Bitter and sweet. Simple.
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Death of a slightly more serious issue |
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In a Roleplay I am apart of, one of the leaders just said he can't be on because of a death in his family. His grand father passed. Why do I care? Because it makes me think. I know what it is like to loose someone... even if they are old and ready to pass. I have lost many people close to me. This is how I feel and a warning: This may be a bit melodramatic. Forgive me.
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My first. My dad. I was ten. He was, like, 48 or somewhere around there. He always had this mole behind his right ear, but it was getting bigger. It actually rose. One night--before we knew-- he came into the room to kiss my sister and I good night. As he came up to me, and was very close to kissing me, I shuttered away. He asked me what was wrong. I told him the mole was icky and to get it checked on. A few weeks later upon our urgings, he did. Get it checked, I mean. He was told he had skin cancer. It was in a very bad stage. I did not understand it. He went to remove it and when he came home he had a bandage behind his ear. I did not know what to think. Well... I knew that when we saw blood that was not a good thing. We rushed him to the dermatologist. They said he needed an operation. He had one and we were home again. A few months passed before he had his first seizure. I felt bad for my brother. He was eighteen at the time, so he was woken up and told to call 911. When I woke up, my dad was gone. To the hospital, I mean. My sister woke me up. Told me I didn't have to go to school. She did. So we went across the street to my neighbors. They would take my sis to school and their girl--who was two years older than me--would stay to watch me. I remember that day because she got to watch TV while I was forced to take a "nap". When my dad came home again he brought shots with him. They were supposed to make him better. Not too long after, he had another seizure. Back to the hospital we go. When we visited him, I always went to the bathroom and closed the door and played. I could not bare to see him like that. It disgusted me. How could a man I have seen for my 10 years as strong come off and be so week? He was diagnosed with only six months to live and he was moved to a sick home. I didn't want to visit him. I didn't want to see him. I'm guilty because of this. Mom told me he understood. Six months passed. He died by my mother's side. He told her to get remarried. I still didn't understand anything. I didn't even cry when she told me he died. I only cried at the funeral because I looked around at my family and they were all crying and my dad's pic was beautiful. It was not until I was thirteen that I actually cried with sobs and large amounts of tears. I was told I had been in denial. Perfect.
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My second. My grandmother. She was getting older and losing her memory. My mom and I had to visit her weekly. She kept telling us and her son that she refused to be put into an old people's home. She refused to go. It was not until she fell one too many times that it was decided. Her son--my mom's step-brother-- decided to go against my grandmother's wishes. After she was put into the home, she was silent. No more witty remarks. The old feeling of helplessness came back to me. Here was another person, who had been so strong, now she was so frail, so skinny, so weak. What happened. It was easter morning when we were told she only has a while to live. We crowded around her bed, telling her things softly. When it was my turn. I told her that her animals were doing fine. She had two cats, and a dog. The next day, apparently, she died. Mom said it was because she could let go without worrying about her animals. Yes, this time, I did cry. Mom made me talk. She wouldn't let me slip into my mind's defense action. In other words, denial. She said she wanted to make sure I wouldn't have to deal with it later. I knew she was right.
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My third. My best friend. My dog. She was always a people person. Jasmine followed us into each room. And then what did she do? She lied down. She just wanted to be near us. The last few months, she was having a rough time walking and getting up. But this didn't stop her from coming to us. She still wanted to be near us. In the same room. The dog I used to rest my head on was failing in health. No. This can't be happening. These thoughts ran through my head. She can't die. She just can't. What will I do when she does die? I'll sob and cry until there is nothing left. The day came. Around my sixth period of class last october, I was called out. I was wondering why. What happened. My best friend told me to call her to tell her what happened. How did she know? I walked into the office and I saw my mom and my sister. my sister. my mom. My sister moved out full of anger. At my mom. WHat was she doing with her. Then I saw Carrie's eyes. She had been crying. I knew. I was silent as they took me to the car. Then they told me we had to put Jas down. The tears fell silently. I put my sunglasses on. When we got to the pet hospital, we were brought to a room. Jas wasn't there yet. We had to sit in agony. Long, depressed agony. Each of us cried. Jas meant different things to us. To my mom, Jas was like her child of a different species. To my sister, she meant a friend. To me... she was my sister and playmate. Jas was finally brought in. Again the feeling came over me. She was lying so still on the cart. She was calmed down by drugs. I pet her. We all did. We told her how much we would miss her. She looked up with her beautiful, deep, and brown eyes. She understood. The doctor gave us five minutes and when she returned.. I left. I couldn't watch her... I could not bare it. I gave her one last hug and a kiss on her soft, golden head, and I parted her. Forever. I went to the waiting room. Cats were in a corner. In a cage. I sat by them and started petting one. Animals understand when you are upset. It let me pet it. A boy and his mother walked in. They had a dog. A golden labrador retirever. It looked like Jas. I cried harder. The boy and his mom skillfully avoided lookng at me. You don't want to look at a grieving girl.You just don't. A few weeks passed. We were all silent about what had happened. Yet, we didn't cry. Not until a week had passed and my mother and I were flipping through pictures did her's come up. We talked about the golden years with Jas. We started bawling. My mom admitted that she was relieved that I was not in denial. Funny how much parents care about that sort of stuff.
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Don't worry folks. I'm drawing this very long entry to a close. I do hope you read it but I won't mind if you don't I just had to share it.
 psychotic__Gal · Tue Apr 11, 2006 @ 08:29pm · 1 Comments |
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