Tag Archives: memories

Counting the memories, not the days

Posted on by

Yesterday I found out that Popi’s been having hospice come to the house for a couple of days now. He’s on liquid morphine because he literally can’t be touched anywhere without his bones hurting. The VA is delivering a hospital bed today because he can’t get in and out of his and Noni’s bed anymore, and he’s gotten stuck several times. He can barely move.

The facts are easy to state. To think about? Not so much. Since finding all of this out and seeing him yesterday, seeing him half in and out of it because of the morphine, I’ve been constantly on the verge of tears. I’m a wreck. I can’t stand having to go about my day acting normal. I wish I were a kid, because then I could act how I feel.

He can’t start another round of chemo yet until the white blood cell count in his marrow goes up. He’s still barely eating.

He’s still got his sense of humor, though. When Vinny came to visit last night, we were all cracking jokes, Popi included.

The doctors are saying that this next round of chemo will probably not help. I want to believe that it will, but the what ifs keep crawling in each time I start to get obstinately sure again. Ever since his diagnosis in November, I’ve probably been in denial. It’s starting to get more and more real, and I just want to stand and scream until I wake up. I keep seeing different memories: Popi coming home from work when Lauren and I were little and Noni used to watch us during the day; Popi getting life vests out of the shed at the lake so that we could go for a ride on the boat; showing Popi the worms I collected so we could go fishing; asking Popi for gum (he always had Winterfresh on him when he still worked); the scent of Popi’s aftershave; watching Rescue 911 and eating ice cream together; eating macaroni or fried dough all together as a family; Popi’s Popeye impression… The list goes on.

As I was getting ready for work this morning, some of the memories started to choke me up, and I thought, I’m never going to have that again. This memory in particular was from my childhood, of Popi coming home from work. And I reminded myself, You won’t ever be a kid again anyway. But you’ll always have those memories.

Part of me is afraid I will forget everything. The sound of his voice, the shape of his face… I don’t want to forget anything.

Pain, rain, go away, come again another day

Posted on by
6

I’m really sore from softball yesterday. How is this possible when I’ve been playing for a couple of months now and have never been sore? The only difference between yesterday’s scrimmage and the games on Thursdays past is that we won last night. I don’t see how winning makes you more sore.

Around eleven or so last night while I was working on a client’s website — it’s gorgeous, but I can’t take credit for the design; I only coded it — my hip started aching, and soon after that my shoulder and elbow played catch. By the time I gave up on my nonexistent internet connection and went to bed, my lower back was aching, too. Guess I spoke too soon, huh?

The last few days, I’ve been waking up super tired. I’ll wake up to my alarm, reset it for another fifteen, twenty, or thirty minutes, and then sometimes I’ll reset it again and again until I’m running late and have no choice but to get up. The rain today isn’t helping.

I wanted to blame this fatigue on Seroquel, since I just started my regular dose of 400mg again. (Before, I was taking 400mg of samples, which seemed to be stronger. I then switched to 300mg when my supply started getting low. Throughout this time, I kept missing doses, so it would make me really lethargic the morning and day after I took it. I finally had enough money for my regular prescription and have been back on it for a couple of weeks now.) Since I’ve been on it for a couple of weeks, I really don’t think I can blame the medication. I’m starting to think it has something to do with my Mystery Autoimmune Disease (which, by the way, needs a cooler name — like maybe a diagnosis).

Speaking of sleep, I had a dream last night that I was up at the campground my grandparents have a seasonal site at. I dreamed I was sitting on our site doing something — can’t remember what — when three of my old camp friends came over and sat down with me. We were all older than when we last saw each other. David had long hair, but was still super geeky and still got his balls busted nonstop by his cousins. Nate was still tall and thin, blond and blue eyed, but was taller than I remembered him. Phil didn’t look like himself at all. In fact, in the dream I could barely see him. We used to all play Manhunt* together with Phil’s little sister Sarah, their other cousins, and lots of the other campground kids.

It was an interesting dream, because I haven’t thought of these three guys since I was younger. I remember I had a super crush on Phil, who pretty much ignored me (even though we played video games together a lot of the time I came to his and Sarah’s site). Then for a while I had a crush on David, but he was way too geeky for me (although very cute). My younger sister Lauren and Sarah — who was about Lauren’s age — were really cool, and the three of us hung out a lot together more often than we hung out with the boys. We always had fun together, though. I’m not sure exactly when, but Sarah and Phil’s parents stopped camping, and so did Nate’s and David’s. The only cousins left — two brothers about Lauren’s age — we hadn’t really hung out with in the first place.

We stopped playing Manhunt. I’m sure the game went on without us with some other kids, but we never heard any games going and never bothered to start our own.

Maybe I’m thinking of this more now that my cousin Mindy is coming to visit in June. Lauren and I haven’t seen her in about six years. She’s my uncle Lonny’s daughter, and lives in Pennsylvania with her mom. She used to come up to Connecticut almost every summer. We played Manhunt (when we were allowed; for a long time our parents wouldn’t let us), slept in tents, wrote fan fiction, went swimming, hiked up to the “cave” (which is really just an old root cellar, but the view from the natural beach there is gorgeous), played Native Americans (after visiting the Pequot museum), did each other’s hair, and tons of other stuff.

Man, I’m getting nostalgic in my old age. At least this all got my mind off of the cramps I’ve got this morning. (Yeah, lucky me right now!)

*It was sort of like a big hide and seek game, except you split into two teams. The members of one team hid while the members of the other team hunted. You have to play at night, and bring a flashlight if you’re afraid of the dark. (;

We were best friends

Posted on by
17

I have had many best friends.

The first was Emily, in kindergarten. We talked on the phone.

The second was Elizabeth, in second grade. Then I met Jackie, Desi, and Miranda, and in third grade the four of us were sort of inseparable.

In fourth grade, I met Vanessa. We were best friends all the way up until 8th grade. Even when she moved to Panama during our 5th and 6th grade years, we still kept in touch, and when she came back to Connecticut, we continued to stay in touch. We were best friends again in 8th grade, but lost touch during high school.

The summer before 8th grade, it was Leugim.

During 8th grade, it was me, Vanessa, Jessica, Reshma, and Sandra.

My freshman year of high school, it was Lauren and Ryan, interchangeably. When sophomore year came, I met Sandy. We were best friends up until maybe a year or so ago.

Now I consider the cat my best friend. Or Mike, depending on how the day is going.

I scroll through Facebook status updates and Facebook pages, read old journal and blog entries, cycle through memories. Each of these people were once a huge part of my life, but they aren’t anymore. And I don’t get it.

I don’t get why I can’t seem to hold on to anyone that I care about. I don’t get why the relationships I think are precious to me end up not being precious to the other person. I don’t get why distance, time, and differences ebb away the closeness that once was. I don’t get the petty backstabbing. I don’t get why I move through life like a ghost, passing by people but never sticking to them. I once thought that it wasn’t me, that it was them, but maybe it really is me.

I think about inviting these old friends out for a cup of coffee or some lunch. I can see us sitting at a table, catching up, sharing the years that passed without a word over an hour or so. A simple message over Facebook could arrange this. But then I hesitate. What if we don’t have anything in common anymore? Or even worse: what if they say no?

Then the moment passes and I feel like an idiot. Normal people don’t cling to the past. Normal people move on through the future. Normal people make new friends.

I am not normal. I don’t make friends. Everyone I ever knew or cared about just drifts away. And I find that I have to look at myself, very closely. I once thought I was a good person, that I was a great friend — the kind who would bend over backward for my friends. I thought that I was fun to hang out with, that I was interesting enough to keep around.

More and more, I feel like a hermit. I fear that I will be alone. I fear that these friends from the past don’t think of me anymore. Maybe I meant nothing to them. Maybe I will never mean anything again.

Is this normal? Or should I just suck it up?

Read my Batman/Harley fan fiction! Harley Quinn decides she’s tired of Joker’s bullshit and decides to take revenge…