Tag Archives: popi

Add another name to the list of people fighting the C word

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I just found out that my mom’s uncle’s wife, Martha, has stage three breast cancer. It’s the kind that isn’t receptive to hormonal treatments, and they’re having a hard time finding something they can treat her with, because so far she’s not receptive to anything they’ve tested for.

She starts chemo next week, and is going to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston to see if they can some up with something.

Even though Martha isn’t blood related to me, I really like her. She can be kind of goofy, but in a good way. My sister and I used to have sleepovers at her and my mom’s uncle Paul’s house when we were little, and always had a blast. She’s also one of the few people on my mom’s side of the family who like and are nice to Mike, and she’s genuinely excited that we’re going to get married at some point. She’s so nice, in fact, that I used to sometimes wonder if she was an alien, but then I learned that there is a whole tribe of exuberant people spread throughout the world — sort of ambassadors whose only mission is to spread happiness. My friend’s girlfriend G is one of these people. I’m pessimistic by nature, so being around these ambassadors of happy used to be really hard for me.

Martha doesn’t deserve this, at all. How can someone so nice, someone so healthy get sick so suddenly? She had a mammogram six months ago and everything was fine. Now she’s got this aggressive breast cancer and facing a double mastectomy. I just don’t understand.

I also don’t understand how some cancers are easier to treat than others. Popi’s wasn’t one of these, but Noni’s is. Martha’s is one of the harder ones.

I just don’t understand. It seems like everywhere I turn, someone else is being diagnosed with some kind of cancer. It’s like a horror movie, but there’s no end to it, and I can’t pause or stop it. I told my mom that the next time I find out someone has cancer, I’m not even going to be surprised. It’s like suddenly the world is full of cancer; it feels like we have more cancer now than ever before, with no rhyme or reason to it.

I just don’t understand.

Tattoo #3: Fievel Mousekewitz

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Fievel, right after Sean finished him

Fievel, right after Sean finished him

My good friend Sean has been apprenticing at The Beauty Mark for a while, and just recently started tattooing. He’s still technically an apprentice, so he’s been trying to do one piece each day. I’ve been dying to get Fievel done, so when I saw Sean drawing this cute little grey mouse the other night when we were hanging out, I said I should have him do it. He said he could do it the next day, so we did!

An American Tail was one of my favorite movies growing up. I am surprised that the original VHS still works, because I watched it so often. Noni put it on whenever I came over, and most of the time we watched it together. Popi watched it with us, too, if he wasn’t at work.

Even now, as an adult, I still love this movie. Fievel is not only a symbol of one of my favorite movies, though; he’s also a symbol of my childhood, the days I spent at my grandparents’ house while Mom and Dad worked. Every time I look at him, I think of those days and I smile. (I also smile because he’s really freaking cute.)

Yesterday; all bruised and healing

Yesterday; all bruised and healing

I have to admit, that spot was a bitch to get tattooed. I used to roll my eyes when people said different spots hurt more, but now I am a believer. I am not afraid to admit that my forearm hurt more than my other tattoos (#1, #2), and that I had to bite down on my tongue half the time to distract myself. It also bruised up quite a bit, which Sean said is normal for that spot. Today it’s a lot more tender. I see cold compresses in my future!

July 9th, 2011: One year

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Popi, Christmas 2009

Popi, Christmas 2009

I don’t have anything articulate to say here today, but I also didn’t want to let the day go by without writing anything here. Even though I’m not going to let today be a bad day, I still don’t want to ignore it.

So I’m just going to say that I miss him, that it still doesn’t feel real, and that I can’t cry today. I don’t know why. I just can’t.

But every word I wrote here is still very, very true.

I miss you, Popi.

I really, really do.

All I know is that it feels like forever

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Next Saturday is July 9th.

One year since we lost Popi.

I don’t at all plan to spend that day marking that year, but I will be thinking of him. (I always think of him.) It will suck. (It sucks every day.)

It doesn’t feel like a year; it feels like forever. I’m grateful that sometimes, in my dreams, I get to hear his voice or hug him, but every time I realize I won’t ever do either again, the hole in my chest widens.

If you badmouth a family's way of grieving for their child, you are a piece of shit

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You don’t have to agree with it. You don’t have to like it. And you certainly don’t have to watch or look at it. But if you badmouth someone’s way of grieving the loss of their loved one, you are low.

Everyone grieves differently. If a family wants to take a photo with their deceased child’s body, then let them. Let them do it in peace.

I’m disgusted that one of the Trending Topics on Twitter tonight is “DEAD BABY,” and most of the tweets are people calling this family “ignorant,” and “fuckers.” You are ignorant, for saying horrible things about the way a family is grieving a child.

When my grandfather died, I went downstairs that morning and kissed his face. I knew that was the last chance I was going to get to kiss his face, so I made sure I did it.

If you knew that you had one last chance to hold your child, you would do it, too.