And Yet I Smile
I'm not usually one for the emo-entries, but I feel like now is a necessary time to relate things in a written forum; and I'm not particularly caring what you might think more than for myself... you know, the person you used to journal for solely, at some point so many years ago when journaling was done on paper. Ah those old Medieval Times...
I don't mean to sound bitter; more cynical really. I am, after all, a victim of my own scorn here since I openly so post my journal... maybe I'm just talking to myself, answering my own questions here... but anyway, the grand question rests in, 'why?'
Simple, really. We don't post so the millions of random people on the net can gain insight through our lives. We know that the only people who read our online rants and crap are those who either (a) are our friends, or (2) are insanely bored and seeking a friend who might share some similar interests... I know I haven't met any here in the last two years like I used to when I was on Teen Open Diary... but then, that was High School then. So obviously, we post these types of journals to tell people we know or would like to know what's going on in our lives without having to do the entire pick-up-a-phone-and-call or *gasp* the snail mail thing... hell, we don't even have to bother with e-mailing individual people when we've got this open forum! All we gotta do is say, "Hey Bitches! Do you care what's going on in my life? Then read on! If not, fuck off!" I don't mean any of this at all mean or disgustingly... I'm just making observations. It's not like we're wrong for doing it and posting it so everyone with a computer and an online service can read, but for those who ask why bother-- and I have been one to do so at times, especially when it comes to emo-entries like the one to follow-- here's your reason. We journal to relate our lives in a written form that we can see again at some point; whether its affects be catharsis or simply what happened in my day. We post them online for rather trite and simplistic reasons, and you can take it or leave it... we post them here because that's what you do in the new age. We willingly give up the inheirent privacy of journalling so our friends can see whats going on with us and maybe meet new people; and we make private those entries and events we can't risk falling into someone else's hands. For me, personally, my principle reason for being here and writing these things still remains 'For Myself.'
So now, on to why I sat down to begin writing this in the first place, before my brain decided to go on a huge tangent-flavored rant...
As you can see, I havent posted in a long long time. Last time I posted anything of relevance to myself and my life was a contemplation on the nature of assuming back in January of this year. I've posted a few private entries, to be honest.. things I didn't want everyone reading. To be honest, the reason I didnt post too often after June, 2004, was because I had broken up with a girl and, two weeks later, gotten with another girl; not wanting to (a) relate details that may have hurt my ex, not in an effort to hide anything, but in an effort to be considerate of her (we have sinced bridged any such effects, I think, and I i'm pretty sure she knew that much anyway), and (2) deal with the backlash effects and ignorantly quick judgements and assumptions from my friends, I felt it was better to just not post some stuff... which inadvertently weenned me off of posting much at all.
Anyways, I'm here now, in my (so-called) senior year of college, looking at another year before I actualy graduate, and at this point in my journey, I am pretty crappy. Probably why this entry is a total train of consciousness rant in it's vain efforts to simply say "hey, this is whats going on, and I want to express that!"
A week ago today, I ended my relationship with the 'other girl' (who is not once mentioned publically in this journal... a sad thought to me in retrospect), Heather. We were together a year and three months and, though I'm the one that left her, I am not having an easy time of things at all. Many people don't know the story and I'm sure don't understand why, and I'm not particularly inclined to tell why here. Let it suffice to say that I found myself absent, and try not to assume what that means because you'll probably assume wrong. Heather and I are still in good company with each other and we understand what is going on here, and really thats all who needs to. Still, it hurts for me in ways I really can't articulate.
Not 24 hours after that, I got a phone call from home. My Aunt Em had passed away. This was a living saint of a woman, my father's aunt and my grandmother's sister, and was a loving part of both my childhood and my life. When my brother and I were younger, we'd go with Grandma and walk down the huge hill a few blocks away from my house and down this little dead end road to Aunt Em's back door. We'd play in the house while she and Grandma sat and talked, and she always had cookies or pies... there was always something cooking. It was an old house, kinda like the ones you'd always think would be haunted (in fact, there was a cast iron chimney atop the house that I always thought looked like a wailing ghost face or something creepy), but very nice and clean and lived in and cared for, even after Uncle Lou passed away. In the living room was a blue porcelin dish where she always had candy for us, and she'd always catch us trying to sneak something. As I grew up, I grew to respect Aunt Em and her sensible nature.
Then one day she hurt herself; I think she had fallen, but I cant remember. She ended up in a nursing home in Rhinebeck, 45 minutes away from us and her lifelong home in Beacon. We went up to see her every now and then, but as I was going through High School and my brother following me in the next year, it was hard to find get up there. Then I went to college. When I was home, we visited and I grew even more so to appreciate that woman who had always been so kind to us as kids and always had something for us (even at the nursing home, she'd make cookies when we were coming up). Last year I think we stopped up once... I feel guilty now that I had my drivers license but never once thought to just stop up and say hi... though my parents probably would have denied me that being 'so far away.' Anyway, as sensible and sweet as Aunt Em was, she was stubborn as all hell. She didnt ask for help with anythng she didnt think she could do herself, and I'm pretty sure she thought she could do everything anyone else could. Her determination was admirable- probably from her I've picked up a few of those traits. She was in the nursing home for over 6 years,I think, and I never knew until just this past summer how badly she was hurting or how hard she was fighting to hold on.
A month before I was going to head back to Binghamton for my senior year, Aunt Em had a stroke. It left the entire right side of her body paralized, and the doctors had put her on morphine to ease the pain (and everytime I think of morphine, I think of "A Long Day's Journey Into Night" and the doped-up stupor of Mary Tyrone). We knew it wouldn't be much longer. As was our tradition since Aunt Em had been taken to the hospital, we went as a family to visit Aunt Em on our way to the Dutchess County Fair, this year for the last time. She looked so frail, yet somehow so strong to me. Though she couldn't talk very well, she motioned to us and I'm pretty certain that though Mom and Dad told me she probably wouldnt even know we were there, Aunt Em knew and understood me perfectly. I think she also knew that this was goodbye. Everyone else in the room talked to each other or sat silently, looking at the floor (not at all inappropriately, realize... its the natural reaction to being in that situation?) I sat next to Aunt Em on her left side and just smiled at her. I'm pretty sure she saw me and we just shared time together while everyone took turns talking amongst themselves and coming over now and then to grasp her hand and say hello. When we left, I teared up pretty good. I remember I was pondering my brother's calm and solemn expression, that I didn't understand how some people grieve without a show of emotion where I always expressed them (again, not that it was wrong, simply that I was curious and didnt understand).
Bertie, Aunt Em's daughter, said that last Friday night, Aunt Em looked frusterated and anxious. She said she thought her mom was completly aware of herself and was frusterated with her state; doped up and paralyzed. She told her, "Mom, it's okay. You can let go." Aunt Em passed during the night and I am sure laid her head peacefully in the arms of Jesus.
On Saturday Morning, I had just gotten into the Fine Arts Building to help run auditions for DC Players' first show, "Our Lady Of 121st Street." As I came in, I saw Heather there, and I almost broke down right there. La Tasha, the director, took me aside and told me she'd come in to talk to me and while she was here, she made her ASM for the show. She asked me if I had any problem with it, and I honestly didn't. It'd be hard, but I'd deal- Heather's responsible and I'm really glad she's on the team. Then I got a call from my Mom. When she said hello, I knew. That was it. I cried for a while, overwhelmed with everything, kicked some things. I finally calmed down and since then, many of my friends in Binghamton have been unbelievably helpful in being there for me; if no where else, let me say here thank you to you all, and may I be chagrined if I do not at some point tell you myself.
I came home Wednesday night and helped with cleaning the house as my parents had opened the house for the reception. Yesterday I drove down to get my brother at Hofstra and brought him home, and them went to the wake. They had done an excellent job with Aunt Em; she didn't look at all ill or sickly (she was already a small thin and frail old woman) but there was one thing missing that I didnt realize until later on in the night: She wasn't smiling. Her mouth was drawn straight, slightly curved down at the corners, and she looked peaceful, but I had for twenty years been used to always seeing her smiling at me. I thought a lot last night about things... about funeral homes, about what it meant to have a funeral, about the people and the universality of a death in the family... some of it was prompted by curiosity as I'd be producing another show dealing with a funeral, and some of it by genuine personal curiosity, but I also thought a lot about Aunt Em and how she was the closest person to me to have died.
Today we buried Aunt Em. I was told Billy and I would be pall bearers, and I was honored and thankful that I would have part- even if only symbolicly and ceremoniously- in Aunt Em's final journey. The tears that had been somehow absent last night found purchase, but refused to fall as my mother's words reminded me that for Grandma, the last of four sisters and two brothers in her family, needed us to be strong for her, to let her know that thought she was the last one left, she had a lot left with her. We committed Aunt Em's body to the ground of Fairfield Cemetary, right next to Uncle Lou and Aunt Nellie, and I said a final goodbye to my Aunt Em.
"And don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone"... I hate that. I didnt realize what she meant to me until these past few days. I feel like I forsook so much, and yet she still somehow knew it was appreciated, even if only in hindsight. I miss her now, and thats odd considering we went not visiting for a while and I didn't oftentimes think about her while she was there in Rhinebeck.
I'll be glad to get back to Binghamton tomorrow and get back to doing things. I have an almost desperate need to do things for myself, whatever they be... its something I havent done in almost two years. I take with me what I've learned from my Aunt Em fresh in my mind and pray it will infuse itself in my being however it should. And with that, I shall end this novel of an entry.
"In the Cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is."
I don't mean to sound bitter; more cynical really. I am, after all, a victim of my own scorn here since I openly so post my journal... maybe I'm just talking to myself, answering my own questions here... but anyway, the grand question rests in, 'why?'
Simple, really. We don't post so the millions of random people on the net can gain insight through our lives. We know that the only people who read our online rants and crap are those who either (a) are our friends, or (2) are insanely bored and seeking a friend who might share some similar interests... I know I haven't met any here in the last two years like I used to when I was on Teen Open Diary... but then, that was High School then. So obviously, we post these types of journals to tell people we know or would like to know what's going on in our lives without having to do the entire pick-up-a-phone-and-call or *gasp* the snail mail thing... hell, we don't even have to bother with e-mailing individual people when we've got this open forum! All we gotta do is say, "Hey Bitches! Do you care what's going on in my life? Then read on! If not, fuck off!" I don't mean any of this at all mean or disgustingly... I'm just making observations. It's not like we're wrong for doing it and posting it so everyone with a computer and an online service can read, but for those who ask why bother-- and I have been one to do so at times, especially when it comes to emo-entries like the one to follow-- here's your reason. We journal to relate our lives in a written form that we can see again at some point; whether its affects be catharsis or simply what happened in my day. We post them online for rather trite and simplistic reasons, and you can take it or leave it... we post them here because that's what you do in the new age. We willingly give up the inheirent privacy of journalling so our friends can see whats going on with us and maybe meet new people; and we make private those entries and events we can't risk falling into someone else's hands. For me, personally, my principle reason for being here and writing these things still remains 'For Myself.'
So now, on to why I sat down to begin writing this in the first place, before my brain decided to go on a huge tangent-flavored rant...
As you can see, I havent posted in a long long time. Last time I posted anything of relevance to myself and my life was a contemplation on the nature of assuming back in January of this year. I've posted a few private entries, to be honest.. things I didn't want everyone reading. To be honest, the reason I didnt post too often after June, 2004, was because I had broken up with a girl and, two weeks later, gotten with another girl; not wanting to (a) relate details that may have hurt my ex, not in an effort to hide anything, but in an effort to be considerate of her (we have sinced bridged any such effects, I think, and I i'm pretty sure she knew that much anyway), and (2) deal with the backlash effects and ignorantly quick judgements and assumptions from my friends, I felt it was better to just not post some stuff... which inadvertently weenned me off of posting much at all.
Anyways, I'm here now, in my (so-called) senior year of college, looking at another year before I actualy graduate, and at this point in my journey, I am pretty crappy. Probably why this entry is a total train of consciousness rant in it's vain efforts to simply say "hey, this is whats going on, and I want to express that!"
A week ago today, I ended my relationship with the 'other girl' (who is not once mentioned publically in this journal... a sad thought to me in retrospect), Heather. We were together a year and three months and, though I'm the one that left her, I am not having an easy time of things at all. Many people don't know the story and I'm sure don't understand why, and I'm not particularly inclined to tell why here. Let it suffice to say that I found myself absent, and try not to assume what that means because you'll probably assume wrong. Heather and I are still in good company with each other and we understand what is going on here, and really thats all who needs to. Still, it hurts for me in ways I really can't articulate.
Not 24 hours after that, I got a phone call from home. My Aunt Em had passed away. This was a living saint of a woman, my father's aunt and my grandmother's sister, and was a loving part of both my childhood and my life. When my brother and I were younger, we'd go with Grandma and walk down the huge hill a few blocks away from my house and down this little dead end road to Aunt Em's back door. We'd play in the house while she and Grandma sat and talked, and she always had cookies or pies... there was always something cooking. It was an old house, kinda like the ones you'd always think would be haunted (in fact, there was a cast iron chimney atop the house that I always thought looked like a wailing ghost face or something creepy), but very nice and clean and lived in and cared for, even after Uncle Lou passed away. In the living room was a blue porcelin dish where she always had candy for us, and she'd always catch us trying to sneak something. As I grew up, I grew to respect Aunt Em and her sensible nature.
Then one day she hurt herself; I think she had fallen, but I cant remember. She ended up in a nursing home in Rhinebeck, 45 minutes away from us and her lifelong home in Beacon. We went up to see her every now and then, but as I was going through High School and my brother following me in the next year, it was hard to find get up there. Then I went to college. When I was home, we visited and I grew even more so to appreciate that woman who had always been so kind to us as kids and always had something for us (even at the nursing home, she'd make cookies when we were coming up). Last year I think we stopped up once... I feel guilty now that I had my drivers license but never once thought to just stop up and say hi... though my parents probably would have denied me that being 'so far away.' Anyway, as sensible and sweet as Aunt Em was, she was stubborn as all hell. She didnt ask for help with anythng she didnt think she could do herself, and I'm pretty sure she thought she could do everything anyone else could. Her determination was admirable- probably from her I've picked up a few of those traits. She was in the nursing home for over 6 years,I think, and I never knew until just this past summer how badly she was hurting or how hard she was fighting to hold on.
A month before I was going to head back to Binghamton for my senior year, Aunt Em had a stroke. It left the entire right side of her body paralized, and the doctors had put her on morphine to ease the pain (and everytime I think of morphine, I think of "A Long Day's Journey Into Night" and the doped-up stupor of Mary Tyrone). We knew it wouldn't be much longer. As was our tradition since Aunt Em had been taken to the hospital, we went as a family to visit Aunt Em on our way to the Dutchess County Fair, this year for the last time. She looked so frail, yet somehow so strong to me. Though she couldn't talk very well, she motioned to us and I'm pretty certain that though Mom and Dad told me she probably wouldnt even know we were there, Aunt Em knew and understood me perfectly. I think she also knew that this was goodbye. Everyone else in the room talked to each other or sat silently, looking at the floor (not at all inappropriately, realize... its the natural reaction to being in that situation?) I sat next to Aunt Em on her left side and just smiled at her. I'm pretty sure she saw me and we just shared time together while everyone took turns talking amongst themselves and coming over now and then to grasp her hand and say hello. When we left, I teared up pretty good. I remember I was pondering my brother's calm and solemn expression, that I didn't understand how some people grieve without a show of emotion where I always expressed them (again, not that it was wrong, simply that I was curious and didnt understand).
Bertie, Aunt Em's daughter, said that last Friday night, Aunt Em looked frusterated and anxious. She said she thought her mom was completly aware of herself and was frusterated with her state; doped up and paralyzed. She told her, "Mom, it's okay. You can let go." Aunt Em passed during the night and I am sure laid her head peacefully in the arms of Jesus.
On Saturday Morning, I had just gotten into the Fine Arts Building to help run auditions for DC Players' first show, "Our Lady Of 121st Street." As I came in, I saw Heather there, and I almost broke down right there. La Tasha, the director, took me aside and told me she'd come in to talk to me and while she was here, she made her ASM for the show. She asked me if I had any problem with it, and I honestly didn't. It'd be hard, but I'd deal- Heather's responsible and I'm really glad she's on the team. Then I got a call from my Mom. When she said hello, I knew. That was it. I cried for a while, overwhelmed with everything, kicked some things. I finally calmed down and since then, many of my friends in Binghamton have been unbelievably helpful in being there for me; if no where else, let me say here thank you to you all, and may I be chagrined if I do not at some point tell you myself.
I came home Wednesday night and helped with cleaning the house as my parents had opened the house for the reception. Yesterday I drove down to get my brother at Hofstra and brought him home, and them went to the wake. They had done an excellent job with Aunt Em; she didn't look at all ill or sickly (she was already a small thin and frail old woman) but there was one thing missing that I didnt realize until later on in the night: She wasn't smiling. Her mouth was drawn straight, slightly curved down at the corners, and she looked peaceful, but I had for twenty years been used to always seeing her smiling at me. I thought a lot last night about things... about funeral homes, about what it meant to have a funeral, about the people and the universality of a death in the family... some of it was prompted by curiosity as I'd be producing another show dealing with a funeral, and some of it by genuine personal curiosity, but I also thought a lot about Aunt Em and how she was the closest person to me to have died.
Today we buried Aunt Em. I was told Billy and I would be pall bearers, and I was honored and thankful that I would have part- even if only symbolicly and ceremoniously- in Aunt Em's final journey. The tears that had been somehow absent last night found purchase, but refused to fall as my mother's words reminded me that for Grandma, the last of four sisters and two brothers in her family, needed us to be strong for her, to let her know that thought she was the last one left, she had a lot left with her. We committed Aunt Em's body to the ground of Fairfield Cemetary, right next to Uncle Lou and Aunt Nellie, and I said a final goodbye to my Aunt Em.
"And don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone"... I hate that. I didnt realize what she meant to me until these past few days. I feel like I forsook so much, and yet she still somehow knew it was appreciated, even if only in hindsight. I miss her now, and thats odd considering we went not visiting for a while and I didn't oftentimes think about her while she was there in Rhinebeck.
I'll be glad to get back to Binghamton tomorrow and get back to doing things. I have an almost desperate need to do things for myself, whatever they be... its something I havent done in almost two years. I take with me what I've learned from my Aunt Em fresh in my mind and pray it will infuse itself in my being however it should. And with that, I shall end this novel of an entry.
"In the Cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is."