On Loss and The Depths It Brings Me To

Mid-April to mid-May is an incredibly hard time of year for me. What was just the time between when I lost my father and his birthday now bookends the day I lost my grandmother. While she has been gone for almost a year, I have been able to be at peace with it. It still stings. There are days I cry or want to call her for advice but I got to see her a few weeks before she passed and at 85, I know she lived a full life filled with family and friends who adored her. She had a beautiful service that I am only a little salty about (because, I am an asshole and will find something to be salty over) that was well attended and allowed for some closure.

My dad was 56. A month and 4 days from 57 if we want to get technical (and I ALWAYS want to get technical). He died in a nursing rehabilitation center in Arizona in the very early morning following a night I ignored the nagging part of me that told me to call him. He died after making plans with his medical proxy to meet the next day so he could dictate a letter to me - Because he knew the end was near once the dialysis stopped working but didn't want to tell me. He was not a well man for the majority of my life. I saw him through back and eye operations, toe amputations, leg amputations, the first round of dialysis that he rebounded from and was able to cease treatment, and one hell of a case of diabetes that  he finally managed down to pills from multiple insulin shots a day. He was able to recognize his wrongs and how inappropriate his actions were with some. He was my Superman. 

We had THE talk - not about sex but the what are your wishes talk. He told me he was fine with going to a mass grave so I wouldn't be burdened with planning services. I protested and he agreed to cremation. In the 6 years since his passing, I have never received the remains. His medical proxy changed her last name, moved to a different state, and I have since not been able to find her. The lack of closure and guilt consumes me, especially at this time of year. I didn't want to put on a large funeral for him but I did want to bring him home to Hawai'i to rest. I know he wanted that and as his only child it is my job to fulfill that. It may not be my fault, but I have failed to do the most humane thing possible - I have not been able to help him rest at peace where he wanted to.

I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering what was going to be in that letter. I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering if or how either of them could have been proud of me when I feel like the subtitle to my life story is "34 Years of Failing." It leaves me wondering why I focus so hard on how I could have lived/could currently live to make others happy instead of myself. Would she have been happier or more proud if I had been a teacher? Would he have been happier or  more proud if I had opened a Hawaiian catering business like he wanted me to? Will I ever be able to feel like I made them proud? Other than because I have every awful and almost every good trait of a Leo, WHY DOES IT MATTER?

I daydream about opening a sweets shop: one with baked goods and homemade candy and ice cream. I daydream about writing. I daydream about a life where there isn't a gaping hole in my chest that only seems to grow larger every year as more loss and lost time accumulates. I daydream of a world where depression and anxiety don't paralyze me with fear  to the point  I don't know how to live for myself. And when those daydreams fade I drown in reality, sinking further and further away from who i could be. I fall deeper and deeper into a world of what ifs. I feel to far in to ever resurface as a whole human.

Hug those you love. Tell them you love them. Mourn them when they go. But don't fall to this depth. Remember to live for you. 

Over Commit and Under Deliver?

I feel like "Over Commit and Under Deliver" should be the subtitle of this thing.

I fell off the wagon of writing. I got in my head. I got stressed out. I got FURTHER in my head and all my old demons came out to play - the ones that yell I am not good enough (or really just not enough in general) and the quiet ones that whisper constantly that I am worthless/unlovable/terrible. The fall brought the first year of not having my grandmother alive for holidays or her birthday and winter brought back its usual darkness, shrouding me in the grayest depths but (luckily) not tipping into utter blackness.

The last month has brought a work promotion and a decrease in stress. It has brought a renewed hope and a desire to write. Most impressively, it has also brought a new revelation in myself.

I have written before about my struggles with body image, self esteem, and issues of that ilk. A little bit before Valentine's Day, I had a girls night with a few friends. We went into Salem and I warned them that they can't take a witch to Salem without getting dragged into shops. We ended up getting readings at a lovely shop called The Cauldron Black ( https://www.thecauldronblack.com/ ) with Justice the Wizard (who is incredible and also really friggin' attractive. He was amazing and I suggest booking him for a reading - I really want to go to him for a bone throwing reading. This witch approves). There was a trunk show going on and I bought a lovely baculum that the woman I bought it from harvested by hand. I bought it because the interview for this promotion was coming up and I felt like I needed a little #BDE to help me out. Since then, I am feeling better about myself, I am a bit more confident, and I have been receiving some THIRSTY texts from men. It has also empowered me in terms of the craft. #WinWin

Now, before closing this rambling mess that is literally....not good - but mildly informative as to why I just ghosted y'all - up I am sure some of you have questions. Namely about what the heck a baculum is and what this three letter hashtag is about. So, what is a baculum? Good question, friend. It is a mammalian penis bone. I promise you read that correctly. It has evolved out of humans but is still present in many creatures. Mine happens to have once been in a raccoon, who died naturally, and a woman that works with bones harvested. The dick bone sits at my desk on top of a bracelet my dad gave me. Knowing what a baculum is now, my assumption is you are unsure if you want to know what #BDE is. Big Dick Energy. That energy one sends out in the universe because they know what they are packing, physically or within. That energy that says, "Imma get that promotion over you and steal your girl while I am at it."

Will the baculum-fueled BDE, self acceptance and will to write continue? I don't know. And I am going to be smart enough to NOT commit to saying it will. But I am here. And I am ok. And sometimes, that is enough of a first step.