Mary's mother could not live by a budget. It was not her largest failing but it was one she tried not to let stop her. She could not live within her means or save but she could work. She could work very very hard. So when Mary said "Mom can I have....." Mary's mother always said yes. She wanted to give her child everything, and in order to do so she just worked harder.
For this reason Mary spent a lot of time alone.
Mary was a magical child, one who could live for days within her own mind. She knew how hard her mother worked and she didn't ask to be played with or looked after. She would look after herself, get her own food, entertain herself with her selection of electronics and by drawing.
Mary did not like school, she had no friends. She did not complain, she just spent her recess and lunchtime in the library reading a book. Mary's magic made her different from all the other children. She didn't need them and they knew it, avoiding her the way that sheep will avoid the sheepdog, with a little fear and suspicion. The other children spoke about Mary more often than they spoke to her. Mary who had little use for them thought of the other children as an annoyance in her life and school merely as an inconvenience.
One day Mary's mother couldn't work hard enough to send Mary to the school she hated. There was no other school she could attend, so her mother sent her away to live with her grandparents. Mary's mother missed her every day.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Why I hate Neil Gaiman, or want to
I had never heard of Neil Gaiman until about 4 years ago. I didn't read comics (I mean I'm not a boy) and although I like SciFi/Fantasy as a genre I'd missed his imput to it. I was surprised when all my friends talked about him as one of their favorite writers, after all I thought I'd never heard of him.
But I had. I'd grown up listening to stories of my parent lives before my arrival, of their years in England, in the States. I'd heard all about their good friends David and Shelia Gaymen, David and Shelia had a son older than me, and a daughter who was married to a friend of my dad's. A few years ago David and Shelia were visiting their daughter (who lives 3 minutes walk from my parents house) and they had lunch. I found this out later. About the same time that I found out that they Gaymens were really the Gaimans and their son was the writer everyone had been talking to me about for years.
So I went online and read his blog. He was talking about how his house was cracked at the foundation and he would have to tear down part of it and rebuild. The thing was that very day I'd had an engineer over to my house, my house was cracked at the foundation and I would have to tear it down and rebuild it. Only difference I didn't have a penny to do it. So while Neil went to work on fixing up his old historic house I kept living in my rapidly decaying non-historic badly built piece of shit.
Another couple of years went past till I actually picked up a Neil Gaiman book in the guest room of a friends'. I wanted it to be one of those books, one of those that grabbed me and kept me up reading as fast as I could forgetting that dawn was going to come. I wanted it to be one of those books that dragged me to the end then left me regretting I had finished it. I wanted it to be great. I wanted him to be one of the best writers I'd read, I wanted him to live up to everyone's acclaim. I read a couple of chapters and put it down, it was another year or so before I finished the book, because I just didn't care. I tried again, I read another of his books. Nothing. I felt nothing. I read another. Nothing. I looked for something to love but it was all pretty ordinary. Nothing about the plots grabbed me, I didn't care about the male characters, the female characters were thinner than tissue. I wanted to like his books and I didn't.
I wanted his books to be great. I wanted to say, well he's so much better than me as a writer. He's fantastic that's why he's famous and I'm not. But I didn't feel it.
Then his commencement speech was all over the internet and I watched it. And I heard him talk about his life and how he got to be a famous writer. He started as a journalist. That had been my plan. He'd gone after it despite everything. And I hated him. Because I didn't do that. I didn't go on to be a journalist despite that being the plan, because it didn't make enough money and my family needed money. I didn't go after writing despite everything because there was always something more important than myself, my parents, my husband, my kids there was always someone else to put my attention on, always something else more important that my needs, always something else more important than my desires or dreams.
And in the end it was no-one's fault but my own. And now I'm 42 years old. I've never cared enough to be truly successful at anything.
I was sitting watching IronMan 3 with my kids. It was an ok movie, not the best IronMan but one of the better action films anyway. I'd just sent off another screenplay to a screenplay competition and was waiting to hear back. Anyway I am sitting in the middle of a movie theatre and all of a sudden while explosion noises are going off all around me I realize. I realize that I'm not good enough. I realize that I've never written a script anywhere as good as this third knockoff of an old comic idea.
Three weeks later I get my notification from the screenwriting competition. I am not good enough. I didn't even make it through the first round. I didn't even make it to the last 1000 entries. I had in the past but not this time. It wasn't that I didn't win, I didn't even get in the top third.
I know that to break in you don't just have to be as good, you have to be great. And I wish I was. I feel like Neil Gaiman and I started on the same life and somewhere I just didn't try hard enough. I wish I loved his books, I wish I thought he was great, but since I don't I just feel robbed and mad. I feel like by virtue of being a woman and trying to be everything to everyone I've never put enough energy into being me into becoming great. I feel like somewhere inside there is greatness but I've never reached it, never tried hard enough to get to it.
But I had. I'd grown up listening to stories of my parent lives before my arrival, of their years in England, in the States. I'd heard all about their good friends David and Shelia Gaymen, David and Shelia had a son older than me, and a daughter who was married to a friend of my dad's. A few years ago David and Shelia were visiting their daughter (who lives 3 minutes walk from my parents house) and they had lunch. I found this out later. About the same time that I found out that they Gaymens were really the Gaimans and their son was the writer everyone had been talking to me about for years.
So I went online and read his blog. He was talking about how his house was cracked at the foundation and he would have to tear down part of it and rebuild. The thing was that very day I'd had an engineer over to my house, my house was cracked at the foundation and I would have to tear it down and rebuild it. Only difference I didn't have a penny to do it. So while Neil went to work on fixing up his old historic house I kept living in my rapidly decaying non-historic badly built piece of shit.
Another couple of years went past till I actually picked up a Neil Gaiman book in the guest room of a friends'. I wanted it to be one of those books, one of those that grabbed me and kept me up reading as fast as I could forgetting that dawn was going to come. I wanted it to be one of those books that dragged me to the end then left me regretting I had finished it. I wanted it to be great. I wanted him to be one of the best writers I'd read, I wanted him to live up to everyone's acclaim. I read a couple of chapters and put it down, it was another year or so before I finished the book, because I just didn't care. I tried again, I read another of his books. Nothing. I felt nothing. I read another. Nothing. I looked for something to love but it was all pretty ordinary. Nothing about the plots grabbed me, I didn't care about the male characters, the female characters were thinner than tissue. I wanted to like his books and I didn't.
I wanted his books to be great. I wanted to say, well he's so much better than me as a writer. He's fantastic that's why he's famous and I'm not. But I didn't feel it.
Then his commencement speech was all over the internet and I watched it. And I heard him talk about his life and how he got to be a famous writer. He started as a journalist. That had been my plan. He'd gone after it despite everything. And I hated him. Because I didn't do that. I didn't go on to be a journalist despite that being the plan, because it didn't make enough money and my family needed money. I didn't go after writing despite everything because there was always something more important than myself, my parents, my husband, my kids there was always someone else to put my attention on, always something else more important that my needs, always something else more important than my desires or dreams.
And in the end it was no-one's fault but my own. And now I'm 42 years old. I've never cared enough to be truly successful at anything.
I was sitting watching IronMan 3 with my kids. It was an ok movie, not the best IronMan but one of the better action films anyway. I'd just sent off another screenplay to a screenplay competition and was waiting to hear back. Anyway I am sitting in the middle of a movie theatre and all of a sudden while explosion noises are going off all around me I realize. I realize that I'm not good enough. I realize that I've never written a script anywhere as good as this third knockoff of an old comic idea.
Three weeks later I get my notification from the screenwriting competition. I am not good enough. I didn't even make it through the first round. I didn't even make it to the last 1000 entries. I had in the past but not this time. It wasn't that I didn't win, I didn't even get in the top third.
I know that to break in you don't just have to be as good, you have to be great. And I wish I was. I feel like Neil Gaiman and I started on the same life and somewhere I just didn't try hard enough. I wish I loved his books, I wish I thought he was great, but since I don't I just feel robbed and mad. I feel like by virtue of being a woman and trying to be everything to everyone I've never put enough energy into being me into becoming great. I feel like somewhere inside there is greatness but I've never reached it, never tried hard enough to get to it.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Brad Pitt and me
Now that Brad Pitt has said he has it everyone will hear of it. Everyone will know all about it. He'll explain exactly how hard it is to be a millionaire or is it billionaire with everything he could possibly ever want except that he doesn't recognize people. He'll say that people hate him because of it. Poor baby. No one will really be sorry for him. But they will hear about it.
My dad called me about a year ago because he'd just watched 60 minutes and he knew what had been wrong his entire life. He knew what his problem was. He knew I had the problem too and he told me to watch it. I did. http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18560_162-57399118/face-blindness-when-everyone-is-a-stranger/
He said, "This explains everything even how I am furious when your mother gets a haircut. Go take the test, I did I got 3%. Go take it." I did, I got 15%.
The thing is my dad had been visiting and I'd been working at the office and he asked me if I remembered my customers, which rooms they were in etc. To explain I own and work in a small hotel in Costa Rica, 18 rooms when we are full, I should know which people are my guests. I told him no. I told him I had no idea who was at the hotel they were all just faceless bodies. My daughter could give people their keys when they asked for them but I thought it was just my bad memory, I couldn't remember who they were.
Later after I saw the 20/20 show I realized it's not really my memory. I have faceblindness. I don't see people's faces, I don't recognize them, I don't remember them. I've had clients pay me for the room, go back to their room change, come back to my desk to give me the key and I've asked them if they've paid. They look at me as if I'm some kind of psychotic junkie... of course they've paid, they just paid me 20 minutes before, why do I not know this? If I've failed to write this down I am screwed because I can't remember them.
I have clients come back to the hotel with a huge smile, "Hi, we're back!" I can't really tell you if they stayed the week before or three years before or if I showed them the room in the morning and they finally decided to take it. I don't know if I'm supposed to remember them perfectly or at all, I just smile and nod.
People think I'm cold and distant. I've been accused of being unfriendly. I am considered terribly rude. But in reality any time someone smiles at me I smile back because I probably know them, I am probably supposed to know them, it's not their fault I don't recognize them. I dread running into people anywhere. It's worse now that I live in a small town. Everyone is supposed to know everyone. I just can't remember any of them.
I thought that I just had a terrible memory for names. But now I realize I don't remember names because I have no picture to hang the name to. I recognize people's voices, their bodies, their flaws. I look for their large hawk nose because that is something to grab onto. The people I like least are the flawless ones. The generic blonds with pretty faces, white straight teeth, better than average bodies, they are completely invisible to me. And what did I do to make this easier for myself? I moved to a country where everyone is short, brown, with brown hair and brown eyes. Distinguishing characteristics are fewer, chances of me remembering anyone - less.
A friend was visiting and I told her about this. She didn't really understand, couldn't really understand. How this could be true, how this could affect your life? We went out dancing. A woman came up to me and said hi to me by name. Lots of people know my name, I don't know any of theirs. I hate people knowing my name. She looked as if she knew me well, I went in for the friend greeting in Costa Rica (the one arm hug and cheek-kiss) and she pulled back and I knew that she didn't know me well enough to be a friend, she had not expected that. We started to talk. It was 2 minutes into the conversation "How are you, good, how are you etc" when she told me that she told me the new job she'd gone too hadn't gone the way she expected and she was looking for work again. At that point I knew who she was, she had worked for me for a month and a half before going to work for a competitor. I walked away from the exchange and my friend followed me. She turned to me and said, "You didn't know who she was!" I said, "No, that's normal, I told you that." She replied "I didn't understand, but you had no idea who she was. Who was she?" I explained. As if one can explain to someone who can see everything what it is to go through life stumbling along blind.
When another friend came to visit I explained it to her. She understood it more, she understood me more. She said, "Well that's probably related to the problems you have dating if you can't pick up on facial clues." I'm not sure that I can't see facial clues, I think I look for them all the time because I need to know if you think I know you. I told her, "I want to be anonymous, I want to be as invisible to everyone else as they are to me, then I won't have to worry."
When I was little I always said I wanted to live in either a huge city or in the middle of the wilderness because those were the only two places you could be alone. Perhaps I knew then that I didn't want to be alone, I just didn't want to be so socially inadequate.
My dad called me about a year ago because he'd just watched 60 minutes and he knew what had been wrong his entire life. He knew what his problem was. He knew I had the problem too and he told me to watch it. I did. http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18560_162-57399118/face-blindness-when-everyone-is-a-stranger/
He said, "This explains everything even how I am furious when your mother gets a haircut. Go take the test, I did I got 3%. Go take it." I did, I got 15%.
The thing is my dad had been visiting and I'd been working at the office and he asked me if I remembered my customers, which rooms they were in etc. To explain I own and work in a small hotel in Costa Rica, 18 rooms when we are full, I should know which people are my guests. I told him no. I told him I had no idea who was at the hotel they were all just faceless bodies. My daughter could give people their keys when they asked for them but I thought it was just my bad memory, I couldn't remember who they were.
Later after I saw the 20/20 show I realized it's not really my memory. I have faceblindness. I don't see people's faces, I don't recognize them, I don't remember them. I've had clients pay me for the room, go back to their room change, come back to my desk to give me the key and I've asked them if they've paid. They look at me as if I'm some kind of psychotic junkie... of course they've paid, they just paid me 20 minutes before, why do I not know this? If I've failed to write this down I am screwed because I can't remember them.
I have clients come back to the hotel with a huge smile, "Hi, we're back!" I can't really tell you if they stayed the week before or three years before or if I showed them the room in the morning and they finally decided to take it. I don't know if I'm supposed to remember them perfectly or at all, I just smile and nod.
People think I'm cold and distant. I've been accused of being unfriendly. I am considered terribly rude. But in reality any time someone smiles at me I smile back because I probably know them, I am probably supposed to know them, it's not their fault I don't recognize them. I dread running into people anywhere. It's worse now that I live in a small town. Everyone is supposed to know everyone. I just can't remember any of them.
I thought that I just had a terrible memory for names. But now I realize I don't remember names because I have no picture to hang the name to. I recognize people's voices, their bodies, their flaws. I look for their large hawk nose because that is something to grab onto. The people I like least are the flawless ones. The generic blonds with pretty faces, white straight teeth, better than average bodies, they are completely invisible to me. And what did I do to make this easier for myself? I moved to a country where everyone is short, brown, with brown hair and brown eyes. Distinguishing characteristics are fewer, chances of me remembering anyone - less.
A friend was visiting and I told her about this. She didn't really understand, couldn't really understand. How this could be true, how this could affect your life? We went out dancing. A woman came up to me and said hi to me by name. Lots of people know my name, I don't know any of theirs. I hate people knowing my name. She looked as if she knew me well, I went in for the friend greeting in Costa Rica (the one arm hug and cheek-kiss) and she pulled back and I knew that she didn't know me well enough to be a friend, she had not expected that. We started to talk. It was 2 minutes into the conversation "How are you, good, how are you etc" when she told me that she told me the new job she'd gone too hadn't gone the way she expected and she was looking for work again. At that point I knew who she was, she had worked for me for a month and a half before going to work for a competitor. I walked away from the exchange and my friend followed me. She turned to me and said, "You didn't know who she was!" I said, "No, that's normal, I told you that." She replied "I didn't understand, but you had no idea who she was. Who was she?" I explained. As if one can explain to someone who can see everything what it is to go through life stumbling along blind.
When another friend came to visit I explained it to her. She understood it more, she understood me more. She said, "Well that's probably related to the problems you have dating if you can't pick up on facial clues." I'm not sure that I can't see facial clues, I think I look for them all the time because I need to know if you think I know you. I told her, "I want to be anonymous, I want to be as invisible to everyone else as they are to me, then I won't have to worry."
When I was little I always said I wanted to live in either a huge city or in the middle of the wilderness because those were the only two places you could be alone. Perhaps I knew then that I didn't want to be alone, I just didn't want to be so socially inadequate.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
My loving Godmother
My godmother was visiting me in my little tropical paradise... playing cards with my kids while I worked my usual 80 hours a week in my beautiful ocean front office.
She came into my little office, my little fish bowl of an office where I work day and night where I live my life or pretend to be living while everyone watches me and where I have to jump up and down every time a client talks to me.
It's not much of a life.
In the words of him, you don't have a life, outside of your kids and your work you have nothing. And with this recognition I let him in, I let him in because I wanted a life. I wanted a life outside of work, outside of the kids. I made space for him in my life, I made a small life outside of work and kids, but he didn't want to be in my life, he didn't want to fill up the space. Instead I filled a small section of my life, a small piece of my life that didn't belong to work or my children and I filled it with tears.
My godmother came to visit just after it was over, over again, over for good. She asked me if I would be interested in a guy she knew in LA. I had to say no, I wasn't interested. She said she didn't want me to be alone, that I should have someone in my life. Then she looked at me sideways."Has there been someone down here?"
"Yes." I responded.
"I'm glad you haven't been alone."
And in that moment I felt more alone than I have ever felt, in that moment I realized how very alone I was. Looking at her I knew she loved me and that I could tell her everything that had happened, and I also knew I wouldn't because it was better that she thought I had someone, it would be better that she didn't know how little I had settled for and how alone I really was.
She came into my little office, my little fish bowl of an office where I work day and night where I live my life or pretend to be living while everyone watches me and where I have to jump up and down every time a client talks to me.
It's not much of a life.
In the words of him, you don't have a life, outside of your kids and your work you have nothing. And with this recognition I let him in, I let him in because I wanted a life. I wanted a life outside of work, outside of the kids. I made space for him in my life, I made a small life outside of work and kids, but he didn't want to be in my life, he didn't want to fill up the space. Instead I filled a small section of my life, a small piece of my life that didn't belong to work or my children and I filled it with tears.
My godmother came to visit just after it was over, over again, over for good. She asked me if I would be interested in a guy she knew in LA. I had to say no, I wasn't interested. She said she didn't want me to be alone, that I should have someone in my life. Then she looked at me sideways."Has there been someone down here?"
"Yes." I responded.
"I'm glad you haven't been alone."
And in that moment I felt more alone than I have ever felt, in that moment I realized how very alone I was. Looking at her I knew she loved me and that I could tell her everything that had happened, and I also knew I wouldn't because it was better that she thought I had someone, it would be better that she didn't know how little I had settled for and how alone I really was.
Sunset
Most people watch the sun set then get up and leave. These people miss the beauty the follows the sunset when the light of the sun is gone but the glow from it's passage fills the entire sky in a prism of colors finally fading to orange and red while the sea answers by reflecting the coming night in shades of indigo and violet.
Life is also like this. Children yearn to be grown up, want to celebrate every birthday, every advance towards adulthood but then don't realize the beauty of being an adult comes much much later. Not at 18, not then, not even at 21 it's not about hitting a defining moment it's about letting that moment pass and seeing what unexpected consequences it brings.
I see a lot of children around me who doubt the wisdom of time, who contemplate never seeing adulthood because they are not enjoying the passing of the daylight. They don't see how quickly it is passing or how much beauty lies ahead, they only feel the pressure and the pain of the moment. The stress from school, the conflict with family, the lack of true friends and in the moments of their pain they forget they are waiting for the sunset, waiting for the light to fade and the night to embrace them and comfort them.
My daughter went to a school event and ended up in the middle of a conversation about suicide attempts. This is one of the reasons my daughter no long goes to school, not because she's ever expressed a desire to die but simply because the stress from school was making her life nothing but a nightmare. The kids she left behind in class are rapidly failing, the smartass boy who now cuts himself just to feel, the transfer kid who made friends and was popular who now talks of death or doesn't talk he writes poetry and cries, the queen bee who has eaten herself up three sizes and lives for the next party and oblivion, the jock who hurts himself and almost drove his bike off a cliff rather than face another day at school.
It's not that being a teenager is not hard enough, I know it is, I've been there. But 80 plus percent of the class should not be looking to die before they live. We need to nurture our children and guide them, we need to take the pressure to succeed away. They need to know that there is life after math class, that whether they pass or they fail life continues regardless. I've had too many friends die unwilling to wait for the beauty and wonder that lies ahead after all light seems to have been lost. Life does not end when the sun goes down for tomorrow is another day and we must be ready to enjoy the dawn.
Life is also like this. Children yearn to be grown up, want to celebrate every birthday, every advance towards adulthood but then don't realize the beauty of being an adult comes much much later. Not at 18, not then, not even at 21 it's not about hitting a defining moment it's about letting that moment pass and seeing what unexpected consequences it brings.
I see a lot of children around me who doubt the wisdom of time, who contemplate never seeing adulthood because they are not enjoying the passing of the daylight. They don't see how quickly it is passing or how much beauty lies ahead, they only feel the pressure and the pain of the moment. The stress from school, the conflict with family, the lack of true friends and in the moments of their pain they forget they are waiting for the sunset, waiting for the light to fade and the night to embrace them and comfort them.
My daughter went to a school event and ended up in the middle of a conversation about suicide attempts. This is one of the reasons my daughter no long goes to school, not because she's ever expressed a desire to die but simply because the stress from school was making her life nothing but a nightmare. The kids she left behind in class are rapidly failing, the smartass boy who now cuts himself just to feel, the transfer kid who made friends and was popular who now talks of death or doesn't talk he writes poetry and cries, the queen bee who has eaten herself up three sizes and lives for the next party and oblivion, the jock who hurts himself and almost drove his bike off a cliff rather than face another day at school.
It's not that being a teenager is not hard enough, I know it is, I've been there. But 80 plus percent of the class should not be looking to die before they live. We need to nurture our children and guide them, we need to take the pressure to succeed away. They need to know that there is life after math class, that whether they pass or they fail life continues regardless. I've had too many friends die unwilling to wait for the beauty and wonder that lies ahead after all light seems to have been lost. Life does not end when the sun goes down for tomorrow is another day and we must be ready to enjoy the dawn.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Good news
All you write is sad crap, why would anyone want to read it?
It was a genuine enough question and I had to ask myself why I bother at all. I know mostly I write these things for myself and sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it isn't, sometimes I yearn for approval, acceptance, fame, recognition. And why don't you write something happy? Also a genuine enough question and one I don't often have an answer to. I find my life in general more dramatic than happy, more stressed than serene. I often find myself lacking in good news. And perhaps I don't find the good news interesting.
But here goes:
I have some good news.
My house is getting fixed. I started painting today, we'll move back in in a few weeks. The insurance company finally paid up enough to get it up and going again and I am so damn happy to be moving home again after 8 months.
Also my youngest is coming home after 4 weeks with daddy and she didn't want to stay there. She's missed me and wants to come home. I miss her so damn much and I was dreading she wouldn't want to come back.
And we got a puppy, and it is a small ball of joy and I find myself smiling every time I see her.
Also the tumor was removed cleanly from my mom, it was cancer and enormous but there is a 50% chance it won't regrow and she will be fine. Also she seems happier than in recent years, and seems to be cherishing her life more.
In addition I finally found the courage today to take control of my business. My manager is looking for a new job and will stay on only part time until she gets one. So it's time for me to take over the reins of my business for the first time since I bought it 8 years ago.
So all is good things are going well, no disasters to report... but I'll probably find something to whine about anyway.
It was a genuine enough question and I had to ask myself why I bother at all. I know mostly I write these things for myself and sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it isn't, sometimes I yearn for approval, acceptance, fame, recognition. And why don't you write something happy? Also a genuine enough question and one I don't often have an answer to. I find my life in general more dramatic than happy, more stressed than serene. I often find myself lacking in good news. And perhaps I don't find the good news interesting.
But here goes:
I have some good news.
My house is getting fixed. I started painting today, we'll move back in in a few weeks. The insurance company finally paid up enough to get it up and going again and I am so damn happy to be moving home again after 8 months.
Also my youngest is coming home after 4 weeks with daddy and she didn't want to stay there. She's missed me and wants to come home. I miss her so damn much and I was dreading she wouldn't want to come back.
And we got a puppy, and it is a small ball of joy and I find myself smiling every time I see her.
Also the tumor was removed cleanly from my mom, it was cancer and enormous but there is a 50% chance it won't regrow and she will be fine. Also she seems happier than in recent years, and seems to be cherishing her life more.
In addition I finally found the courage today to take control of my business. My manager is looking for a new job and will stay on only part time until she gets one. So it's time for me to take over the reins of my business for the first time since I bought it 8 years ago.
So all is good things are going well, no disasters to report... but I'll probably find something to whine about anyway.
Letters I can never send
This week I wanted to write two letters, and for reasons that will soon become obvious I couldn't write either. Yet the things I wanted to say keep bouncing around in my head so here they are, letters that will never be sent.
1.
Dear Auntie,
I can't believe you are going for chemo for the fourth time. Dear god, how do you stand it? I mean really? You've always been an active person and here they are filling you with poison again, destroying your energy again. I know you must want to quit sometimes and I think maybe you should. This is going to sound callous, but I've come to think that cancer is a gift. As you throw your guts up and lose your hair yet again I'm sure you wont agree but I think it is.
I used to think the best way to die would be suddenly with no pain at all just not wake up one morning, a massive heart attack or stroke in the night. You know the way grandad did it, although I always felt sorry for Nana having to wake up next to a corpse. Now that I'm a little older I think I was wrong. There is something to be said for knowing that your time is coming, knowing that your days are numbered, knowing that you are mortal, and that you will not live forever.
I am not wishing that this round of chemo doesn't work, I'm not saying I want you to die. But I think there is something good about knowing that your time is limited. I think we are all dying but cancer gives us the gift of time to live. Time to tell people how we feel about them, time to settle our grievances, time to say goodbye and time to love.
I'm not saying it wouldn't be easier perhaps to be hit by a bus but cancer also gives those we love time to prepare, time to grieve, time to love. And now that I'm older I think Nana would have prefered Grandad to die slowly and painfully with time to say goodbye than to have him taken from her without warning.
And so Auntie, I love you and I'm sorry for your suffering but I'd like to take this chance to say I love you, and goodbye.
TO My friend who moved away.
Hey, I hope you're doing well. I know you don't need any more bad news. I know you've been screwed by your ex and abandoned by your children but I heard something and I don't know how to deal with the information. Your son, your 19 year old baby is now a drug dealer. You told me he was working with his father, and you were right. He is working with his father. Your ex is a dealer. Is this news to you? I don't know if it is or not. I think it is, I think you had your head in the sand. Or maybe you knew, maybe you've always known. Maybe this is why you weren't living together. Maybe you knew this is how he was paying your bills. Actually I know nothing. Maybe you are a druggie too and just happy to have a supplier for a husband. Maybe you knew this was the family business your son was getting into.
Maybe you are ok with all this and I am just the naive idiot.
1.
Dear Auntie,
I can't believe you are going for chemo for the fourth time. Dear god, how do you stand it? I mean really? You've always been an active person and here they are filling you with poison again, destroying your energy again. I know you must want to quit sometimes and I think maybe you should. This is going to sound callous, but I've come to think that cancer is a gift. As you throw your guts up and lose your hair yet again I'm sure you wont agree but I think it is.
I used to think the best way to die would be suddenly with no pain at all just not wake up one morning, a massive heart attack or stroke in the night. You know the way grandad did it, although I always felt sorry for Nana having to wake up next to a corpse. Now that I'm a little older I think I was wrong. There is something to be said for knowing that your time is coming, knowing that your days are numbered, knowing that you are mortal, and that you will not live forever.
I am not wishing that this round of chemo doesn't work, I'm not saying I want you to die. But I think there is something good about knowing that your time is limited. I think we are all dying but cancer gives us the gift of time to live. Time to tell people how we feel about them, time to settle our grievances, time to say goodbye and time to love.
I'm not saying it wouldn't be easier perhaps to be hit by a bus but cancer also gives those we love time to prepare, time to grieve, time to love. And now that I'm older I think Nana would have prefered Grandad to die slowly and painfully with time to say goodbye than to have him taken from her without warning.
And so Auntie, I love you and I'm sorry for your suffering but I'd like to take this chance to say I love you, and goodbye.
TO My friend who moved away.
Hey, I hope you're doing well. I know you don't need any more bad news. I know you've been screwed by your ex and abandoned by your children but I heard something and I don't know how to deal with the information. Your son, your 19 year old baby is now a drug dealer. You told me he was working with his father, and you were right. He is working with his father. Your ex is a dealer. Is this news to you? I don't know if it is or not. I think it is, I think you had your head in the sand. Or maybe you knew, maybe you've always known. Maybe this is why you weren't living together. Maybe you knew this is how he was paying your bills. Actually I know nothing. Maybe you are a druggie too and just happy to have a supplier for a husband. Maybe you knew this was the family business your son was getting into.
Maybe you are ok with all this and I am just the naive idiot.
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