesome and did everything they could to make sure I felt safe and loved, but...”

“You don’t have to explain. I had similar feelings when it came to my madrasta. I think that the English word for it is stepmother. Monica was gracious and kind from the first moment my padre introduced her to me. Even so, part of me resented her presence in our lives and worried that she might diminish the place my madre held in my padre’s heart.”

“Did that happen?”

“No,” Nic replied. “She has treated my madre’s place in our lives with the utmost respect and consideration. My padre was devastated after she died. Monica gave him a reason to smile and showed him that it was possible to love again.”

Allie was quiet for a moment, then said, “I miss Charlie.”

Nic kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. “You’re going to be okay. Just give it time. We’ve both been through this kind of loss before. Maybe when you get your new guide dog—”

“That’s the thing,” Allie cut in. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”

That was news to Nic. Although Allie had shown him in the last few days that she was perfectly capable of getting around campus on her own, he’d assumed that she’d get another dog once she’d finished grieving over Charlie. He asked, “Why not?”

“I’ve been thinking more and more about that retinal implant surgery my ophthalmologist, Dr. Severin, told me about. He’s said that I’d be an ideal candidate for the procedure. To be eligible, you need to be over the age of 21, have little or no light perception in both eyes and have had previous sight.” She then paused and shook her head, adding, “I just wish that I could afford to do it.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

Allie sighed and said, “$150,000.00. Even if I start working full-time right after I graduate, most of my take home pay is going to go toward food, rent and repaying my student loans. Social workers don’t exactly get paid the big bucks. It might take me decades before I’d be able to save up the money for it.”

“How much of your sight would this procedure restore?”

She furrowed her brow in thought, then said, “I don’t think I’d be able to see as well as you can. The know-how’s just not there yet, but Dr. Severin did say that the technology involved in the most recently FDA-approved retinal implant procedure would likely give me the ability to see full images and read print,” Allie replied, the excitement in her voice palpable. “I’d be able to see you and get around without having to use a cane or a guide dog. Imagine that.”

Although the idea of her seeing his mangled face filled him with anxiety and dread, he kept those thoughts to himself. Instead, he asked her, “How long would the surgery take?”

“About four hours, I think. And then, a couple of weeks later, I’d be outfitted with a pair of high-tech glasses that would work together with the implant to give me my eyesight back.”

A brief lull in the conversation ensued. During this time, Nic calculated the amount of money he had in liquid and near-liquid assets in his head and how long it would take to transfer it into his checking account. All in all, he estimated that he had about $100,000.00 that he could easily access. He asked, “Would you say to a friend if he gave you the money to pay for it?”

“No,” Allie replied flatly. “I would never ask someone I knew to shell out that kind of money for me. I just don’t think that I’d feel comfortable accepting it.”

Her reply reminded him of her reaction when he’d recently offered to pay for Charlie’s vet bills. Despite her flat-out refusal to accept any assistance in this regard, he inquired further. “But what if that person had the means and the desire to do it and made it clear to you that he or she didn’t want nor expect anything in return?”

“I’d still say no. It’s my problem, no one else’s, and I would never ask a friend to shoulder that kind of financial burden on my account.”

“So, you’re telling me that there’s no way you’d do the surgery unless you paid for it yourself?”

After a brief pause, she replied, “The only way I could see myself doing it with someone else’s money would be if it had been donated to the university’s Eye Institute for patients like me who need this type of surgery. But I’m not going to hold my breath for that to happen anytime soon.”

For a little while, they said little as they continued to swing back and forth, each lost in thought. Nic, for his part, found the part of himself that wanted to do whatever he could to help her see again to be increasingly at odds with his fear that she might be repulsed by the way he looked once her sight was restored.

Allie spoke up first.  “You’re awfully quiet. What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking about what you said…about seeing my face.”

“And?”

“Most people who have have either had a big laugh about it at my expense or recoiled in disgust.”

“I wouldn’t. You know that, right?”

“If you actually knew what I looked like, you might think differently.”

Allie frowned. “It’s what a person’s like on the inside that counts. The man that I’ve gotten to know is funny, intelligent and kind. You’re someone that I can count on and confide in. Do you have any idea how much your friendship has meant to me?”

“I’d do it again,” Nic confessed as his chest tightened with emotion. For you, anything.

“I know you would,” Allie replied. “And I’d be there for you too.”

Nic paused, then said, “I sometimes wish you could have known me before…when I was still whole.”

“Nicole told me that you looked hot in the pictures she saw of you on the internet,” Allie said with a laugh. Nic smiled. “But I doubt that that guy would have looked at me twice.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is it?” Allie bit her lip as she twirled strands of her hair around her fingers. “I bet you had girls falling all over themselves for your attention. Nicole said that your ex-girlfriend looked like a goddess. I could never have ever competed with a woman like that.”

“You’re nothing like her, and that’s a good thing. You’re beautiful inside and out, and…” Even though he longed to say, “I can’t imagine being with anyone else but you,” he instead opted to say, “I’m glad we’re friends.”

Allie looked pensive. Nic wondered what she might be thinking. Finally, she said, “Do you ever think about us being more than that?”

Although the question had been running through his mind for some time, hearing it come from her mouth still caught him by surprise. After a moment or two of agonizing indecision, he decided to be forthright and tell her the truth. “Yes, all the time.”

“And when were you planning on letting me in on your little secret?”

“I was waiting for the right time,” Nic replied. “I guess I was afraid it might scare you away if I did and you didn’t feel the same way about me.”

She teased, “We’ve only been sleeping together for the past week.”

“Allie, there’s sleeping together, and then there’s sleeping together,” he said with a smirk. “Cuddling and treating me like a human security blanket doesn’t count.”

“Ouch,” Allie exclaimed with mock offense. “I’m hurt. I never once thought of what we’ve been doing in that way. I thought you knew me better.”

Nic snorted. “You needed me. I was there for you. That’s what friends do.”

Allie furrowed her brow. “Do you think we should try?”

“I’d like to,” Nic replied slowly.

“So would I,” Allie said without hesitation and gave his hand a squeeze.

Just then, Aunt Lara popped her head through the screen door and asked, “Are you kids ready to go yet?”

Allie smile as she nudged Nic in the ribs and said, “Yeah, let’s go home.”

 Later that day, Nic approached the front door of the apartment with almost giddy anticipation. He’d gone out and picked up a pizza and bought a dozen red roses at a nearby convenience store for Allie after her aunt had dropped them off. He fumbled and dropped his keys on the ground before inserting it in the lock and opening the door. He called out to her and put the flowers and pizza on the kitchen table. When she didn’t answer, he walked over to her room and peeked inside. She wasn’t there. He pulled his cell phone out, which he had set to silent mode while at the Welch’s residence, and checked for messages. Nothing. Where did she go? he wondered as he stepped into his room. He dropped his wallet and keys on his desk and then decided to take a shower.

He undressed, leaving his clothes on the bed, and headed toward the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower. As the water cascaded down his face, he thought of her and became aroused. He immediately lowered the temperature of the water and lathered up.  After rinsing off, he happened to glance at the fogged-up mirror as he was getting out. He moved toward it and rubbed away some of the condensation with his hands. Feelings of anger and resentment quickly welled up inside him as his eyes traveled from his bald head and mangled ear to the rough and discolored skin on his right arm and chest. The flinched at the idea of Allie touching those parts of his body. He hung his head and walked away.

He had just put on a clean pair of jeans and a blood red polo shirt when he heard the front door open. He slipped a foil packet in his jeans pocket along with his cell phone and went out to the living room. He caught Allie smelling the flowers he’d bought for her. He smiled and said, “Do you like them?”

Allie nodded. “They smell heavenly.”

Nic came up behind Allie and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned against him and sighed contentedly. His body stilled as she turned to face him. She placed her hands on the sides of his face and gave him a kiss. Once their lips had parted, he asked, “Where did you go?”

“I went to the park across the street. I was feeling kind of restless after you left so I decided to go out for a bit and stretch my legs. I ran into an elderly couple whose dog sometimes played with Charlie. We had a nice chat. They told me that he’d be missed.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

“Are you having second thoughts?” she replied.

“No, no. It’s just that—”  

Allie placed a finger on his lips and said, “Don’t ruin the moment. Just go with it.”

Nic’s eyes widened in amusement. What should he do next? He wanted her…now. But a voice inside him urged restraint. Take it slow. Don’t rush.

She sniffed the air and said, “I could smell the pizza the minute I walked in. Are you hungry?”

“It’s only five o’clock, but we can eat if you want to.”

“It is kind of early. So, is there something else that you’d like to do instead?”

Nic suddenly felt tongue-tied. “Well uh…we could…umm…”

Allie giggled as she nuzzled his neck and said, “Come with me.”

Nic willingly followed, besotted as she led him to her room. When they reached her doorway, he stopped and watched with bated breath as she moved toward the bed and undressed. She was slender with long, shapely legs and creamy white skin.  His mind went blank with desire as she pulled the scrunchy from her hair and beckoned him to come closer.

Was this really happening? She slid under the covers ahead of him. He fumbled with his clothes and then threw them aside as he climbed in after her. But the moment her hand touched his bare and partially mottled chest, he recoiled as if stung by a bee.

“What’s wrong?” Allie asked, taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” Nic replied. “It’s been almost two years since I’ve been intimate with someone and…and no one besides that doctors and nurses that treated me have ever touched the parts of me that burned. My skin is discolored, uneven and rough there. I’m glad you can’t see it.”

Allie replied, “I love you, Nic. Every part of you. The good and the bad. Inside and out. You got that?”

Nic felt his heart swell with love as the import of her words sank in. She loved him, scars and all, without condition or reservation. What more could he ask for? Nothing. She was everything he could have ever wished for and wanted in a partner, and more. With trembling hands, he reached out and stroked her cheek. He told her he loved her too and pulled her close as he asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

“I guess,” Allie said, looking slightly puzzled by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s a part of me that thinks that my meeting you might not have been an accident. Maybe God felt sorry for me and thought that you were the one person that could help me move on with my life and live again.”

Allie smiled. “Have I done that?”

Nic placed the tips of his fingers on her chin as he leaned in and kissed her. “Yes, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

After weeks of indecision and uncertainty, they were now on the verge of making the leap from friends to lovers. He shifted her onto her back before rolling his body atop hers. He was determined to make love to her slowly, completely. He wanted to make sure that it would be a night that neither one of them would ever forget.

He explored her body with his lips and hands for some time before reaching for the foil packet he’d placed on the nightstand. After making his way into her, he reveled in the pleasured sounds she made as their bodies quickly found their rhythm.  For him, it was so much more than a physical act. It was a means to express the depth and breadth of his feelings for her in a way that mere words could never have adequately conveyed. Each kiss and caress came with a promise that this was only the beginning and that he would be hers, body and soul, for as long she would have him. And when she cried out again and again as her body clinched around him, he quickly added his voice to hers while reaching his own earth-shattering release.

Afterward, their bodies remained entwined long after the heat of passion had cooled down to a low simmer. Allie drifted off to sleep. Nic, however, remained wide awake as he stared at the ceiling and considered his options. He wanted her in his life for the foreseeable future. Of that much he was certain. But whether she would be willing to uproot herself for his sake and live in a country where she knew no one and didn’t speak the language was very much an open question. The more he thought about it, the more complicated and fraught with roadblocks the path to achieving his goal of having her in his life long-term became.

Another issue that occupied his mind was his desire to help her find a way to pay for the retinal implant surgery she needed in order to see again. Unfortunately, he quickly surmised that the biggest obstacle in that regard was going to be Allie herself and her insistence that she pay for the procedure herself. After mulling things over, he formulated a plan and then pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He picked his pants up off the floor and took his cell phone out of a back pocket. He tapped on the text message app, typed in his father’s telephone number and sent him a text asking him for his advice and assistance in liquidating his assets. He then slid back into bed beside Allie and wrapped his arms around her once more. She purred like a contented cat as she curled her body around him and rested her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and brushed her cheek with his finger.

I will find a way to help you see again, whether you want me to or not. You don’t have to carry this burden alone. It’s my problem too. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.