Grieving.
Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. -The Wonder Years
It has been quite some time since I last brushed with death-two years in fact. Sadly, it has struck again in my life. Certainly, things have changed greatly and I've aged in those two years (hopefully for the better), but even though the impact of death is still there, it still feels vastly different compared to my last encounter with it. Thus, the reasoning for this rather rare, serious entry in, what I'd like to think, is an upbeat livejournal.
Last night, my mother received a phone call from my uncle while we were watching our favorite family night activity, Jeopardy. I knew right off the bat just by her reaction that it was about my older cousin on my mother's side, Amy, who had checked into a hospital several weeks previous because of her heart defect that she's had since birth. Once the the phone call ended, my mother, already starting to tear up, said to me that Amy was going to probably die later that night. I responded with silence because I'm one of those slow grievers, I've come to find.
Wiping her eyes, my mother said that she'd break the news to my father when my younger brother entered the room and asked what had happened. She broke my brother the news, and he just sort of nodded at her because, and it took me a moment to realize, that my brother never really knew Amy. Or any of the extended family on my mother's family, aside from my uncle and my grandmother (who we don't even speak to anymore).
As a kid, I spent a lot of time with my cousin, Amy. Usually, we spent the night together at my grandmother's house whenever I saw her, but she came to my house rather frequently too. We watched movies, ate McDonald's, went roller skating and shopping together. The memories are a bit hazy since I was probably eight or nine at the time, but they're still there and I won't forget them.
I remember pretty distinctly this one time, however. I remember being in Blockbuster and Amy, who was probably twelve or thirteen, at the time begging my grandmother to rent an R-rated movie. My grandmother protested that I was too young to watch R-Rated movies (I disagreed, of course!), but she let Amy rent it anyway, aha. The movie in question was Wedding Bell Blues. So, after getting the movie, we went to McDonald's for dinner since my grandmother rarely cooked then and headed back to her house. We started watching the movie and I remember Amy telling me to cover my ears (haha) when it got to the part with the nuns at the gas station and "something inappropriate" or whatever. I obliged because I was a good kid like that, and of course, I watched the movie again years later to find out what I had missed.
Unfortunately, I don't remember what the whole nuns at the gas station part was about because the movie wasn't particularly memorable to begin with. Nonetheless, it's one of my better memories of Amy and I treasure it because it was the first thing I thought of when my mother told me that she was going to die last night.
This morning, however, my mother came in and informed me that Amy had died around 3AM this morning. Immediately, I tried to remember what I had been doing at 3AM. I hadn't gone to sleep, and I was still in chat with Maxie, Michelle, Margie, Denise among others, and I was trying to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona but I kept getting distracted by the discussion in chat. After figuring out what I had been doing at 3AM, I proceeded to lay in bed for another half hour to gather my thoughts which I am now posting here.
Although I saw Amy a lot as a kid, I hadn't really spoken to her until maybe a couple of months. Or, at least, contacted me. A couple of months ago, she added me on Facebook and I was kinda surprised because, well, I had almost forgotten about her. You see, my mother stopped talking to her older brother and her mother over six years ago, so I hadn't spoken to Amy since then. To which, I feel this immense guilt for not trying to contact her sooner or even really hold a conversation with her. I commented to her once or twice on Facebook and she replied back, saying that we should meet up sometime because she was in college and was pretty close by to me now.
I really wish I had taken up her offer before she checked into the hospital back in January. I would have told her how much she's grown up since the last time I saw her and she would have said the same. I would have told her that I was graduating high school this year and I would be going to college in the middle of nowhere. I would have told her that I loved movies and traveling and would want to live all over the world someday. I would have told her all sorts of things and she would have filled me in on her life too. I know that she grew up to be a good person because she was always smiling and laughing and goofing off and she didn't get depressed about her problem. No, Amy was good people, as Meg would term it.
It's just sad that now I can't do that because she's really gone, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it because, like I said, I'm a slow griever. It always hits me much more later on, sinking in like a bullet wound.
Yet, it still feels different to me. Perhaps, it is because I hadn't seen her in so long. Perhaps, it is because we shared many wonderful times together as children. Perhaps, it is because I haven't had the chance to seriously cry my eyes out yet. Perhaps, it is because I feel guilty for not talking to her sooner. Or perhaps, I'll never really know.
All I know, and it's the truest thing about life, is keep on going. If there's one thing I've learned about death it's that you cannot stop going about your daily life. The person that died would have never wanted that, and I'm positive that tomorrow when I wake up, I'll probably shower and do my homework while chat distracts me from finishing my silly AP Chemistry project. In fact, I'm sure Amy would have teased me because I decided to take AP Chemistry in the first place when I'm not very good at science, and then she would have teased me even more for deciding to finish my project at the very last possible date. Of course, I would have been like, "oi, I bet you've probably left things to the last possible second too" or something like that since procrastination runs rampant in our family.
I do not know if we will be attending Amy's funeral. My mother has yet to tell me if we are or not since, as I said before, our relations with my mother's side are not particularly good. I'm kinda hoping we are because it'd be the last hello and goodbye I'd get to have with her.
Rest In Peace
Amy Dalheim
January 11, 1988-February 21, 2009
I am not disabling comments on this entry nor will I keep it locked either. Take care, everyone. ♥
It has been quite some time since I last brushed with death-two years in fact. Sadly, it has struck again in my life. Certainly, things have changed greatly and I've aged in those two years (hopefully for the better), but even though the impact of death is still there, it still feels vastly different compared to my last encounter with it. Thus, the reasoning for this rather rare, serious entry in, what I'd like to think, is an upbeat livejournal.
Last night, my mother received a phone call from my uncle while we were watching our favorite family night activity, Jeopardy. I knew right off the bat just by her reaction that it was about my older cousin on my mother's side, Amy, who had checked into a hospital several weeks previous because of her heart defect that she's had since birth. Once the the phone call ended, my mother, already starting to tear up, said to me that Amy was going to probably die later that night. I responded with silence because I'm one of those slow grievers, I've come to find.
Wiping her eyes, my mother said that she'd break the news to my father when my younger brother entered the room and asked what had happened. She broke my brother the news, and he just sort of nodded at her because, and it took me a moment to realize, that my brother never really knew Amy. Or any of the extended family on my mother's family, aside from my uncle and my grandmother (who we don't even speak to anymore).
As a kid, I spent a lot of time with my cousin, Amy. Usually, we spent the night together at my grandmother's house whenever I saw her, but she came to my house rather frequently too. We watched movies, ate McDonald's, went roller skating and shopping together. The memories are a bit hazy since I was probably eight or nine at the time, but they're still there and I won't forget them.
I remember pretty distinctly this one time, however. I remember being in Blockbuster and Amy, who was probably twelve or thirteen, at the time begging my grandmother to rent an R-rated movie. My grandmother protested that I was too young to watch R-Rated movies (I disagreed, of course!), but she let Amy rent it anyway, aha. The movie in question was Wedding Bell Blues. So, after getting the movie, we went to McDonald's for dinner since my grandmother rarely cooked then and headed back to her house. We started watching the movie and I remember Amy telling me to cover my ears (haha) when it got to the part with the nuns at the gas station and "something inappropriate" or whatever. I obliged because I was a good kid like that, and of course, I watched the movie again years later to find out what I had missed.
Unfortunately, I don't remember what the whole nuns at the gas station part was about because the movie wasn't particularly memorable to begin with. Nonetheless, it's one of my better memories of Amy and I treasure it because it was the first thing I thought of when my mother told me that she was going to die last night.
This morning, however, my mother came in and informed me that Amy had died around 3AM this morning. Immediately, I tried to remember what I had been doing at 3AM. I hadn't gone to sleep, and I was still in chat with Maxie, Michelle, Margie, Denise among others, and I was trying to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona but I kept getting distracted by the discussion in chat. After figuring out what I had been doing at 3AM, I proceeded to lay in bed for another half hour to gather my thoughts which I am now posting here.
Although I saw Amy a lot as a kid, I hadn't really spoken to her until maybe a couple of months. Or, at least, contacted me. A couple of months ago, she added me on Facebook and I was kinda surprised because, well, I had almost forgotten about her. You see, my mother stopped talking to her older brother and her mother over six years ago, so I hadn't spoken to Amy since then. To which, I feel this immense guilt for not trying to contact her sooner or even really hold a conversation with her. I commented to her once or twice on Facebook and she replied back, saying that we should meet up sometime because she was in college and was pretty close by to me now.
I really wish I had taken up her offer before she checked into the hospital back in January. I would have told her how much she's grown up since the last time I saw her and she would have said the same. I would have told her that I was graduating high school this year and I would be going to college in the middle of nowhere. I would have told her that I loved movies and traveling and would want to live all over the world someday. I would have told her all sorts of things and she would have filled me in on her life too. I know that she grew up to be a good person because she was always smiling and laughing and goofing off and she didn't get depressed about her problem. No, Amy was good people, as Meg would term it.
It's just sad that now I can't do that because she's really gone, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it because, like I said, I'm a slow griever. It always hits me much more later on, sinking in like a bullet wound.
Yet, it still feels different to me. Perhaps, it is because I hadn't seen her in so long. Perhaps, it is because we shared many wonderful times together as children. Perhaps, it is because I haven't had the chance to seriously cry my eyes out yet. Perhaps, it is because I feel guilty for not talking to her sooner. Or perhaps, I'll never really know.
All I know, and it's the truest thing about life, is keep on going. If there's one thing I've learned about death it's that you cannot stop going about your daily life. The person that died would have never wanted that, and I'm positive that tomorrow when I wake up, I'll probably shower and do my homework while chat distracts me from finishing my silly AP Chemistry project. In fact, I'm sure Amy would have teased me because I decided to take AP Chemistry in the first place when I'm not very good at science, and then she would have teased me even more for deciding to finish my project at the very last possible date. Of course, I would have been like, "oi, I bet you've probably left things to the last possible second too" or something like that since procrastination runs rampant in our family.
I do not know if we will be attending Amy's funeral. My mother has yet to tell me if we are or not since, as I said before, our relations with my mother's side are not particularly good. I'm kinda hoping we are because it'd be the last hello and goodbye I'd get to have with her.
Rest In Peace
Amy Dalheim
January 11, 1988-February 21, 2009
I am not disabling comments on this entry nor will I keep it locked either. Take care, everyone. ♥