| Changes | 12:28 AM |
Our first Thanksgiving without our mom. It was ok. I usually do the turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce, homemade stuffing, plus occasional other holiday food stuffs. Normally I cook a pretty good turkey -- not too dry and never undercooked. Well, never until this year anyway. And the gravy was off and I cooked the leftover stuffing with too much water so it was mushy. Oh well. We made it and Doug still said it was a lovely dinner :)
I magically lost 6 pounds this last month (and probably put back on a couple today). I don't know from where cause I certainly don't feel thinner, but aparently smoking and stress'll help you do that.
So changes...I'm moving back to the city. Broke up with the fiance and gave back the ring that was worth more than everything I owned put together at the time that I got it (before I inherited half my mother's estate -- which isn't that much, but worth more than an engagement ring :)
I got a letter from Wells Fargo saying I was the beneficiary of my mother's retirement account and it made me bawl. Just thinking about her doing something while she was alive for me made me incredibly sad. And I've been thinking a lot about her. I suppose for many reasons -- the changes in my life, the holidays, the stress and sadness of breaking up. I adored him, but in the end we just made each other miserable. He brought out the worst qualities in me. And over the last two years that I've been with him, I haven't grown one bit in my life. If anything, I've degenerated into a more useless person than I'd normally be. But I think that demoralization can do that to you.
I always try to set a positive spin on things. And I'm excited about having my own space again -- where no one will tell me to clean my crap up if I leave it laying over the floor. I'll miss the pets, but not the responsibility. I can't wait to move back into the city; I've missed it ever since I left. I won't miss living in the remote woods where I couldn't spend a night by myself without anxiety and where the roof rats sounded like they were as big as my cats. I'll miss Frank, but I'm looking forward to a fresh start and a new life.
I'll spend the New Year's in Rhode Island again. Which seems appropriate because I spent it there last year while Frank and I were broken up for those couple of months. I'm looking forward to snow :)
| More Socket Problems | 11:07 PM |
My tooth socket continues to be pain in the ass. I go again to have it scraped out and cleaned tomorrow. Hopefully for the last time. I went over a month ago when the flesh inside my empty tooth socket got so swollen it was poking out of the top of the tooth socket. Imagine a big mixing bowl with a small dough ball at the bottom, then imagine the dough's risen and it's puffy and fluffed out of the top of the bowl. And the oral surgeon has to rip all that dough out of the bowl. That was my tooth socket about a month ago.
It's been interesting to me this saga of oral surgeons these past 2.5 months. I chose an oral surgeon because I knew someone who'd used him before -- you can't just cold call a dentist! And he was fine and nice and his office staff was great, the surgery assistant was cute and extremely nice -- as were the other assistants. But then he failed to call me back when I was most anxious (about the dough ball in my socket) and now I wouldn't trust him to clean my teeth, much less rip them out of my head.
I went to the on-site dentist at work as an emergency -- I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be worried about my tooth hole or not. She pulled out a sharp pointy thing and my hands leapt up of their own accord to cover my mouth, and I was just as suprised as she was. She promised she wouldn't hurt me and I dropped my hands. She kept her promise and recommended Dr. Joseph S Kim, DMD. He is awesome. I can't recommend him enough. It's funny because my mom dragged my sister off to Korean doctors and dentists with mixed results so I was sort of wary of going to see him for the first time, but I was immediataely sold. I've never seen such happy office staff -- you don't get happy office staff if you're not successful (who can be happy about a failing practice?) and personable (who wants to work for a crabass?). The review I found on Yelp helped me feel good about going to see him (so good that I added my own review).
I got local anesthesia for the debridement (he pulled out the dead flesh in my tooth socket -- did I mention that yet?) and they say you're supposed to wait after the shot for it to fully take effect. Which he did -- asking me if I felt my lips, did it feel weird? No, ok, you're not ready yet. But I got anxious waiting to get numb, then wasn't sure if I was numb enough. And while he's (literally) ripping stuff out of that hole, I can hear it in my head, and feel a little bit of the tugging in my mouth, but it doesn't hurt. There's no pain, but I've worked myself up so much that if I hear too much or feel too much tugging -- I tell myself I feel pain so I can make the doctor stop. Of course, I don't realize this at the time, but afterwards when I re-evaluated my repsonse (my body was tense; i was covered in sweat -- so much sweat that when they finished, they mopped my brow!), I realized there was no pain. And there wasn't any pain after the procedure either. I took some pain killers just before I left the office and didn't feel a thing after that, and didn't need any additional pain medication at all.
Today, when I was back there again, he pulled out a sharp, pointy tool and I didn't even flinch. He just stuck it right in my mouth, but I completely trust him now. And he totally deserves it -- I didn't even feel the pointy bit in my mouth!
| The Boy & The Pets | 11:03 PM |
Frank is so funny. We were at Valley Fair Mall a couple of weeks ago -- I can't remember what errand we had to run there. Anyway, there's this giant plastic kitty somewhere in the mall and we walked by it twice. Frank loves cats now and he cooed over it as we went by. On our way back, there was this tiny little chic with huge ass boobs walking by the kitty. I was watching her boobs, and after we passed the kitty, Frank says, whew...I didn't know where to look -- the kitty or the girl!. Well, I was looking at the girl. Yeah, but the girl you can see anywhere...but the kitty...!
He is a far better pet parent than I am. He dotes over the cats. He dotes over Einstein (who's proving to not be able to live up to his name -- he walked into a cactus the other day!) He spends all day with them. It's so cute. He wouldn't have let that turtle die, no matter how I kid -- while I was haplessly throwing stuff into the turtle cage, he did the research to find out the tank was the perfect size for her (I thought it was too small). I hopped on his computer days later and he had turtle websites up on his desktop :)
We're down to 8 pets: 2 dogs, 4 cats, 2 rats. I contacted a local, nonprofit reptile and amphibian organization (baars) and discovered it was ok to release the animals I'd found: the two Pacific Tree Frogs, and the Coastal Rubber Snake (the snake the cats were playing with). We wanted to keep the frogs as pets, but they weren't eating and I didn't want to watch them die. The turtle moved on to a another new home.
| Wandering in My Underwear | 12:23 AM |
I was out with the dogs for their last pee before bed in a tank top, panties, and my motorcycle riding boots -- no, don't ask me why I was dressed that way. I was standing outside picking up dog poop in my panties thinking to myself, there are some advantages to living remotely. We have one direct neighbor -- a family of 5, soon to be 6, and their front door is probably at least half a mile from our front door -- going up our driveway, down the street briefly, and then down their driveway. And there are lots of trees giving each of us privacy in our respective yards.
It reminded of a night that we were having a dinner party at our old place and my girlfriend came over early to help, and told me I was wearing the strangest outfit ever. I'd thrown some stuff together to stay warm -- I dress indiscriminately when I'm at home, and especially when I'm cold. And I remember feeling warm about that comment because it reminded me of my mom and how strangely she dressed around the house at times (and sometimes out). I remember thinking at the time how funny it was that I was turning into her. When my mom got into her accident, she was dressed in layers of clothing. I don't know why -- she must've been so cold to have so much clothing on. She was such a tiny little thing, too -- I bet the extra clothes filled her out.
We kept those clothes for a long time. At the funeral home, I wanted everything. We got one shoe, and later one got the rest of her clothes. But not the other shoe -- that ended up being in the car. There was something disturbing about the fact that her shoes were separated like that. It bothered me for a long time.
I don't know what I thought I'd do with the clothes -- I just wanted anything and everything that was hers, that was near her during the accident. The worst thing in the packet of personal items that the coroner's office sent over was a bloody fabric eyeglass chain in a little tiny plastic baggy that said "soiled" on it. When I laid out the clothes finally, they were covered in mold from being tied up in a plastic bag wet and left to rot, and soiled with dried blood. Layers of clothes, and I imagined her wearing them, imagined her putting those clothes on her last morning. They smelled so awful and were horrifying to look at. We eventually ended up throwing them away. Some things shouldn't be saved.
| Death and the Mall | 12:36 AM |
We dropped off Jess at the airport on Saturday and then were driving to Valley Fair Mall -- Frank wanted to go to a store in there. I started thinking about my mom in the car right after we dropped off the sis. I was at that mall when my dad called to tell me, about 6 hours after her accident. I remember asking him if he went to see her at the hospital and he was trying to tell me she didn't make it to the hospital and all I could think was why didn't she go to the hospital? I thought at first she was just hurt. And how sad that no one visited her. I couldn't really understand my dad. What was wrong with my mom? Did they really do everything they could? How did they know she didn't need to go to the hospital? And how come they didn't call us? How could they not have our contact information? They said it took some time to find my father's information so for a while my mom was just some body with no identifiable loved ones to claim her.
I remember being mad at Frank for not coming out to get me. I had to call my dad back because I couldn't hear him when he first called me but knew enough to be scared. I ran outside to call him back. I was out there for so long, I thought for sure Frank would come get me. I didn't want to go back in so wet and sad. But he didn't come out and I was mad cause I needed him, but I knew he was just respecting my privacy.
I went home and tore through everything looking for photos of her. I listened to her New Year's Eve message over and over again. I found these stamps she'd given me with her handwriting on the package. I missed her so much I didn't know what it would do to me. And now, it seems so far away. But every now and again, I pull it close. Cause I don't want to let her go.
| Pet Violence | 11:53 PM |
A week ago Mr. Number Two was attacked (I'm pretty sure by the new cat -- the issue of satan as I call him). Blood splattered everywhere -- all over the wall behind the cage, and on the wood floors and as far as into the next room. He had to get five metal staples. He and his brother used to fight and haven't in a long time, but I heard a loud squeak in the evening, but didn't bother to look cause it was only one squeak and I figured the brothers were at it again. Later, walking by their cage, I saw his entire neck covered in blood. He was eating at his food bowl and dripping blood into it. Poor thing.
In more violent pet news...Maverick killed a baby bunny that same week. Actually, I killed a baby bunny, he just damaged it beyond repair. The next day, Einstein ate a baby quail and wouldn't respond to my pleas that he drop it.
The new cat is seriously the most fucked up cat I've ever lived with. I've never been afraid of a cat before. I'm never really sure what he's going to do. Even while I'm petting him, I'm all the while scared he's going to suddenly turn and scratch me. He brutalizes and terrorizes my other cats, and sometimes the dogs.
The other day, I saw Tigger playing with Buddy's collar and was wondering if that was some sort of dominance thing. But then I realized Buddy's collar was actually on the kitchen counter, and what they were really playing with was a snake they'd brought into the house! A very little snake, but a snake nonetheless that's currently in a small pet container cause I'm not sure if I'm supposed to release him back in the wild or if I'm supposed to kill it. I need to call my local animal control or wildlife center.
Today was skull day. I was spraying Nature's Miracle on yet another doggie blankie and was examining it and found these little hard things stuck to the blanket. I picked them off and looked at them closely and realized they were pieces of bones from a small animal...including the jaw. On the patio today, I found the skull of some other small animal. I guess the hawks must've dropped it there after pecking off all the meat or something.
Frogs are doing great (the ones that've managed to stay alive -- Minimus finally died). The turtle is going back. But Maverick is staying.
| Minimus | 12:21 AM |
I am completely fascinated by the frogs right now. I keep going into the office to see if they've changed. I came home tonight and there was a new frog on the rock.
Minimus has no legs and doesn't look like he has any guts. He's completely hollow on the inside. I'm not really sure how he's going to survive and what he's going to turn into. In the photo below, you can see the dark area of his belly where you'd think his junk would be, but if you were to look at him head on, you'd see that beneath the dark pigmentation, there's nothing -- at least nothing in the rounded "belly" portion of him.
| Frogs | 9:32 AM |
Tadpoles turn into frogs really fast. I usually look in on them every day and I missed a couple of days. Last night I walked into the office and goddamnit -- there was a frog sitting on the rock! I've named them all. Maximus (the biggest), Minimus (the tadpole that'll never turn into a frog), and then the Restofus (that's good for all four of them). I didn't get any pictures of Maximus with arms, but I got one today of one of the junior Restofus:
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| Jun 14 Max's recently developed legs |
Jun 18 Max's matured legs |
Jun 21 Max's already a frog! |
Jun 22 Jr with arms & legs |
| Why Are Ex-Mormons so Interesting? | 11:12 PM |
I stumbled across a couple of new blogs recently and both of them belong to ex-Mormons. I know several ex-Mormons and I was starting to wonder why we find recovering Mormons so fascinating. Is it the magic underwear they have to wear all the time? The secret handshakes? The marrying and baptizing of the dead? Is it the endless proselytizing they do in their ever familiar clothes on their ever familiar bicycles, and their little name tags, Hello, I'm Brother Jones?
I'm not an expert on these subjects, but I'd venture to guess that the more weird things a religion makes its adherents do, the greater the fascination for those who used to practice it. It's because they seem cultish that we're fascinated by the Mormons, and even more so with the Christian Scientists. I mean, aliens? As a basis for a religion? Doesn't that sound crazy? And how do you get a mass group of people to behave identically if you're not brainwashing them just a little?!
No one bats an eye when they find out I'm an ex-Christian. No one asks me questions; no one wants to hear stories. We non-denominational Christians have no rituals and it's the rituals we're fascinated with. The ritualistic underwear, the ritualized ceremonies. Secret handshakes are a sign of elite access. So is being granted priesthood, or entry to the temple. It's so seductive. That kind of access. One step closer to enlightenment.
Maybe religion is just another form of brainwashing -- some religions milder than others. Doesn't brainwashing just mean that one learns to not think for oneself anymore? That you think what you're told to think? God is your saviour; you shall not want. And heaven awaits you behind pearly gates, above the softest of clouds.
I was thinking about my mom recently. Wondering where she was, then wondering why the hell would I phrase it that way? She's gone. Decomposing in the ground. And I was wondering is there an epiphany at the end for believers? Do they see death for what it is before they die, or are they spared that horror?
| Eureka! | 11:53 PM |
I've finally discovered what proteins are responsible for my post meal/post candy splurge wipe outs: orexin! I've been wanting to find out for years (not enough to try to look it up, but enough to be excited about finding this article two days ago :)
| 10 Years of Blogging | 11:47 AM |
Well, back then we didn't call it blogging. I just got my old "blog" back online after a couple of years of absence and I realized that it's been 10 years since I started blogging. Ten years!
| Pink! | 1:36 AM |
I've been dying to do a pink layout and here it is. I started playing with it on Saturday, hammered out this layout last night, and got it up today (yay me!). The album layout hasn't been updated yet, but I am glad to be rid of that drab grey at least here for now.
I'm starting to get excited about development again. Ed was telling me about the Google Web Toolkit last night and I was genuinely interested in it. Not only interested, but had an intense desire to go find out more about it and to play with it.
At work, I've got an interesting new project to start on, and I didn't think I'd be excited at work again, but I am. I'm looking forward to sitting down and designing a new app and writing some code.
That said, I have to admit how stupid I am with CSS. I know I'm not supposed to use tables anymore, but I've used them for so long I can't live without them. Setting up CSS to use two or three columns? Forget it. All that relative and absolute positioning fucks me up. Nothing ever ends up quite where I want it. I'm a sucky designer, too. I have to look at about 50 sites to gather enough ideas and tidbits in my head to try to make my own thing. And when I do, I'm not sure if it's actually well designed -- I just like the way it looks or the colors I've picked. For example, I know my new header is rather large and for no good reason other than I originally wanted to put three photographs at the top. But you can only make photographs so tiny. I put that other stuff in there just because it fit -- not because it made especial sense to put it there. At least big headers seem to be all the rage now so I'm not too ashamed of it.
I swear I'm much better at coding than I am at CSS. Really.
| my leave | 10:05 PM |
i accomplished less than i wanted to over my leave, but it was good time off and away. i tried to not pressure myself to do anything and succeeded. i got started on two out of the three things i wanted to do over leave, but got much less cleaned up at my mom's than i wanted to. actually, i felt like i pretty much left the house the way it was when i first got there.
i think the time with my sister was good. talking about my mom, seeing my dad, talking about my dad with my sister. all those things were good. i was starting to feel all shut up about my mom, not really talking about her and feeling like i needed to, but not sure with who or how, and feeling really sad and hurt and bottling it all up. my leave came just in time. i got to see my sister just in time for me not to get all crazy. and now i feel ok. i still miss my mom. i still think about her a lot, i still cry whenever i think about the accident, but i think about the accident less and less frequently.
my father's really sort of come out of his shell lately. he called me the other day just to chat. my father has never done that in my entire life. i was touched. he talks more than he ever has. he's very open. and seeing this side of him, i think about my sister and i and how much she's like my mother and how much i'm like my father. i'm also my mother and jess is also very much my father, but there's tighter coupling the other way around. and i think it's interesting. i want my father to be happy. sometimes i think my mom's death opened up new things for all of us. and closed some other things down.
| the pain, the endless pain! | 9:54 PM |
i had my wisdom teeth pulled almost two weeks ago friday. three of the extraction sites seem to be healing up fine and normally. the last one is a bitch and hurts like a motherfucker. saturday after the surgery i woke up fine. sunday and monday mornings i woke up in excruciating pain and it hasn't really stopped since and has only the tiniest bit gotten better. saturday i'd gotten off the vicodin and onto tylenol because i thought the vicodin would make me sleepy for the drive up north on sunday, but the tylenol (with it's doubled dosage of acetaminophen) made me sleepier than the vicodin did.
i had this foolish notion i would be fine after three days. and the literature the oral surgeon gave me implied i'd be onto solid food by day three. so i was eating sandwiches on day two. soft, little sandwiches, but solid food nonetheless. i think i started chewing too soon. and that bottom right tooth was apparently a bitch to pull out (i can't remember why though), and it's not just a little round hole like the others, it's a long gash and the gum is separated from my teeth by that gash. it has a lot more healing to do.
but the pain. i don't think i've ever had this much pain for this long in my entire life. as an experiment i went off the pain meds and denied myself tylenol or anything else of that ilk since monday (i got really ill after bay to breakers on sunday -- combo of not enough sleep or water, strong pain meds, and alcohol) and sometimes it hurts so bad i want to scratch the side of my face off. this afternoon i gave in and had some generic pain medication out of the medicine cabinet at work. i can understand now how animals gnaw away at themselves for a variety of reasons -- boredom, panic, pain. my dad's dog gnawed the skin and flesh off his leg recently (just before they put him to sleep due to old age and illness) because it hurt and he'd lost a lot of sensation in it. poor baby...i completely understand.
| 7+ mile party | 11:34 PM |
Sunday morning:
me: I thought you said you were going to use the other rollers.
jess: I didn't say that.
me: Yes, you did, you idiot.
jess: Uh, no, I didn't.
me: Well, I can't use these -- my hair's too thick, I can fit enough of these on my head!
...
jess: you've been mean to me all week, you bitch.
me: you've only been here one day!
...one hour later...
jay: I can't believe you and your sister were fighting over hair curlers this morning.
Look, we got three hours of sleep. I'm on pain medication, she's a mini pharmacy. Drinks, late night, early morning...go figure. We made up half an hour later and for the rest of the day I'd laugh about that stupid fight.
We did our 2nd Bay to Breakers this year. It is seriously just one long, unofficially locally sanctioned costume party / drink-a-thon. This year we came prepared with lots of food, drink, and water. I think our first year we didn't have enough food or alcohol. I haven't gotten my pictures up, but Ineke has!
| moving on | 1:55 AM |
going through more of my mom's stuff a few days ago, i was reminded of how much she expected of us. of all of us. and how difficult it is to meet someone else's expectations of you, especially when the two of you are so different and value different things.
i was reminded again about how i knew next to nothing about her. in the car last thursday on our way to visit the grave, i mentioned to my uncle that she never told us stories about her childhood. oh that's because she was so busy. busy doing what, uncle? well our dad died when she was 10... and somehow the conservation ended after i asked how our grandpa died. it seemed like such an important conversation, how'd i get distracted?
jess and i made a trip to the dump today. jess loved it. we were the only two women out there -- everyone else looked like a professional and was male. she loved it so much, she wants to go back tomorrow morning (i think she's just eager to throw things away :). and what a relief to get rid of some trash. we have so many more dump trips to make. and goodwill trips. and craigslist postings. and god knows what else.
i've been watching so much tv. i have it on all the time as background noise, when i'm eating, while i knit, hanging out with jess. never really idling in front of the tv; always doing something. little fingers busy, busy. the other night on king of the hill some kid was wearing a "praying is not a crime" shirt, which at first i took to be a nod to the EFF. though doing a search on "is not a crime" seems to indicate that anything and everything can be tied to this phrase so who knows.
so i've almost completed my 2nd week of leave. i haven't gotten as much done on the house as i thought i would. and i haven't started studying my korean again, but i started writing again and going to the gym regularly again. two out of three isn't bad, and i still have over 2 weeks to go...
| i'm mostly ok | 1:26 AM |
i don't know why it's been so long since i've written. i do know that i've thought less about my mom, don't talk about her so much, mostly think i'm ok. but every now and again driving in the car at night i'll start crying like i just lost her again. usually when i'm alone. sometimes when i'm in the car with frank.
i realized recently how bad it's been for me to not talk about her. and now that i'm back home in irvine, it's easy to talk about her. easy to feel her near when i'm living in her house. i'm on leave from work for a month and am entering my 2nd week of leave. it's already going by too fast.
i still miss her. and when it hurts it's as raw as it ever was, but life's moving forward. for everyone.
Mom in 1996 graduating with her Masters in Divinty.
She still looks so young!
| So long... | 1:28 AM |
I don't know why it's taken me so long to come back here. I haven't blogged since I came back to Mountain View. The 49th day picnic was small with just my sister and I and my uncle and aunt. My dad was there, too, though we weren't sure he'd make it. I think the 49th day is supposed to be end of the period of intense grieving. Now your altar to the dead one gets smaller. You buy fewer flowers, burn less candles, put her photo in a smaller frame. I don't know yet if my sister is doing any of these things.
I know my grief has mellowed. I still think about her a lot. I still have my moments of quiet and reflection where I break down and sob, but just to myself. I don't let anyone else see that; it's a very private moment I'm having. I still have her photo. Still burn a flame.
Mom working hard in my dad's office, 1980s.
My dad and I came across this photo early on. He commented on how hard she always worked. She only ever thought of us.
| killer truck | 1:27 AM |
This'll be the first non-grief entry since my mother died. I'm hoping there will be more of these after this one.
I was driving a new truck down Skyline Blvd, and I came less than a foot away from hitting a deer. I saw it on the other side of the road and started to slow down not really sure if it was going to bolt or not and if so in which direction. So I'm slowing down and the deer's sort of going in one direction, then another, then it bolts in front of me. I brake with all my might (the trucked performed excellently), and stopped the car just in time for the deer to run in front of it, practically brushing it's fur against the grille.
Now, relieved and impressed that I didn't kill the deer and the truck handled so well, I immediately hit and kill a raccoon. I didn't see it fast enough to even begin to react. You can't imagine my horror. I wanted to turn back - I know I probably didn't want to see it, but I was afraid it might still be alive and need help...I know, stupid. The truck is now known as the death mobile.
| Visiting the Car | 1:53 AM |
Seeing my mom's car was probably the worst thing we've done since she died. The traffic investigator warned me several times not to go see it, but everyone warned us about everything and none of it turned out as bad as I thought it would so I didn't give his warnings much credence. The Tow and Mo people are disorganized as hell though. First they sent me to the wrong facility, then they told me the car wasn't released from evidence even though two days before they'd told me the car had been released for a long time, when was I going to pick it up? We meant to go see it Tuesday, but I had called and they needed the title and it took us a couple of days to find it.
The car was so smashed up and damaged. Much more than I'd imagined it to be. I thought I was pretty prepared for it after having see the news coverage video of the car after the wreck, but it'd been a long time since I'd seen it, and I had remembered a different image of the car than the one I saw at the tow place.
And there was so much stuff in the car. The officer said there wasn't anything in it, but he was wrong. There were clothes, her other shoe (which I'd been wondering about when I'd taken her clothes out), makeup, toothbrush, coinpurse. Her glasses. Covered in dried blood. Those were the hardest to see. I thought we had the glasses she was wearing, but those were glasses that must've been on her person. These were the glasses she was wearing when she died and they managed not to get broken, but were completely covered in blood.
And there was blood splashed onto the seats and sides of the car, there was blood pooled in the passenger seat, there was blood in the front and back. I just imagined her in the car during the accident. The physical body is just a delicate, fragile thing when compared to a hunk of metal folded in on itself. How do you protect your flesh against crushed metal? Broken glass everywhere. How did her shoe get into the back seat? Did it fly off her foot as the car was rolling over, or did it fall out of the car and they threw it into the backseat as they cleaned up? The back seat, where they threw in the other chunks of car as they must've cleaned up the street.
I'd just been talking about how it felt like it was getting too easy. The car, the car ruined it for me. It was a dose of reality for both of us. Sometimes I think Jess is all I have left. My dad's just as remote as always. And I love him, but he's distant. Jess is all I have.
 Mom in San Diego, CA. 1970 |
 me & jess, ohio. |
| Other people lose their moms, too | 1:18 AM |
I was emailing a friend of mine the other day and he told me to appreciate the fact that I'd had my mom for as long as I did. And I thought to myself, it wasn't nearly long enough. But his mother committed suicide when he was just a few years old and I felt like an insensitive whiner for going on and on about my mom. Another good friend of mine lost his mom at a very young age, too, and for some reason when I lost my mom, I forgot all about these other folks who've lost their moms, too.
I was lucky to have her for as long as I did. I wish I'd known her better; I always thought I eventually would, but I took it for granted. Just like I took for granted having my mom at all. The rawness of the loss has healed over a bit. And even going through and organizing her things isn't so difficult and I manage to do a little every day, but every now and again I find something that feels so intimate and revealing and it takes my breath away. Yesterday it was a wooden box full of quarters she collected and I pictured her putting quarters into it and it breathed life into her in my imagination. It's probably the hardest thing now -- imagining her doing very specific things and feeling her living in my head for a moment. But it's a nice thing, too.
I couldn't get on as well as I have if it weren't for my sister. I think about her all the time. I mean I'm living with her, too, but I worry and think about her all the time anyway. I think about how sweet and generous she can be and what a rotten sister I've been. She sent me this photo the other day:
Mom. Korea.
I don't know who all those children are, but she looks so young and has the most beautiful smile in this photo. I worry about my sister living here all alone when I leave. But hopefully that won't be for at least a little while, so I'll worry about it then.
I still feel like hell. I'm so conjested that sometimes my head feels like it's in a vise. Just turning or nodding my head hurts. I worked today for a little bit, but didn't make it much past 2pm. Then I slept until dinner time. And I'm ready for sleep yet again.
| First birthday | 11:47 PM |
We celebrated Josh's birthday today, a few days early. Our first celebration without my mom. We invited a close aunt and uncle and they stopped by, but couldn't stay. My grief is nothing compared to my aunt's. She can't even come over to the house without difficulty because it was my mom's house. She was visiting grandma yesterday and sighted a pair of my mom's shoes and those sent her into tears. And seeing her sobbing started me going, too.
I've been thinking lately how it's gotten so much easier. How I don't cry at night anymore thinking about her. And when I do think about her, the sadness doesn't stay with me as long, and I think I'm afraid I'm going to lose her, to forget her, and forget what she meant to me. I'm afraid of going back to Mountain View because at least here, I'm always surrounded by her. Distance always makes me forget and I don't want that to happen.
Pic Jess sent me...me with mom in Korea.
Making kimchee in the winter. About 1976.
I've been so sick lately. I woke up Friday with the mother of all sore throats and I don't feel too physically owful, but my throat is killing me and I'm sneezing and congested. It feels more like a bad allergy attack than a virus. And if I don't keep drinking hot water to ease my throat, I feel like I'm dying of thirst.
We keep putting off going to visit the car and talking to the investigator. And calling the mortuary about the incorrect death certificates. It's no longer that I can't bear to do these things, but if I keep putting it off, maybe I just won't have to. But that's the runner away in me; that's too easy. Tomorrow. I'll probably call in sick so tomorrow. I'll call.
| Fairness, Suicide, and God | 2:44 AM |
Sometimes I think to myself it's not fair. Then immediately refute it, because what's fair? It is fair my sister has the physical problems of someone twice her age? Is it fair my crazy fucking ****** didn't managed to kill himself when he wanted to but my mom died in an accident? Is it fair I have a car and a job and a roof over my head? The world and life don't exactly balance out.
Sometimes I think about god and faith. It's times like this that try the non-believer cause it would be so nice to believe my mom was in heaven hanging out with god. Or to believe in any sort of warm and fuzzy afterlife. A friend of mine told me he believed in god because he couldn't believe we spent our lives connecting with other people and that there wasn't anything else afterwards. But I think it's the connections that keep us here on earth. Why would anyone want to continue living if there weren't connections tying us down? Or propping us up?
I was telling someone today how all I blog about anymore is my mom, and how boring that must be for an outsider. How much of someone else's grief can you possibly listen to? I keep telling myself I'm going to blog about something in a category other than grief, but I can't seem to free up the brain cycles to do it yet. I've been reading the news, thinking about my future, but neither of these seem to warrant the attention my mother does.
Mom, me, dad, and my cousin in red with my Aunt holding him at my dad's graduation in 1974. Korea.
| Accident Clothes | 1:14 AM |
I'm busy in spurts of activity interspersed with intense tv watching during which I'm busy baking and/or cleaning (there's no cable in my mom's room yet). I can't sit still, but I desperately want to do nothing.
Mom in Los Angeles Park, California. 1970.
I've been putting off, for a month now, looking at the clothes my mom was wearing during the accident. So long, in fact, that the clothes have badly molded in the plastic bag they were tied up in. I got the standard bloodborne pathogens warning regarding the clothes so I took precautions. I thought what an odd sight I must've made out in the backyard with my pajamas on, a rag tied around my nose, clear woodworking goggles, and latex gloves on with bare arms and exposed feet, cutting up large plastic garbage bags and then unwadding and carefully laying out blood stained clothing covered in white mold. I wasn't sure if I was being overly cautious or not enough. The mortician kept saying how many people are in and out of the coroner's office and I was concerned about what that might mean (did that mean my mom's clothes were hanging out with other dead people's clothes? Did that mean the clothes might've caught something from passerbys? I don't know nearly enough about this.) I felt awkward leaving her bra and panties out in the open like that, but I wasn't going to let those clothes lay around inside -- not with my delicate little sister in there inhaling god knows what emanating from the clothes. Even with the nose hanky, the clothes smelled none too fresh -- a mixture of blood and mold and general staleness with a hint of something malodorously hospital-like sans disinfectant.
And as the sun was setting, all I did was roll everything back up and put it back in the plastic bag from which I'd rescued them in the morning. Right after her death, when I had to practically beg the mortician to give me her clothes, I needed them. I wanted to see them. But when I really wanted to, I didn't have time to -- there were always people around, and I wanted privacy when I took them out. And I didn't want anyone walking around in the backyard when her clothes were lying about. When I got back from Mountain View 2-3 weeks ago, I had the privacy, but I worked all day -- I didn't want to leave the clothes outside without me around to keep an eye on them. Yesterday I thought about it, but couldn't, and today in a manic rush of cleaning, I tore open the box and untied the first of two plastic bags, then I started to smell the faint odor coming off them and panicked. Then got my makeshift "safety" gear together and hauled everything outside.
Anyway, it's done. Now I don't know what to do with them. I wanted to call my dad and ask him what I was supposed to do with those clothes. I badly want to wash them. I sort of want to throw them away, but don't feel like I can. It feels a little morbid to keep the clothing around. I'd feel less creeped out if they'd been washed. There wasn't nearly as much blood as I thought there'd be, but seeing the clothes was hard nonetheless. Just thinking about her wearing them that day and the clothing she had on her -- a couple of things that I recognized as things she frequently wore. They forgot to give us her other shoe. We only have one -- the clean one. The other one was soiled. I think they must've forgot to put it in the bag. I was upset about that earlier today. Seeing the one shoe in the bag...
I don't know how people deal with grief. Sometimes I feel like I'm going mad.
| One Month | 2:51 AM |
Today was the one month anniversary of my mom's death. We visited the grave -- I haven't been there since the 3rd day picnic. I've made some progress cleaning and going through stuff. But you'd never be able to tell from the mess around the bed. We keep discovering new little things about my mom. And finding reminders of our past. Nothing much has changed in the last month; I suspect it hasn't been enough time for healing, forgetting, or neglect.
Mom, California, 1970
| Dying | 2:15 AM |
Our grandma came to visit this weekend. I haven't seen her since my mom's accident. Seeing her crying immediately set me off. She looked so tiny sitting in that plastic outdoor chair. Her feet didn't even reach the ground. She's still so vibrant. Sad, but she seems healthy. And her mental facilities are still sharp.
I've been thinking about my family dying and it's a depressing thought. I'm not quite sure how to kick this funk. I feel like a wad of darkness. And I think I'm handling it well. I wonder what it'd be like if I wasn't. But I'm alternately angry, irritable, or sad all the time.
Jess and I made some cards tonight and it reminded me of the last time I made cards here with my mom. She was putting stickers willy nilly all over the card. It was so cute. They were for Frank and Ed's birthdays. I don't think I remembered to give them to either of them. I guess I can put them in my scrapbook.
I've been looking at photos of my mom when she was younger and she was so glamourous. She always dressed carefully, posed like a movie star, had a gorgeous smile. And it made me think that no one's going to ever look back at my photos and think I was glamourous. I don't care about me, but I like thinking of my mom that way.
Mom on some California beach in 1970.
| Addict | 1:11 AM |
When an alcoholic and drug addict asks if you want to share vodka with him, say no. I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I said yes. What a moron. Feeling sorry for someone and trying to help doesn't actually mean you're helping. Some things you just can't help with. Frank says he wishes he could do more for me and I tell him he's doing the best he can possibly do and that he can't really do anything more for me. But I know he feels useless. I think he's being supportive and wonderful and I couldn't ask for more, but I know what's it's like to feel helpless while you're watching someone suffer.
I couldn't help my mom when she was so lonely and sad. I wish I'd called her more and had come down to see her more, but that wouldn't really have helped her. She had to find her own way and I think she was starting to before she died. In the very beginning when I couldn't stop crying and hurting, I needed an explanation and I thought maybe the god she believed in looked into her future and saw she'd just keep suffering and took her away. I realize now that isn't true. She had wonderful things awaiting her. She was learning patience and acceptance. She was going to get another chance at the thing she'd hoped and prayed for so hard when she died. If there was a god, I'd say he was spiting her, but that's not true either. She just had an accident, and she left us all behind.
I continue to have my on and off moments. The early part of the week was hard. Thursday was a hard day. I had my son with me this weekend and he was a distraction. I am emotionally drained. My energy levels are low and I can't seem to get enough strength up to do virtually anything. I think I've killed two of my three baby ferns -- the baby ferns I've been tending for months and months. I forget to water the plants. I forget to do most of the things I set out to do. I keep neglecting the things I need to do related to my mom's death and accident -- I just can't get up the energy to do these things and keep putting them off, one more day.
Dad, me, grandma, Jess, and mom. About 1979.
| The Past | 12:24 AM |
It started with that phone call on Sunday -- thinking about my past and the things I'd done. I was driving around Irvine today -- went to work, ran errands, and I was overwhelmed by my past life here. Not specific memories, but just the heavy feel of it. Driving by the Shell station, I remembered getting gas there with my mom. I've been wanting to call old friends to talk -- I feel so desperate to talk to someone about the old days. And when I got home, I was so depressed, so burdened down. I was wondering how anyone stays to live in the place she grew up in. I thought living far away is just another way to not deal with it, to drive around always guilt free because nothing reminds you of anything you don't really want to remember.
I was talking to someone tonight who's so lost and so hurt, and I see myself in him. Talking to him reminded me that I'm glad of what I've become and glad that it's all over. Not that I don't hurt or feel lost sometimes, but I've got ways to deal with that intensity that are healthy. If you've got a heart that sensitive, you need a protective layer of some sort. For some people it's God, for others it's rational thought. Thinking through things, understanding the consequences and implications -- that's how I keep myself sane. Don't get hung up on things I can't change, don't absorb all the world's sorrow all at once, don't think too much of myself. Know I'm a small piece, but an important one -- just like everyone else.
Some days, I don't know how I'm going to get through. But somehow I always do. I know I got some of my strength from mom. She forgave me everything. She labored all her life for us -- for my dad, for me and Jess. And never complained. And in the end, the three most important people in her life all virtually abandoned her. But she still always had hope. For all of us.
My mom and I, Korea
| Callous | 1:13 AM |
It's painful to see strangers be so callous about something that's extremely personal to you. But once you get past the initial emotional reaction, you remember that people die every day -- in accidents, by suicide, of old age, sometimes in tragic and horrific ways -- and except for the handful of people whose lives have been personally touched by that death, the rest of the world doesn't care. And you can't take that personally.
Sometimes people are strangely suspicious and paranoid. Or perhaps I'm insufficiently so. Sometimes people are illogical and unintelligent. And a lot of times, people just don't care about other people -- whether they know them or not. I care too much. And there are lots of us, too.
I got a phone call today that brought back long ago memories 15 years old now. And as much as I'm grieving, it reminded me that other people's lives are moving on -- or trying to. I can't help my mom, but maybe I can help one of them.
Mom & Jess in front of Niagra Falls, 1980.
| Missing Her | 2:15 AM |
We're on our yearly Tahoe trip. I was at the Google ski trip dinner last night and all of a sudden was thinking about my mom and tearing up at the table. I've kept it together pretty well and I kept myself in check last night, and normally I can get through the day like anyone else, but sometimes an unexpected spike of grief'll hit me and make my throat tighten.
I have a portable memorial that I created for the trip. A little wooden box with a small photo of her in a frame that my uncle gave me (a small version of the one we used at the funeral), a small cross, some tiny, fake pink roses I found in my room, a pink cloth to set underneath the photo, and a small candle holder and candles. My sister brought up some more pictures of her when she got here and she laid them around the little photo and candles I'd set up. I'll scan them in and post them when I get back to Irvine.
I miss her, I think about her all the time.
My mom and I, with a goat. Korea.
| You're So Beautiful | 10:40 PM |
I was driving home from Target last night after buying a new frame for my mom's photo and some candles and every song I heard on the radio made me think of her and cry. "You're so beautiful, it's true...And I'll never be with you..." I can't remember the lyrics of the other song that really got to me, but they were similarly poignant.
We were in the truck driving to Tahoe today and we started into a curve in the road just a little too fast and Mike said, No, death. Just say no to death. And the way he said it made me laugh! But I was thinking, too, that my mom should've said no to death. No, death, no.
My sister took a photo of a photo with her cell phone and emailed it to me last night. I wanted to post it last night, but fell asleep before I could.
Mom's Wedding (I guess early 1970's)
| Comforting Ourselves | 3:16 AM |
It's funny the little things we do to comfort ourselves, because really, what do the dead know about the fresh flowers you buy them? Or the candles you religously burn in front of their pictures? The little altars you build for them? As if not doing these things could possibly mean you missed them less, that somehow your loss isn't as intense as it is.
I do it anyway. Another one of those ways to keep myself busy remembering my mom.
I went to work. My co-workers are wonderful. At first I didn't know how I was going to make it through the day, but the mindless numbness of going through over a week of email didn't seem so bad after a couple of hours. In fact, it was reassuring -- working without having to really work, without having to concentrate so hard. It made the day go by. And another night has gone by. I can't sleep until I'm absolutely exhausted. I'm almost there.
Mom, 1969
| Forty more years | 11:29 PM |
I haven't seen my grandmother all week. She's been sick and everyone's been afraid coming to the services, to our house, to the grave, would be too much for her. My uncle says sometimes she seems far away, then she comes back to and is distraught. They go out to search for her and she's way at the back of her property, feeling her grief. I feel so sad for her, but I have my own grief and I don't know how to help her. This is the fourth child she's lost. She's 97. I thought I'd have my mom for another forty years to love her and make her proud of me. I thought I'd have her until I grew old. I thought it was plenty of time for us to grow closer, to get to know each other better. I thought she'd always be there for me. I don't know how to deal with this. What am I supposed to be doing?
I'm home now and alone again for the first time in over a week. I feel lost when I'm alone. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. I babied my plants when I first got home before Frank left. And after he left, alone for the first time in ages, I cried, then pulled myself off the couch and tried to figure out what I should be doing. I dug through old photo albums and cried over them. I don't have enough photos of her. I've been such a selfish child. I dragged out the graduation purse she gave me after college. The gift I thought was so impractical. I haven't seen it for ages; it seems to suit me more than I once thought it did. I can't find the jammies she bought me for Christmas. I've been wanting to wear them and I don't understand where I could have possibly put them. I can't find them anywhere and it's drivng me nuts.
Today, I went to my aunt and uncle's church. My aunts and uncles have been so wonderful and so helpful. This aunt and uncle arranged the pastor for the church service and the reception meals after both services. I don't think I could've handled arranging all that. My aunt's going to help with the Thank You cards for the church members. We had lunch with them after the service. It was in Korean. I didn't understand it, but they were warm and welcoming.
We had a picnic at my mom's grave today. It's tradition to gather at the grave three days after the funeral. The funeral was Friday. I guess they count the day of the funeral as one of the days. I miss her. I don't know how I'm going to go to work tomorrow. It seems so meaningless.
Mom in Korea, 1969
The OC Register obituary notice for Sharon Ahn (login familynews/familynews). I swear we looked on the 24th, but didn't see it. Jess found it the other day.
| Mom's Grave | 12:58 AM |
Thursday and Friday went by in whirl. I didn't get anything done on Thursday that I wanted to. All that hunting for a photo and scanning images turned out to be for naught because after all that, I ended up not having time to print them out after running some errands and trying to get ready to go to the mortuary by 4:30. I didn't end up making her a card or writing her the letter I wanted to, either. We got there 2 hours before the visitation service so we could see my mom beforehand and see how she looked. I rushed to the casket and immediately started bawling. It was harder to see her made up and dressed up than it was on either Monday or Tuesday. They did an amazing make up job, but she still didn't quite look like herself.
Friday was no better. The funeral service was at noon and I wanted to get there by at least 11AM so I could spend more time with her, but we barely made it by 11:30 and I couldn't leave her side. Thursday night, it was seeing her looking unbroken, and Friday, it was the thought of never, ever being able to see her physical form -- like this or any other way -- again. Not ever. I was so sick on Friday morning, I couldn't stomach the coffee and banana I tried to have. And during the service, after bawling at her casket for half an hour, I felt so sick, I thought I'd pass out. I was trying desperately to get a candy out of its wrapper quietly so I could get a little sugar in me, but gave up after a minute of wrassling with it.
Today, Mike and Marg made us all a big breakfast, and then they took off back to northern California, and eight of us went to go see my mom's grave. Uncle BK said they'd told him yesterday they were going to cover it with all the flowers that'd been at the service, and it was beautiful.
Mom's grave at Pacific View Memorial Park, day after funeral services
The last couple of nights -- Thursday & Friday nights, have been just friends at the house. My friends drove down from northern Cal, and Jess had Amy and Doug, and it was a nice break from the family -- because it was a nice break from so much grieving. Our friends have been so sweet and supportive -- it made those nights tolerable to get through. I have the best friends in the world.
I have my on and off moments. Sometimes the sadness overwhelms me, and sometimes I'm not sure what to do about it. I can keep myself busy or I can cry doing any number of things -- staring at her photo, staring at her bed, staring at the photos near her bed, staring at her office, staring at her clothes, towels, books, her garden, virtually anything else in her house. But I always manage to pull through the sadness. Frank and I had a long talk tonight -- it was nice to be able to chat together. It's been so busy this week, he's been really supportive, but I feel like I haven't spent much time with him. And this week has been so sad and busy, I haven't even mentioned that we got back together after New Year's, sometime shortly before my mother passed away. She thought we were going to be married; she always wanted to see me get married.
| Ass | 2:51 PM |
I'm such an ass. I said something really, really nasty to my sister out of anger. We got into a fight and she was being so good and not saying anything too terrible, calling me "kettle" (as in the kettle calling the pot). She's been keeping it together so well that sometimes I forget this is just as hard on her as it is on me. And my patience is thin and I'm exhausted, and she is, too, and if she's tense it's because of that, and I'm such an ass cause she's grieving just as much as I am and I was completely mean and not understanding when she was having a hard time. I'm sorry, honey. I feel so awful.
She consoles herself with the same thought I do -- that my mother's at peace, that the sad things that troubled her no longer do. Death isn't hard on the dead, it's only hard on the living who're left behind. And I know this and I know I want her back for selfish reasons, but I still want her back.
I've been trying to find a picture of me and my mom I'll want to put in her casket and I've been meaning to make a card (Jess's idea), too, but I feel overwhelmed. I know the idea of putting things in someone's coffin seems silly -- what's a dead body going to do with those things? But I can't stop myself. It's just another way to keep myself busy remembering her.
| Every Day | 9:41 AM |
I am so tired. I go to bed late -- busy all day long with cleaning and getting things ready for the funeral and if I'm not busy for any period of time, I'm anxious that I should be doing something. I can't sleep during the day, I can't go to bed early -- I'm jittery and don't want too much down time to think.
Yesterday we made a big back yard effort and Amy, Jess's friend, did a whole heap of work out there and made a section of it look lovely. My aunt was out there scooping up piles of leaves with her hands and putting them in the trash bin. My uncle was madly trying to throw stuff away that I told him he couldn't. We left one section of the cluttered backyard mostly intact for my sanity -- I don't want all of it to change all at once. My sister's allergies wouldn't let her join us outside, so she scrubbed the toilets clean (better her than me I guess).
We ran errands -- Jess & Amy, and Frank & I separately, and had a seemingly normal day. I had begun to think that it got easier every day, and that at the rate my sobbing had ceased, my mother would be a distant memory in a couple of months and I'd grow used to her absence, forgetting about how much I missed her. But it doesn't get easier; every day is just different. Sometimes there isn't enough to do. There are times when I'm too tired and aimless to concentrate on any given task so I wander the rooms, drift off looking at pictures, sobbing my little heart out. I think the days are catching up to me, up to Jess, too. Sometimes my sister drives me crazy -- her tone of voice, her extreme moodiness, but I don't say anything.
| Cleaning | 2:47 AM |
When Jess and I were finally alone last night, we went into mad cleaning mode. And I went to bed late, but got up early and went back into mad cleaning mode. It's gratifying to have something mindless to do that results in immediate visual impact. I washed a giant sliding glass door inside and out and it looks spectacular.
We went back to see my mom today. This time we got to see her whole entire face and head. The mortician worked on her for over five hours -- we even delayed the visit by half an hour and it was almost another half hour before we got to her after arriving at the funeral home. He spent that time placing many sutures to pull the skin back together, carefully stuffing cotton in places to make her face look normal, washing her hair, embalming her. She doesn't quite look like herself, but it was a relief to see all of her head. She has a big jagged cut down the right side of her forehead from the scalp down to her eye. The left side of her forehead and cheek were abraded -- sort of like road rash. Her right eye doesn't look quite right -- the skin under the eye is puckered and red -- probably from broken bones in her head and face -- and had signs of minor trauma. Daddy said he didn't feel any other broken bones anywhere else though and repeated that death was probably immediate. Her hair was beautiful and dark and still wet from the washing. They put this stuff in her scalp to retain moisture that looks like small, clear rocks and that was weird to see in her hair, but it was still pretty. Her skin was so soft and she wasn't as cold and rigid as she was yesterday -- though today, without the crinkly plastic, it was easier to touch her arms and feet and hold her in this way through the sheet and blanket.
She had three pieces of cotton on her face that the mortician said we could remove if we wanted to. And these had cream underneath them (as he said they would -- he was very thorough in describing what we'd see and what he'd done to her). When my dad lifted the first piece, I cringed, feeling uncomfortable, but later on, I was lifting them, too, and examining the damage underneath them. It's impressive how easy it is to get used to something. The first look is always the freshest, the most visceral, and usually the hardest. But it doesn't take long standing in the room to just get comfortable with it. The cotton for example, or the blood my sister wiped off her face. The first time is the hardest, the most shocking, then subsequent times it doesn't seem like such a big deal.
We got her clothes, too -- the ones she was wearing when she died. J.C. brought out one single shoe that he wiped the blood off of -- the only thing he thought fit to look at, but after we asked, he brought us a bag of her soiled (everything else) things with strict warnings about biologically hazardous waste, pathogens, etc.
I'm exhausted. A good friend of my sister's arrived early today, then Frank arrived mid-afternoon. My aunt and uncle are sleeping downstairs. I have my mother's bed all to myself. We picked out a bible verse to put on her memorial cards. I still miss her like crazy.
| Seeing Her | 2:35 PM |
I zonked out last night before I could blog. Someone I met long ago -- a friend of a friend emailed with his condolences and said something about how my blog would help me remember the details that sort of drift away, and I hadn't thought about it, but yes, I wouldn't want to forget.
I saw my mom yesterday. I woke up early (I've been so tired!) and got dressed and ready to go so I could sign for her body since no one really knew for sure who should sign for the release. I called April to let her know what happened last night and to make sure I could come down and sign and she offered to fax it, but the fax was out of paper with no refill roll in sight so we had to go there in person after all.
Hours later, April calls again and says they still won't release the body. I'd called the public administrator in the morning like the coroner's deputy had told me to the night before, but could only leave a message. So I called again and spoke to the public administrator on call who eventually transferred me to the John Bunnett who I was to ask for and he kindly told me he'd just gotten off the phone with the coroner's office. My dad could sign for the body and I (or my sister) would need to sign for the property. Finally. And shortly before four pm, my dad, sister and I, with a herd of aunts and uncles behind us, headed to the mortuary.
Once we got there, April and Missy came in with a medium sized paper bag full of my mother's personal belongings -- just what was on her person -- from the coroner's office. Then April advised us not to see the body. This was her professional opinion as a mortician. And I'd been resolved to see the body, and my dad turned to me and said, I really don't want you to see the body. On his way to pick us up, he made me grab one of his surgical texts and bring it with me, and in the car I was to look at the facial surgeries section (which unfortunately, or fortunately, did not include any trauma images, just plastic surgery images) to try to prepare me. And when he looked at me and asked me not to see her, I was suddenly full of doubt and scared and anxious. I didn't want anyone else to see her like that if I couldn't see her. What was I supposed to do? Jess said she wanted to see her. So we agreed to let dad go first and let us know what he thought. He was gone for a few minutes and I started to worry, then he came out calling for April, who'd left, then told us he thought it was ok.
She was covered up almost entirely. April had told us we were not allowed to uncover any part of her. The only part of her you could see was her nose and mouth and chin. The first look was heart wrenching. Her mouth wasn't closed all the way -- it was slightly parted on the right side of her face, her eye socket looked really red, there was another dark red spot on her cheek, and a bigger one under her chin, but she didn't look nearly as bad as I had imagined her to look. My dad commented that perhaps for lay people that's traumatic enough, but he looked under the covers at her head and he was relieved it wasn't nearly as bad as we'd all imagined it could be. Her nose looked slightly off like maybe it'd been broken. Her nostrils were slightly red. My dad said she had one big cut on her head when Jess asked if her head was crushed in. Seeing her mouth like that disturbed me. My father said she probably had some mandible damage. I kept trying to look up into her eyes and under the towel. The redness of what I could see of her left eye socket disturbed me. Her icy coldness and the crunch of the plastic when I touched her shoulder disturbed me. I couldn't kiss her face cause I was afraid of touching it and afraid of how cold it would be, but I kissed her head through the towel. I wanted to touch her hands, but wouldn't dare uncover her.
Then all the aunts and uncles trooped in. And we went home to dinner, and just after 7:30pm, Jess and I had the house to ourselves for the first time. What relief. My aunt and uncle were going to stay, but I asked uncle BK to ask them not to -- I hadn't realized they were just staying out of concern for us. And of course, to keep vigil for my mother's shrine -- the picture, candle and flowers set up on a little table in the living room.
The hardest part was being there and all of sudden being unsure whether or not I could see her. The next hardest part was the contents of the bag of belongings which included a plastic baggy with a little manila envelope with "Soiled" written on it. It contained her eyeglass chain. It was thin nylon and had some of her blood on it. I couldn't stop crying when I saw that. I couldn't put it down. The thought of it being on her when she died and being soiled with her blood -- I couldn't let it go.
And then other contents that baffled me and made me so sad. And made me realize again how little I knew my mother. How people loved her and I didn't know how much. How she had a life and did things without sharing it with me. Did she not share because I didn't share? Or because she was like that? I had called her on her birthday (exactly one week before mine) and asked her what she was doing. She said Uncle BK and his wife took her out to eat. She didn't tell me there'd been a housewarming/birthday party for her at another uncle's new house. I only found out a couple of days ago when someone brought over photos. My aunt told me she'd always proclaim, I have two daughters; I'm so happy and proud. She had dreams and ideas about things she wanted to do that I'd never heard about before her death. How sad then that we loved each other so much, but knew each other so little.
| Change | 12:11 AM |
I was standing in the backyard staring at a pile of things -- my mother was unable to part with anything that might eventually be of some use -- thinking to myself how these things and the arrangement of them reminded me of her. Then I was thinking about how that would all change. How we'd clean up and get rid of things, and already so much has changed inside -- aunts and uncles cleaning and meaning well, but I can't stand the thought of them touching everything before I've had a chance to touch it and photograph it because I want to see everything exactly how she left it. And I know it probably doesn't mean much, but it feels really important to me because it's just one more way to try to recreate her. And the thought that eventually this would cease to be her house or to look like her house makes me so sad.
I've been writing in my journal a lot. Sometimes I think I'm ok. Last night was hard. This morning was really hard, this afternoon while I was making funeral arrangements, I kept it together pretty well. My uncle and father would break into sobs and I still managed to keep it together. The coroner's office had a computer meltdown and they lost case notes for my mom's case. So the mortuary, after getting the signed release from my dad, picked her up from the Orange County coroner's office, then had to drop her back off. The deputy at the coroner's office said that because the case notes were lost, and they didn't have the official word of the public administrator regarding who had rights to the body (my father, or me and my sister), that they couldn't release the body. I can't tell you how frustrating that is -- the extra day delays I've faced in the last two days. How frustrating it was to get a plot -- the wheeling and dealing and the multiple trips to the mortuary and the waiting, ever waiting. And now this. Did you know you could purchase a very nice car for the cost of burying a dead loved one? Even somewhat modestly, which is how my mother would have liked it?
I've been wanting to see my mother for days. And I still really want to see her, but now that we get closer to it actually happening, I both dread and look forward to it. I need to see her, but I'm scared of what I'll see. My father's worried about it, too. He asked me, are you sure you want to see her? And of course I do. But he's seen things as a trauma surgeon that'll steel him for what she'll look like that I've never seen. Sometimes victims of these kinds of accidents have no skin left on their faces, or their faces are pock marked by broken windshields. Dad said from the image of the car on the news coverage, with the windshield broken, and the mangled door... The coroner's office said we wouldn't be able to have an open casket, and that my mom had suffered serious head injuries. But how can I not look? Even if it's more horrific than I can possibly imagine, how could I not take one last look at her? If nothing else, then just to make absolute sure it's really her. I want to touch her and kiss her and hold her hand, even for just a second. Just a minute or two, please. How could I not?
I write because it clears my head. Makes me feel a little better, even as I'm sobbing. I've been trying so hard to preserve her in the things she's left behind. But I know it'll all change. That everything'll change. But I don't want it to.
| Grief | 11:58 PM |
I had to make this a whole new category because I figure I'll be writing in it often for some time. My mom died in a pretty nasty car accident on Thursday. I was at the mall to pick up something I ordered when my dad called. I couldn't hear him. All I heard was "bad news" and "mom" and "accident" and I thought, oh shit, she got into another car accident, or did he mean some weird accident at home? And I ran outside to call him right back where I could hear him and he asked if I was sitting down so I did, and he told me my mom was driving home from her mom's house and got into an accident and rolled the car into oncoming traffic and had died. I asked about other cars, I asked if he saw her in the hospital. No, and no. She didn't even make it to the hospital. I was already bawling, but somehow these things made it seem even worse. And I haven't really stopped crying since. All I keep thinking is, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Sorry that I hadn't spoken to her since Christmas. Sorry that I never called again when I left my Happy New Year's message and told her I'd call back since I hadn't gotten a hold of her. Sorry that I hadn't called her the day before on my sister's birthday, though that's something I would never do anyway. Sorry for millions of little things -- sorry for all the hurt and sadness and loneliness she's felt over the last two and half years, sorry I didn't call enough, sorry I left her out of my life. I loved her as unconditionally as she loved me, but while I knew she loved me so much, I wonder if she ever knew how much I loved her and how much she meant to me.
She wasn't perfect, she could drive me crazy. But this last Christmas, I felt like she'd softened and she'd been starting to look and sound happier in the last few months than she had since my father left, and I had a really good time with her. And left wishing I'd gotten to spend more time with her. I drove around the car she died in when I was home, and remember thinking, this car's a junker, my mom shouldn't be driving it. She deserves a new car. And then I went home and forgot about it. I was always afraid she'd die in a car accident. Always thought she was a slightly careless driver. But drifting off the shoulder doesn't seem like it should be the death of you. And part of me still blames that car, and I wish I'd just bought her a new one like I'd been thinking of doing. I could get caught up in regrets for the rest of my life, but then how would I continue living?
I so badly wanted to see her, but the coroner's office won't let you come view the body. And now I won't see her until Monday at the earliest. I need to see her. I want to touch her, to kiss her one last time. Everything I do, everyone I see here, reminds me of her. Of how I'll never again share a meal with her, or enjoy something she cooked especially for me. How we'll never go shopping together again, how I'll never get to run another errand for her, or sit at the table and have tea, or watch another movie with her, or learn her recipes. The thing that kills me is that I never really got to know her. Neither one of us spoke a common language fluently enough to really share with each other. And I'll never hear her stories in her words. Never really know what she thought or felt, or what she was really capable of. Or even what she was really interested in. I haven't had the time or the energy to really start going through her things yet, but I've been sleeping in her bed, on her side, because I can't sleep anywhere else and the things I see around me break my heart, I can't even tell you how or why, but it hurts me so much, I sometimes wonder if I'll be able to get through it. Who can live like this?
Umma. My mommy. Mom, mother. I've lost the one person in the entire world who thinks that I am one of the three most important people in the world (my sister and father being the other two). And there will never be another person in my life who feels the same way about me. And I blew it with her. I keep thinking to myself that everything is just too little, too late. Life with my mother had its hard times, but I would go back to the most difficult of them and relive all the hurt and anger and sadness of that time if that meant I could be with her again. Nothing is too little, just don't let it be too late.
News articles:
- Driver Killed on 261 Tollway (OCRegister login: familynews/familynews) January 19, 2006
- Woman Killed on O.C. Toll Road (with picture of car and video of coverage) January 19th, 2006
- Spinout on 261 Kills Woman, 58 (OCRegister login: familynews/familynews) January 20, 2006
None of the news stories are quite entirely correct. I don't think she was ejected from the vehicle. She was travelling on the southbound 261 when she drifted into the shoulder, tried to correct, but over-corrected and went across the freeway and into the center divider, flipped the car over all the lanes of opposing traffic to land on the right shoulder of the northbound 261. She died of blunt force trauma (from hitting the A frame) and pretty much died immediately. I've been obsessing over lots of details, and one of them is the terror and fear she must have felt as the car went out of control and until she became unconscious. I would do anything in the world to be able to take that moment of fear from her.
| new years, new boys | 12:37 AM |
new years was wonderful. and i didn't even suffer any jet lag. well i slept a lot in the car, but road trips always lull me to sleep. marg's friend in connecticut and her boyfriend were fun to lunch with. and their place was beautiful. nate & sara's place is beautiful. it snowed all night on new year's eve. i met a few new people i really enjoyed. we talked about boys and breaking up and being single. we drank all night (and i didn't get sick). i fell asleep on top of a beagle, but i swear i wasn't drunk. i got to see mike's grandma's place (now his parents') where he spent part of his childhood. i missed out on the south jersey tour because the trip was so short, but there will be another one -- can't miss out on the nuclear tour or marg's house, and i haven't yet seen jay's house either. i got to finish off the trip with an amazing portuguese lunch in the ironbound neighborhood with mike & marg, and marg's sister and boyfriend.
i have to admit, though, that i got home and was feeling a little blue. the rush of the end of the year and holiday trips kept my mind going, but once i got back, i didn't know what to do with myself. i've vegged out every night this week -- watching tv and hanging out with ed & his ineke away from ineke, tuck. but i went to yoga tonight and had a good time and i'm forcing myself to write so i can feel less aimless.
while mindlessly watching tv (and one of the scariest episodes of the simpsons i've ever seen) i was browsing personals. i'm not ready for dating yet or trying to meet people, but i've been starting to check out the personals on yahoo and match and just seeing what kinds of people are out there. i swam through loads of search results and finally picked out three that i thought might be good matches, for, you know, in like two months when i feel ready to email them. but ed nixed two of them for being psychos. someone should offer a service where they review your profile picks and offer an expert opinion -- especially facial analysis -- it's amazing what someone with expertise in facial expressions can see. of your five picks, ms. ahn, i'm afraid that this one is lying, these two clearly look like they have stalkerish tendencies, and this one has obviously falsified his photos. try again.
