I am absolutely stunned with what the NRA said today. More guns?!?! Police in school?!?! I am physically sick to my stomach, literally. I had hope that some kind of common sense would prevail today. I had hope that people would come before money. I had hope that peace would come before fear. I had hope that 20 dead children would bring this country to a place of peace, give us a wake up call. I cannot believe people would even think more guns is a solution, much less say it out loud, in public, on TV. I am sick.
The world did not end today, but mine is so dark. I am clinging to hope that there is a bright future. I can only see one through Jes. She has a bright future, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure I am around to see what happens. That is the only bright spot I can see, the only bright spot I can see anytime in my future, anywhere.
Maybe I do need some medical intervention, i.e. depression medication. John and I will have been married 12 years on the 23rd. He will have been dead for one year on the 20th of January. Daddy will have been dead for one year on March 14. Damn. DAMN!!!!!
I feel like typing on big long string of cuss words. Stop the world, I want to get off this ride.
I have been telling myself, the last couple of days, that I need to start writing again. Private writing. I need to get my thoughts straightened out. Barack Obama said in a interview not too long ago, that he writes because when you try to put your thoughts into complete sentences, you have to face the tough questions. You have to give things more thought. It is easy to just think. When the going gets hard, you just think about something else. But, when I try to write, somehow, it forces me to finish the thought.
I guess that is what I must do then. Write in my private journal. At the very least, start drawing and coloring again.
Stop the world, I want to get off.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Comfortably Numb
I have spent the last month or so being "comfortably numb". That changed today with the news of the school shooting in Connecticut. I apparently still have anger issues, because I went off on Facebook, posting like crazy about it. I haven't been angry in a while, so I guess I am getting better.
I have had the blues the last couple of days. I really miss John. I remember missing him more on Jes' birthday than either his birthday or my own. I am really missing him with Christmas coming up. He was always there sharing in my Christmas ideas, being my sounding board. We talked for a couple of months about what to get Jes and we usually went shopping together to get something really good for her. This year, I can't even think what "big" present she should get. John was always better at that then me.
The summer before Daddy's cancer diagnosis, Jes and I went to visit, and I took one of the best pictures of him. It is one of the last ones any of us have of him when he was healthy and happy. I felt compelled to give everyone in my family a copy of this picture for Christmas this year. I told Betsy that I was doing it because I didn't want anybody to forget. But when that came out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous that is. So I don't know why I feel the need to give everyone a copy. When I was in Louisiana, I went through a box of old pictures, and it was comforting in a weird sort of way, so I think I am trying to give that comfort to the rest of us. It is also my way of including Daddy in Christmas. Maybe it will bring up the conversation we seem to avoid having. I would love to talk about the good old times. I would love to talk about Daddy and John.
Sometimes bad news seems so overwhelming. It clouds out the good in the world. The good things are usually so fleeting, so small, they come and go almost unnoticed. But the bad news stays and stays. The world seems like a very ugly place full of very ugly people, and the ugly ones block my view of the good ones. And it seems like the good ones die in greater quantities. 27 people, including 18 children, and only one bad guy died. Two really good people in my life died, and the bad ones are still alive and kicking. Un-fucking-fair. And it makes for a very ugly world.
I have had the blues the last couple of days. I really miss John. I remember missing him more on Jes' birthday than either his birthday or my own. I am really missing him with Christmas coming up. He was always there sharing in my Christmas ideas, being my sounding board. We talked for a couple of months about what to get Jes and we usually went shopping together to get something really good for her. This year, I can't even think what "big" present she should get. John was always better at that then me.
The summer before Daddy's cancer diagnosis, Jes and I went to visit, and I took one of the best pictures of him. It is one of the last ones any of us have of him when he was healthy and happy. I felt compelled to give everyone in my family a copy of this picture for Christmas this year. I told Betsy that I was doing it because I didn't want anybody to forget. But when that came out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous that is. So I don't know why I feel the need to give everyone a copy. When I was in Louisiana, I went through a box of old pictures, and it was comforting in a weird sort of way, so I think I am trying to give that comfort to the rest of us. It is also my way of including Daddy in Christmas. Maybe it will bring up the conversation we seem to avoid having. I would love to talk about the good old times. I would love to talk about Daddy and John.
Sometimes bad news seems so overwhelming. It clouds out the good in the world. The good things are usually so fleeting, so small, they come and go almost unnoticed. But the bad news stays and stays. The world seems like a very ugly place full of very ugly people, and the ugly ones block my view of the good ones. And it seems like the good ones die in greater quantities. 27 people, including 18 children, and only one bad guy died. Two really good people in my life died, and the bad ones are still alive and kicking. Un-fucking-fair. And it makes for a very ugly world.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The Black Hole
Shortly after the hell known as January-March 2012, my sister was talking to a co-worker that had lost her son, and knew the pain of death, and this lady told Betsy "Stay away from the black hole." We can all picture what the black hole is. I'm quite sure this means different things to different people, but it is pretty much all the same.
Well, I just recently fell into the black hole, and Betsy and Teresa had to come in and get me out. Here is how that happened.
When I was mentally preparing to go home (home to Louisiana, MO), I was not looking forward to it. I actually hated the idea, but I have to check on the house, and I wanted to vote in Missouri. I knew it was going to be sad, and I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough to be able to look sadness in the face and feel it, but stay sane while feeling it.
A few months ago, I quit paying for cable TV, because I am very cheap. John would be the first to tell you that. He used to be partly amused, and partly aggravated about it. So, I knew I would not have television, which was ok because I don't watch it that much anyway. As long as I had internet, I would be ok. Plus I packed a whole box of books, markers, music CDs etc. to keep myself entertained. Pretty soon after I got home, I threw away one of my CDs because it kept skipping. Then the next one did, and the one after that, so instead of throwing away CDs, I threw away the player. I could still listen to music on the computer though. I also realized one day what I missed about television was hearing other people's voice. I missed hearing people talk. Even if I wasn't listening to what they were saying, just having that in the background, was something I missed.
The internet I have there is not unlimited, and ridiculously expensive if you go over your "allotted" gigabits. I must have been beginning to enter the black hole, because I could have come back to Texas before election day, but it seemed too much trouble, so I decided to stay until after the election. So, election night, I had to watch what was happening. I streamed NBC news for eight hours. It occurred to me the day after, that I should check my internet usage, and I had already used up 2/3 of my allotted time, and I still had over two weeks before the amount "reset". So, not only did I not have television, I had to start limiting my only other contact with the outside world.
As I said before, I don't cook in that kitchen, I don't hang out in the living room, so that leaves the bedroom. And guess what is in there - John's whole wardrobe. He is EVERYWHERE in that house. EVERYWHERE!!!! Even if I could take out all of his stuff, he is in the kitchen cabinets we installed ourselves. He is in the new bedroom windows that he put in. He is in the bathroom that we have re-done at least three times, including the tub, toilet, and sink.
Not only is John built into the house, it is where Jes grew up. Jes and I are in the house too. We lived there for over 14 years. I remember a few years ago thinking how sad it was going to be to sell that house. That was home, for a long time. Home for the family of Suzy, Jes, and John. People grieve over losing just their home.
Anyway, I just got sadder and sadder. I couldn't make myself do anything. The grocery store is now 11 miles (one way) away, so that was way to much trouble. I had pizza delivered. I don't have to go anywhere, or do anything for that. So for the last three days I was there, that is what I ate. Two pieces of pizza a day. Healthy, right? No veggies, no protein, no nutrition. For three days (at least) pizza and coffee was my intake. I made an additional mistake of getting whiskey. The one thing I would get out of the house for was cigarettes, and booze is sold at the cigarette store.
I slept a lot too. And dreamed a lot. John or Daddy wasn't dead in my dreams. I had a normal life in dreamland.
I was able to sound ok on the phone when Jes or Betsy, or Pat, or Teresa called. No need for them to worry. I was able to sound upbeat in texts, and on Facebook. It's all good, everything's gonna be all right, Bob Marley said so, and I choose to believe him. Meanwhile, Garth Brooks, the Rolling Stones, Melissa Etheridge, and others were telling me that the world is sad, but love is good. Love that I have now lost.
Anyway, on Friday night, Betsy called. I had been crying frequently for the past two days and nights, and thought that was healthy. Tears are cleansing, right? If I am able to cry, I'm getting better, right? Betsy could hear the sadness in my voice and asked when I was coming home (to Texas home). I remember telling her that I didn't know because it just seemed like to much trouble. She said "Are you not coming home because you want to stay there, or because it is too much trouble to get in the car?" I couldn't say the answer out loud, so she said, "I'm coming to get you". The relief I felt at that moment was exactly what I needed. I was able to say Ok. And she flew in the very next morning. Teresa picked her up from the airport, and they came over and saved me. Just like Bob Marley's Three Little Birds, we got to spend time together, just three sisters, three mothers, three friends. And Betsy drove home with me. My throat actually started getting sore from all the talking we did in the 16 hour drive.
I am home now. Texas home, with Jes, and Betsy, and Zak, and Pat. And the cats, and unlimited internet, and TV, and food, and people to talk to, and things to do, and everything that you don't even realize are important, until you don't have them anymore.
I feel much better.
Well, I just recently fell into the black hole, and Betsy and Teresa had to come in and get me out. Here is how that happened.
When I was mentally preparing to go home (home to Louisiana, MO), I was not looking forward to it. I actually hated the idea, but I have to check on the house, and I wanted to vote in Missouri. I knew it was going to be sad, and I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough to be able to look sadness in the face and feel it, but stay sane while feeling it.
A few months ago, I quit paying for cable TV, because I am very cheap. John would be the first to tell you that. He used to be partly amused, and partly aggravated about it. So, I knew I would not have television, which was ok because I don't watch it that much anyway. As long as I had internet, I would be ok. Plus I packed a whole box of books, markers, music CDs etc. to keep myself entertained. Pretty soon after I got home, I threw away one of my CDs because it kept skipping. Then the next one did, and the one after that, so instead of throwing away CDs, I threw away the player. I could still listen to music on the computer though. I also realized one day what I missed about television was hearing other people's voice. I missed hearing people talk. Even if I wasn't listening to what they were saying, just having that in the background, was something I missed.
The internet I have there is not unlimited, and ridiculously expensive if you go over your "allotted" gigabits. I must have been beginning to enter the black hole, because I could have come back to Texas before election day, but it seemed too much trouble, so I decided to stay until after the election. So, election night, I had to watch what was happening. I streamed NBC news for eight hours. It occurred to me the day after, that I should check my internet usage, and I had already used up 2/3 of my allotted time, and I still had over two weeks before the amount "reset". So, not only did I not have television, I had to start limiting my only other contact with the outside world.
As I said before, I don't cook in that kitchen, I don't hang out in the living room, so that leaves the bedroom. And guess what is in there - John's whole wardrobe. He is EVERYWHERE in that house. EVERYWHERE!!!! Even if I could take out all of his stuff, he is in the kitchen cabinets we installed ourselves. He is in the new bedroom windows that he put in. He is in the bathroom that we have re-done at least three times, including the tub, toilet, and sink.
Not only is John built into the house, it is where Jes grew up. Jes and I are in the house too. We lived there for over 14 years. I remember a few years ago thinking how sad it was going to be to sell that house. That was home, for a long time. Home for the family of Suzy, Jes, and John. People grieve over losing just their home.
Anyway, I just got sadder and sadder. I couldn't make myself do anything. The grocery store is now 11 miles (one way) away, so that was way to much trouble. I had pizza delivered. I don't have to go anywhere, or do anything for that. So for the last three days I was there, that is what I ate. Two pieces of pizza a day. Healthy, right? No veggies, no protein, no nutrition. For three days (at least) pizza and coffee was my intake. I made an additional mistake of getting whiskey. The one thing I would get out of the house for was cigarettes, and booze is sold at the cigarette store.
I slept a lot too. And dreamed a lot. John or Daddy wasn't dead in my dreams. I had a normal life in dreamland.
I was able to sound ok on the phone when Jes or Betsy, or Pat, or Teresa called. No need for them to worry. I was able to sound upbeat in texts, and on Facebook. It's all good, everything's gonna be all right, Bob Marley said so, and I choose to believe him. Meanwhile, Garth Brooks, the Rolling Stones, Melissa Etheridge, and others were telling me that the world is sad, but love is good. Love that I have now lost.
Anyway, on Friday night, Betsy called. I had been crying frequently for the past two days and nights, and thought that was healthy. Tears are cleansing, right? If I am able to cry, I'm getting better, right? Betsy could hear the sadness in my voice and asked when I was coming home (to Texas home). I remember telling her that I didn't know because it just seemed like to much trouble. She said "Are you not coming home because you want to stay there, or because it is too much trouble to get in the car?" I couldn't say the answer out loud, so she said, "I'm coming to get you". The relief I felt at that moment was exactly what I needed. I was able to say Ok. And she flew in the very next morning. Teresa picked her up from the airport, and they came over and saved me. Just like Bob Marley's Three Little Birds, we got to spend time together, just three sisters, three mothers, three friends. And Betsy drove home with me. My throat actually started getting sore from all the talking we did in the 16 hour drive.
I am home now. Texas home, with Jes, and Betsy, and Zak, and Pat. And the cats, and unlimited internet, and TV, and food, and people to talk to, and things to do, and everything that you don't even realize are important, until you don't have them anymore.
I feel much better.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Just a plain old sad day
Maybe I'm trying to put off getting very unpleasant chores done by choosing now to write a blog post. But anyway, here what has been going through my head today.
This has happened a lot in the past nine months, but it makes me very sad to see old married couples. John and I were supposed to be one of those. I want to tell them all that no matter how annoying some traits your spouse has, hang on tight. It sounds cliche to say I lost my best friend, but John and I were friends. I really liked John. We had a lot in common and we enjoyed a lot of the same things, coupled with the respect that not everything has to be enjoyed by both of us. He didn't get my compulsion with the computer, facebook, news articles, games, etc. I don't partake in the music making, fishing, drinking, but we never asked each other to not do those things. We were individuals, but together. We were supposed to be an old couple. We used to laugh when a car would pass with the lady driving and the man in the passenger seat sound asleep drooling. John was looking forward to that. It is so sad that he doesn't get to get old, or that we don't to get old together.
I don't cook here anymore. We both used to. I don't eat in the kitchen anymore. We always sat at the island and ate together. I don't know how widows get used to being alone in a house that used to be full of life. I am having a super hard time doing it.
Looking into the future, I never saw myself as single, alone. I wasn't supposed to have to do everything myself, or by myself. And I mean EVERYTHING. Cook, eat, clean the yard, sell the car, clean the house, sell the house, make every single decision by myself with no input or second opinion, no one to talk things through with, no one to motive me to get moving. Everything is a goddamn chore and I don't want to do any of it! (Toddler sitting on the floor banging his head.)
Poor little me. Now I'm just getting mad. I guess I will go work out some frustrations on the stupid fucking flower beds that I used to enjoy.
This has happened a lot in the past nine months, but it makes me very sad to see old married couples. John and I were supposed to be one of those. I want to tell them all that no matter how annoying some traits your spouse has, hang on tight. It sounds cliche to say I lost my best friend, but John and I were friends. I really liked John. We had a lot in common and we enjoyed a lot of the same things, coupled with the respect that not everything has to be enjoyed by both of us. He didn't get my compulsion with the computer, facebook, news articles, games, etc. I don't partake in the music making, fishing, drinking, but we never asked each other to not do those things. We were individuals, but together. We were supposed to be an old couple. We used to laugh when a car would pass with the lady driving and the man in the passenger seat sound asleep drooling. John was looking forward to that. It is so sad that he doesn't get to get old, or that we don't to get old together.
I don't cook here anymore. We both used to. I don't eat in the kitchen anymore. We always sat at the island and ate together. I don't know how widows get used to being alone in a house that used to be full of life. I am having a super hard time doing it.
Looking into the future, I never saw myself as single, alone. I wasn't supposed to have to do everything myself, or by myself. And I mean EVERYTHING. Cook, eat, clean the yard, sell the car, clean the house, sell the house, make every single decision by myself with no input or second opinion, no one to talk things through with, no one to motive me to get moving. Everything is a goddamn chore and I don't want to do any of it! (Toddler sitting on the floor banging his head.)
Poor little me. Now I'm just getting mad. I guess I will go work out some frustrations on the stupid fucking flower beds that I used to enjoy.
Monday, October 29, 2012
I had a dream
I had a dream last night. Actually it wasn't a sleeping kind of dream, I was wide awake. I will not go into the back story, but I dreamed/wished last night that my mother and her partner could come up here to Louisiana, MO and help me with this house. They are retired and travel around, working at various places, in an RV. It would be extremely helpful if they could come park in my backyard and help dismantle our life here. A mother's cooking is always comforting, and Slick's (yes, that is what he is called), would be very helpful with repairs and other dirty kinds of tasks. But, that will never happen, and that is very sad, especially since the parent I had that would be more than happy to come help, died in March. Yes, I'm 50ish, and at a time like this, I want my mommy and daddy.
I read an article written by a "life coach specializing in grief" about cleaning her husband's closet out. It was FOUR YEARS after his death!! Did you see the phrase "life coach specializing in grief"? I always feel that I am a very bad procrastinator, but geez, four years is an extremely long time. One of the things John didn't like about me was my procrastination. I keep hearing his voice in my head "Why haven't you got this done yet? What have you been doing all day?" Here is what I tell him, "Well, I wouldn't even be having to do this if you hadn't died, so you should just be quiet." Actually I use a little stronger language than that. I sometimes get mad at him for dying.
I haven't been to this house in over two months, and I needed to come back, for one to vote, but also to check on the house. The house is fine, the yard is another matter. Flower beds are full of weeds, and the whole outside just looks like nobody lives here. I also feel like I should start dismantling the life we had here. I started in the bathroom, throwing out old medicine, etc. Moved to the living room but I only ended up making piles of things to sell/donate or keep. I didn't have boxes or anything to put stuff in. It felt ridiculous moving things from one place to another. So, I moved into the kitchen and started throwing away the food that will never be eaten. As soon as I got to the cabinet holding the spices that John used to cook with, I stopped. I don't know why I stopped, and I didn't even think about it. It was like a giant stop sign popped up, a huge roadblock, a dead end. My inner instinct just stopped me. I probably could have sat down and given it some thought, and maybe overcome the roadblock, but that didn't even occur to me. I just stopped. A day or so later, I was able to go through my books and figure out what to keep and what to donate. So, two more piles. When Daddy gave us books, he usually wrote a note on the inside blank page, so I went through those and tore that page out, so those pages are now the third pile.
I thought this process would be hard, but I had no idea. I'm not ready for it, not that it will be any easier in four years, but 9 months seems to early for me.
I have had offers of help from Jes and two sisters, but they have lives that shouldn't be interrupted by my problems.
Looks like I've got some thinking to do. I think I will put it off though and play some more computer games. They are mind numbing and time killing.
I read an article written by a "life coach specializing in grief" about cleaning her husband's closet out. It was FOUR YEARS after his death!! Did you see the phrase "life coach specializing in grief"? I always feel that I am a very bad procrastinator, but geez, four years is an extremely long time. One of the things John didn't like about me was my procrastination. I keep hearing his voice in my head "Why haven't you got this done yet? What have you been doing all day?" Here is what I tell him, "Well, I wouldn't even be having to do this if you hadn't died, so you should just be quiet." Actually I use a little stronger language than that. I sometimes get mad at him for dying.
I haven't been to this house in over two months, and I needed to come back, for one to vote, but also to check on the house. The house is fine, the yard is another matter. Flower beds are full of weeds, and the whole outside just looks like nobody lives here. I also feel like I should start dismantling the life we had here. I started in the bathroom, throwing out old medicine, etc. Moved to the living room but I only ended up making piles of things to sell/donate or keep. I didn't have boxes or anything to put stuff in. It felt ridiculous moving things from one place to another. So, I moved into the kitchen and started throwing away the food that will never be eaten. As soon as I got to the cabinet holding the spices that John used to cook with, I stopped. I don't know why I stopped, and I didn't even think about it. It was like a giant stop sign popped up, a huge roadblock, a dead end. My inner instinct just stopped me. I probably could have sat down and given it some thought, and maybe overcome the roadblock, but that didn't even occur to me. I just stopped. A day or so later, I was able to go through my books and figure out what to keep and what to donate. So, two more piles. When Daddy gave us books, he usually wrote a note on the inside blank page, so I went through those and tore that page out, so those pages are now the third pile.
I thought this process would be hard, but I had no idea. I'm not ready for it, not that it will be any easier in four years, but 9 months seems to early for me.
I have had offers of help from Jes and two sisters, but they have lives that shouldn't be interrupted by my problems.
Looks like I've got some thinking to do. I think I will put it off though and play some more computer games. They are mind numbing and time killing.
Friday, October 19, 2012
John's birthday
Today is John's birthday, and tomorrow will be nine months since his death. He would be 63 today. He would have been glad to have made it another year. We didn't really celebrate birthdays with gifts or even cakes, but we did acknowledge the milestone. On your birthday, you get to be king or queen for the day. Your wishes are granted (to the best of ones ability).
John's younger friends had begun to call him "old man". That bothered him a lot. He would say "I don't want to be old." I never thought of him as old, and I don't think he thought it either. He had began to think about what it would be like to retire, but that was it, began to think about it. We had also been thinking about our "bucket list." But the reason for that was because we finally had enough money to be able to do things on our bucket list, not because we were getting older. Going on a cruise was on our bucket list. John got to pick that vacation, and I was going to pick the next one. Then he got to pick the one after that.
During the exciting weeks leading up to the cruise, we were dreaming of how much fun we could have. We could really, truly relax. No driving, no cooking, no running errands. On a cruise, everything is done for you. The only responsibility you have is to enjoy and appreciate. And - we were going to get drunk and do Karaoke. Yep, let our hair down, get drunk, and play, make fools of ourselves, and enjoy the hell out of it. We talked about and practiced singing together. I pulled out my CD of the Rolling Stones hits. That is when I re-discovered the song Wild Horses. I played that song over and over and over and over.
When I am thinking about John, or when I want to "go there", to my sad place, that is the song I listen to. It makes me cry every time.
John is king for the day. I will spend the day thinking about him. That is all I can give him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM
Monday, August 6, 2012
Where is it coming from?
I have been wracking my brain, trying to figure out what makes me so mad about religious people, and their perception of death.
I follow a Facebook page called Grief Beyond Belief. So many of the comments are about how mad it makes people when someone says things like "God's will", etc. It is very clear that it is not just me. This blog has really helped with my anger issues, but I am still not over it, so I will try once again to express it.
From my perspective, people that truly believe in God, and Jesus, really believe that there is a heaven. There really is a place dead people go. And they will get to see them again. Therefore, they can almost be happy about someone dying. How lucky the dead person is because he/she gets to meet Jesus. Lucky because they get to see their mothers and fathers again. They are not really dead, they are just in a place that we cannot communicate with them any longer.
Also, because it is "God's plan", there is nothing to feel sad about. God loves them, and will only do what is best. Do religious people feel guilty if they don't want their father to be dead? How do they reconcile their own wants? Is praying really comforting? Does it really ease the pain? In prayer, do you get to "give your pain to Jesus" so you no longer feel it? How in the hell can that possibly work?
Someone wrote that both of my grandmothers, as well as one grandfather were part of the "welcoming committee", and that gave her great comfort in light of Daddy's death. I can hardly say that sentence with a straight face. That is straight out of LaLa Land. There is absolutely no basis in reality in that statement. I just cannot understand having blind faith in something.
If we are such small inconsequential beings, why would God even bother to put us here? Just to fuck with us? Really? It reminds me of the Stephen King novel - Under the Dome. Just some big experiment. Are we really only pawns in the big game of life? I think not.
I think religious people cannot face the real pain. They can only look up, they cannot look inside of themselves. Because they are only looking up, towards heaven, they cannot see other people and their pain. That certainly seems to be the case in my life. If you really believe in Jesus, how can you not take other people's feelings into account. HOW? I will admit that I have never read the Bible. I have tried, twice. I could never get past the chapter on so-and-so begate so-and-so, and on, and on, and on, for pages. I have always given it up at that point. But isn't one of the "lessons" is to "Love thy neighbor"? Doesn't that mean to take other people feelings into account? I try to do that. This particular religious person I'm thinking about is entitled to believe whatever/however she wants. No problem. I don't care how she handles Daddy's death. But I have asked her in the past to not preach to me. And she still continues to do it. I didn't ask her to stop believing. I simply told her I didn't want to hear it. But, she cannot help herself, I guess. All she can do is look up to heaven, and cannot see what she is doing to the people that are left here.
The only comfort I can see in John and Daddy's death, is that is what is supposed to happen. Our bodies are finite things. They wear out. A human body will never last forever. End of.
I guess when I hear stuff about "God's plan", it feels like, me, as a person, doesn't even matter. If I don't matter, why am I even alive? Answer me that, please.
When Daddy was in the hospital, his wife convinced him it was time to die. (It wasn't. He still had the choice to fight and live even a few more months.) She has never been able to explain to us what exactly happened that made her think that. She is either not able to tell us, or not willing to tell us. So, I can only come to my own conclusions. I conclude that Daddy was going to be too sick. He was going to have to go to dialysis regularly for the little bit of time he had left. And that was too much for her. She was not going to be able to handle it, and because of that, and because she thinks he was going to heaven, she was ready to give him to Jesus to take care of. I am talking about a human being. She convinced her husband, a human being, to die, because it was going to be too much for her to take care of. Her husband, the "love of her life", my FATHER, was too much for her to take care of. She didn't ask us to take care of him. We would have. We would have given him the choice to fight and live a little longer, or choose to stop fighting. That is love.
I will never forgive her. Never. And because she is religious, I will never be religious. If that is what it means to "believe", I will never do it. I will NEVER knowingly convince someone to die.
I do believe that we are all just doing our best. She was only doing her best. When John died, I was doing my best. There are an unlimited number of things I would have done differently if I would have known what the end result was going to be. Daddy's wife was only doing her best. BUT, her best is so piss poor, it is astounding. Her best is so amazing low, it is incredible. Her best is so bad, I can't even believe it. I cannot believe that a person can be THAT weak and selfish. To me, those are the kind of people that need religion. They NEED it because they are so incompetent at being human.
Proof that there is no God - Daddy is dead and she is still alive.
I would love to write some of the stupid shit she said to us in the hospital. How she sat there at night, when we had all left, and talked to Daddy about how we were treating her. How bad we were treating her. I cannot go into that right now. I am trying to get rid of anger, and that only feeds it.
If you know "God" talk makes me mad, don't talk to me about "God". That is "ungod-ly." If you cannot talk to me without talking about "God", just don't talk to me at all. END OF!
I follow a Facebook page called Grief Beyond Belief. So many of the comments are about how mad it makes people when someone says things like "God's will", etc. It is very clear that it is not just me. This blog has really helped with my anger issues, but I am still not over it, so I will try once again to express it.
From my perspective, people that truly believe in God, and Jesus, really believe that there is a heaven. There really is a place dead people go. And they will get to see them again. Therefore, they can almost be happy about someone dying. How lucky the dead person is because he/she gets to meet Jesus. Lucky because they get to see their mothers and fathers again. They are not really dead, they are just in a place that we cannot communicate with them any longer.
Also, because it is "God's plan", there is nothing to feel sad about. God loves them, and will only do what is best. Do religious people feel guilty if they don't want their father to be dead? How do they reconcile their own wants? Is praying really comforting? Does it really ease the pain? In prayer, do you get to "give your pain to Jesus" so you no longer feel it? How in the hell can that possibly work?
Someone wrote that both of my grandmothers, as well as one grandfather were part of the "welcoming committee", and that gave her great comfort in light of Daddy's death. I can hardly say that sentence with a straight face. That is straight out of LaLa Land. There is absolutely no basis in reality in that statement. I just cannot understand having blind faith in something.
If we are such small inconsequential beings, why would God even bother to put us here? Just to fuck with us? Really? It reminds me of the Stephen King novel - Under the Dome. Just some big experiment. Are we really only pawns in the big game of life? I think not.
I think religious people cannot face the real pain. They can only look up, they cannot look inside of themselves. Because they are only looking up, towards heaven, they cannot see other people and their pain. That certainly seems to be the case in my life. If you really believe in Jesus, how can you not take other people's feelings into account. HOW? I will admit that I have never read the Bible. I have tried, twice. I could never get past the chapter on so-and-so begate so-and-so, and on, and on, and on, for pages. I have always given it up at that point. But isn't one of the "lessons" is to "Love thy neighbor"? Doesn't that mean to take other people feelings into account? I try to do that. This particular religious person I'm thinking about is entitled to believe whatever/however she wants. No problem. I don't care how she handles Daddy's death. But I have asked her in the past to not preach to me. And she still continues to do it. I didn't ask her to stop believing. I simply told her I didn't want to hear it. But, she cannot help herself, I guess. All she can do is look up to heaven, and cannot see what she is doing to the people that are left here.
The only comfort I can see in John and Daddy's death, is that is what is supposed to happen. Our bodies are finite things. They wear out. A human body will never last forever. End of.
I guess when I hear stuff about "God's plan", it feels like, me, as a person, doesn't even matter. If I don't matter, why am I even alive? Answer me that, please.
When Daddy was in the hospital, his wife convinced him it was time to die. (It wasn't. He still had the choice to fight and live even a few more months.) She has never been able to explain to us what exactly happened that made her think that. She is either not able to tell us, or not willing to tell us. So, I can only come to my own conclusions. I conclude that Daddy was going to be too sick. He was going to have to go to dialysis regularly for the little bit of time he had left. And that was too much for her. She was not going to be able to handle it, and because of that, and because she thinks he was going to heaven, she was ready to give him to Jesus to take care of. I am talking about a human being. She convinced her husband, a human being, to die, because it was going to be too much for her to take care of. Her husband, the "love of her life", my FATHER, was too much for her to take care of. She didn't ask us to take care of him. We would have. We would have given him the choice to fight and live a little longer, or choose to stop fighting. That is love.
I will never forgive her. Never. And because she is religious, I will never be religious. If that is what it means to "believe", I will never do it. I will NEVER knowingly convince someone to die.
I do believe that we are all just doing our best. She was only doing her best. When John died, I was doing my best. There are an unlimited number of things I would have done differently if I would have known what the end result was going to be. Daddy's wife was only doing her best. BUT, her best is so piss poor, it is astounding. Her best is so amazing low, it is incredible. Her best is so bad, I can't even believe it. I cannot believe that a person can be THAT weak and selfish. To me, those are the kind of people that need religion. They NEED it because they are so incompetent at being human.
Proof that there is no God - Daddy is dead and she is still alive.
I would love to write some of the stupid shit she said to us in the hospital. How she sat there at night, when we had all left, and talked to Daddy about how we were treating her. How bad we were treating her. I cannot go into that right now. I am trying to get rid of anger, and that only feeds it.
If you know "God" talk makes me mad, don't talk to me about "God". That is "ungod-ly." If you cannot talk to me without talking about "God", just don't talk to me at all. END OF!
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