I remember the first time I really understood what it means to die.
I was about six years old. My father was taking my brother deer hunting for the first time. He was not old enough to shoot yet, but the men would take the kids with them early to get them familiar with their surroundings. It is something they had been doing for generations.
Being the only girl with three brothers, and right in the middle in age, I was one of the very few girls allowed to go to target practice and learn to shoot a bow. I would put up such a fight when my dad would try to go with the boys and leave me behind. I didn’t understand the differences in the sexes then, I only understood that my father was punishing me for being a girl. I hated being different than my brothers. After much insistence on my part he finally just gave in and brought me along.
Eventually hunting season came. The men were gearing up for a long weekend camping and hunting trip. My brother was given his very own bow. My mom bought him a new orange hunting jacket and cap. I asked her where mine was.
“Honey, this trip is only for the boys.” She explained
“But it isn’t fair!” I cried, “I’ve gone to practice too!”
“That is just how it is.” She said as she tried to comfort me,”Boys go hunting, girls don’t.”
I wanted none of it and I ran outside and hid behind the chicken coop.
I decided I was never going to speak to my father again. He loved the boys more. I couldn’t understand why they got to be boys and I had to be born this alien thing.
Why was I different?
I wasn’t allowed to play baseball, or soccer. I got dolls and not trucks for Christmas, so the boys wouldn’t play with me, and now I had to stay at home while my brothers got to go away for a whole weekend to a place as wonderful as only a young mind being denied something they desire, could cook up.
My father came out looking for me. He knew where I would be. I always hid out there when I was angry with them.
“I’m sorry you can’t go. You would not like it.” He said, “You couldn’t kill a deer. You would get really sad. Girls are sensitive that way baby.”
“I would! I swear!” I cried to him, “Please let me go! I swear I would be good, I could do it!”
“No Toad, I’m sorry.” He said (He nicknamed me Toad because he said when I was a baby my eyes were so big and green that I looked like a little frog)
“I hate you!” I said, “I won’t ever talk to you again!”
“Yes you will.” He laughed, and then he gave me a hug and kissed my head, “Be good for your mom Toad.” and then he got up and left.
I sat behind the chicken coop and waited until after I heard the car drive away.
I could be tough. I could! And I was going to show him! I was so angry. I was so furious that I was different and that meant I had to miss out on all of the fun stuff.
“How hard could it be to kill a stupid deer anyhow?” I thought to myself. “It could not be so hard.”
I went to the house and went to the back where we kept a little aquarium.
I had caught a huge bullfrog earlier in the season and he had been happily living in my aquarium. I loved him. I was so proud that I caught the biggest frog that year. I used to catch him bugs and feed him so much that my mom would say he was going to outgrow the aquarium.
I took my frog carefully out of his home and I cradled him in my hands so he would not escape. I brought him outside. I sat down in the driveway.
I looked at my frog. I examined his soft delicate looking skin, his different colors, and his little frog eyes.
I thought about my dad and my uncles and my brothers and my cousins all on their big camping trip. I thought about how I was a girl so I didn’t get to go because girls couldn’t handle it.
"I could handle it! I could be tough!" I thought to myself. It is just a stupid deer!
I put my frog on the ground and stood up next to him.
He didn’t move. He just sort of sat there like fat frogs do.
Without thinking, I lifted my foot and I stomped down hard on my frog.
“See! I can do it!” I thought to myself.
I felt a moment of victory. I felt like I could do anything, and they were wrong. They were all wrong! I killed my frog, and I didn’t hesitate for a second. I was tough unlike girls were supposed to be!
That is when it hit me.
I slowly lifted my foot and squatted down next to my now flattened frog. His body was all squished and misshapen. I poked him with my finger, as if he was suddenly going to resurrect now that I had proved my point.
Nothing happened.
“I killed my frog! My frog is dead! I can’t make him alive again!” That is when it became clear to me, what dead really meant.
I sat there in the driveway holding my now dead frog in my hand wishing I could take it back, wishing I could fix my frog, sobbing, hurting. The guilt was overwhelming, crying uncontrollably now. I wanted to fix him, but I knew I couldn’t.
Toad had killed her frog. Toad was a girl. Frog was dead.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Part 2- The little green house
My grandparents have a little green house. I remembered when I would visit when I was young it seemed so big, now it looked like a small-scale model of the big green house that I remember.
Everything seemed miniature; even the big oak trees out front didn’t seem like the giants that they were when I was a child. Everything had an aged look to it as it is with many cities in Michigan. After the majority of the factories moved overseas the cities were left to fall apart with poverty and the pollution left behind. The cities that are left there are ghosts, shadows of the magnificent cities they once were.
My Grandfather worked at a factory making springs for some 50 years. Now his oldest son Jack Jr and his son: my cousin Jack III worked there. My Grandfather was making less than $10 an hour when he retired.
Somehow my Grandparents raised six children in this tiny little house, but now it seemed too small for the four adults who were trying to stay there that night.
My Uncle (My fathers youngest brother) was in the back bedroom, my father on the couch and that left me with staying in my grandmother’s room with her. It seemed kind of strange to me that I would be sleeping with my Grandmother on the side of the bed my Grandfather had inhabited for some 52 years. But I figured if it was all right with her, then it was fine by me.
As we changed the sheets on the bed she joked about how my grandfather was stinky so I didn’t want to sleep on that. I started to think about how strange it was that he would probably never sleep in this bed again and as soon as we changed the sheets his smell will be gone from the bed. How easily we are washed away.
It was a sleepless night. My Grandmother and I mostly just talked and caught up. I really love this woman and I don’t get back home often enough. I really cherish the times I have spent with her.
She is as feisty as any twenty something and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She loves her children and grand children and great grandchildren with the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cubs. She ha s a huge heart and tries to do right by everyone, but after living with my hard headed Grandfather for 52 years she learned a thing or two about making sure she isn’t anyone’s door mat. She knows how to live her life and that is what has kept her so young.
I could hear the fear in her voice. She was talking about how strange it will be without him around any more. We went over the past slowly and methodically, every story we would relive to a point where I could almost smell the air and taste the Thanksgiving dinners again.
She talked about her friends who had lost their husbands in the years earlier and how they handled it. We joked about how after all these years she will actually be able to know what it is like to hold the remote control.
We talked about the day he had the stroke, and even though it was the day before she told it like it happened years ago, with a distance to her face and voice, as if she could not quite live those memories yet as vividly as she could live the memories from days long past.
Sometime around 3AM she went to sleep, we were up by 6AM to go back to the hospital. As I got out of bed to go get ready my grandmother was sitting at the table staring blankly. She had been crying.
When I looked to see what she was staring at I saw why she was crying. She had made two cups of coffee like she had every morning for 52 years. It didn’t even occur to her that she only needed one today until after she had made them.
Everything seemed miniature; even the big oak trees out front didn’t seem like the giants that they were when I was a child. Everything had an aged look to it as it is with many cities in Michigan. After the majority of the factories moved overseas the cities were left to fall apart with poverty and the pollution left behind. The cities that are left there are ghosts, shadows of the magnificent cities they once were.
My Grandfather worked at a factory making springs for some 50 years. Now his oldest son Jack Jr and his son: my cousin Jack III worked there. My Grandfather was making less than $10 an hour when he retired.
Somehow my Grandparents raised six children in this tiny little house, but now it seemed too small for the four adults who were trying to stay there that night.
My Uncle (My fathers youngest brother) was in the back bedroom, my father on the couch and that left me with staying in my grandmother’s room with her. It seemed kind of strange to me that I would be sleeping with my Grandmother on the side of the bed my Grandfather had inhabited for some 52 years. But I figured if it was all right with her, then it was fine by me.
As we changed the sheets on the bed she joked about how my grandfather was stinky so I didn’t want to sleep on that. I started to think about how strange it was that he would probably never sleep in this bed again and as soon as we changed the sheets his smell will be gone from the bed. How easily we are washed away.
It was a sleepless night. My Grandmother and I mostly just talked and caught up. I really love this woman and I don’t get back home often enough. I really cherish the times I have spent with her.
She is as feisty as any twenty something and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She loves her children and grand children and great grandchildren with the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cubs. She ha s a huge heart and tries to do right by everyone, but after living with my hard headed Grandfather for 52 years she learned a thing or two about making sure she isn’t anyone’s door mat. She knows how to live her life and that is what has kept her so young.
I could hear the fear in her voice. She was talking about how strange it will be without him around any more. We went over the past slowly and methodically, every story we would relive to a point where I could almost smell the air and taste the Thanksgiving dinners again.
She talked about her friends who had lost their husbands in the years earlier and how they handled it. We joked about how after all these years she will actually be able to know what it is like to hold the remote control.
We talked about the day he had the stroke, and even though it was the day before she told it like it happened years ago, with a distance to her face and voice, as if she could not quite live those memories yet as vividly as she could live the memories from days long past.
Sometime around 3AM she went to sleep, we were up by 6AM to go back to the hospital. As I got out of bed to go get ready my grandmother was sitting at the table staring blankly. She had been crying.
When I looked to see what she was staring at I saw why she was crying. She had made two cups of coffee like she had every morning for 52 years. It didn’t even occur to her that she only needed one today until after she had made them.
Part 1- Going back to Muskegon
It seems that things like wedding and funerals bring out all of the best in your family tree. All of the drama being stirred up in my family since I announced I was planning a wedding got me to thinking about it a lot. I have decided to document the last family funeral I went to, to coincide with my documentation of the wedding planning. I feel there may be some sort of strange symmetry, as there tends to be with matters of family.
This last July my grandfather passed away.
If I started filming from the moment I got the call that he had a stroke and kept filming until I returned home from the funeral it would have been the weirdest documentary ever. It started out normal but went crazy from there.
Part 1- Going back to Muskegon
It started at just before midnight. I had just dropped my daughter off at the airport; she was going up to Alaska to spend some time with her grandparents during summer vacation. I was in the process of moving into a new apartment so my plan was to start packing and get things moved while Darian was away.
The phone rang and it was my father.
“Hey.” He said with a tone I didn’t recognize in his voice, but it made all of my panic bells go off in my head and heart.
“What happened?” I asked without thinking.
“My dad, he had a stroke, he is in the hospital.” He said I could hear his voice breaking up on the other end of the phone.
“I’ll be on the next flight.” I said and I hung up and started looking for a ticket there that would get me there sooner than later. As the evening progressed my grandfathers condition worsened. I was getting regular updates all night, but my flight was not until the next morning.
His stroke started a bleed in his brain. He was still conscious but he was fading fast. They told him that they had to give him a shunt to release some of the pressure.
My grandfather is a very stubborn man. There was no way that he was going to let him put anything in his head even if it would be the only thing that could save his life. He would rather die than come across as weak, and that is the fate he chose.
By about 1AM the doctor said that it would only be a matter of days. I had to get there fast if I ever wanted to see my Grandfather alive again.
I got on the airplane going to Muskegon Michigan early the next morning.
I made it to the hospital to see my grandfather hanging on to the smallest thread of life. He looked so small lying in that bed in that little blue hospital robe.
His breathing was heavy and he stressed. He had been a smoker for years and it had ruined his lungs. He sounded like he was choking.
He was panting and pale and I was able to stay in the room for about five minutes before I excused myself to the restroom. I shut the door behind me and slipped to the floor and cried.
As I sat there crying I started to wonder how many other people had done the same thing in this particular restroom. Seeing as it is the only restroom for guests in the ICU of the hospital I thought I was not alone in my fear, sadness and mourning. I found some strange comfort in these thoughts and I was able to pull myself together enough to go back and face what the next week might bring.
This would be the only time I cried throughout this whole experience.
I returned to the room and talked to my grandfather for a little while. He was on the verge of completely disappearing. They just gave him a does of Morphine and said he would be out for the night so it would probably be best to get home and rest up, it was going to be a long week. I went back to my Grandmothers house to get some sleep.
This last July my grandfather passed away.
If I started filming from the moment I got the call that he had a stroke and kept filming until I returned home from the funeral it would have been the weirdest documentary ever. It started out normal but went crazy from there.
Part 1- Going back to Muskegon
It started at just before midnight. I had just dropped my daughter off at the airport; she was going up to Alaska to spend some time with her grandparents during summer vacation. I was in the process of moving into a new apartment so my plan was to start packing and get things moved while Darian was away.
The phone rang and it was my father.
“Hey.” He said with a tone I didn’t recognize in his voice, but it made all of my panic bells go off in my head and heart.
“What happened?” I asked without thinking.
“My dad, he had a stroke, he is in the hospital.” He said I could hear his voice breaking up on the other end of the phone.
“I’ll be on the next flight.” I said and I hung up and started looking for a ticket there that would get me there sooner than later. As the evening progressed my grandfathers condition worsened. I was getting regular updates all night, but my flight was not until the next morning.
His stroke started a bleed in his brain. He was still conscious but he was fading fast. They told him that they had to give him a shunt to release some of the pressure.
My grandfather is a very stubborn man. There was no way that he was going to let him put anything in his head even if it would be the only thing that could save his life. He would rather die than come across as weak, and that is the fate he chose.
By about 1AM the doctor said that it would only be a matter of days. I had to get there fast if I ever wanted to see my Grandfather alive again.
I got on the airplane going to Muskegon Michigan early the next morning.
I made it to the hospital to see my grandfather hanging on to the smallest thread of life. He looked so small lying in that bed in that little blue hospital robe.
His breathing was heavy and he stressed. He had been a smoker for years and it had ruined his lungs. He sounded like he was choking.
He was panting and pale and I was able to stay in the room for about five minutes before I excused myself to the restroom. I shut the door behind me and slipped to the floor and cried.
As I sat there crying I started to wonder how many other people had done the same thing in this particular restroom. Seeing as it is the only restroom for guests in the ICU of the hospital I thought I was not alone in my fear, sadness and mourning. I found some strange comfort in these thoughts and I was able to pull myself together enough to go back and face what the next week might bring.
This would be the only time I cried throughout this whole experience.
I returned to the room and talked to my grandfather for a little while. He was on the verge of completely disappearing. They just gave him a does of Morphine and said he would be out for the night so it would probably be best to get home and rest up, it was going to be a long week. I went back to my Grandmothers house to get some sleep.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Down Time
I will never apologize for who I have been
Only for who I have hurt along the way
Speak in riddles and people will listen
Tell the truth
They will cry or turn away
In some radical sense of perception
I saw the future
In another way
Or was it the past in another life
I can never really be too sure these days
Who raises the child when the parent still needs to grow?
They say it takes a village
It must take a lifetime to get there.
This body is whole and young and beautiful,
with eyes that give too much away.
My blood has turned against me and my brain battles with my heart, with my soul for control of it’s actions
A liquid lover
I drink your spirits
I try to fill up
But I am left empty.
So many people grasp and reach out
Looking for the magic word
The perfect phrase
The ray of hope that makes it all better
That key is locked away some place inside
So deep I wonder myself if I will ever reach it.
I see it all slipping through my fingers,
Just as I think I can hold on again,
Some days it all seems to click
Like I have all of the answers
That seemed so out of reach
Now everything makes sense
Then I touch my heart again
And realize how very open the wounds still are
How the scars have made me harder and the scabs are fragile
How easy it is to fall again
I have seen bodies where the flesh is weak and frail but the spirit soars
I want to touch that
I want to find that in myself
Some say it is in God, meditation, self-discovery, and recovery.
Some say it is all in the mind
A choice
Funny, I don’t remember being asked if I wanted this.
Only for who I have hurt along the way
Speak in riddles and people will listen
Tell the truth
They will cry or turn away
In some radical sense of perception
I saw the future
In another way
Or was it the past in another life
I can never really be too sure these days
Who raises the child when the parent still needs to grow?
They say it takes a village
It must take a lifetime to get there.
This body is whole and young and beautiful,
with eyes that give too much away.
My blood has turned against me and my brain battles with my heart, with my soul for control of it’s actions
A liquid lover
I drink your spirits
I try to fill up
But I am left empty.
So many people grasp and reach out
Looking for the magic word
The perfect phrase
The ray of hope that makes it all better
That key is locked away some place inside
So deep I wonder myself if I will ever reach it.
I see it all slipping through my fingers,
Just as I think I can hold on again,
Some days it all seems to click
Like I have all of the answers
That seemed so out of reach
Now everything makes sense
Then I touch my heart again
And realize how very open the wounds still are
How the scars have made me harder and the scabs are fragile
How easy it is to fall again
I have seen bodies where the flesh is weak and frail but the spirit soars
I want to touch that
I want to find that in myself
Some say it is in God, meditation, self-discovery, and recovery.
Some say it is all in the mind
A choice
Funny, I don’t remember being asked if I wanted this.
Friday, February 13, 2004
My dearest sister friend.....
Dear sister,
Don’t hate her because she has him, remember he chose to be with her.
Don’t judge her because he loves her. Don’t try to pick her apart and try to figure out what the formula is that makes him desire her.
Don’t waste your time trying to see what it was about her that made him want more with her than he did with you.
Sometimes life just works that way.
They were meant to be, because they are, whether or not you agree.
Why should you waste your time commiserating with your friends on her hair, her outfit, her skin, her weight, her height, her voice, her talent, her laugh, her shoes, her hands, her eyes, her ass, her attitude…
What if you took the time to get to know her? Are you afraid you might find out that she has a huge heart and she would be crushed if she ever heard what you and your friends say about her? Are you afraid you would see past your own insecurities and see that she can be insecure too? Are you afraid to find out her life isn’t perfect and it isn’t her fault that he didn’t love you?
You might even learn that she didn’t even know that you existed. You would find out that everything she does is not intended to hurt you, every time she laughs she isn’t laughing at you, and when she looks beautiful it isn’t to spite you. Her only crime is ignorance to your existence.
Does it scare you to let go of the unwarranted anger against her because you are afraid that you will see that you are really mad at him and at yourself for still being hung up on someone who doesn’t return your affection?
You don’t know her, and if you did, you would realize she is a lot like you. In other circumstances you may have even become friends.
Be angry with the one who betrayed you, the one who hurt you, the one who mislead you. You may be surprised to find that you need to be angry with yourself for letting it go this far.
Don’t be angry at the object of his affection. Feel for her because she is your sister and hope that he never makes her feel the way you do. Hope that you can let go of your anger and bitterness and move on with your life and try to be happy that someone you claimed to have had feelings for is happy in his life too.
Life is too short to waste your time or tears, confront your pain and make sure you are directing your anger at the right target.
The biggest favor you can do for yourself is let go of your pain. As soon as you lift that dark veil from your life you will finally be able to see what is really in front of you. You will finally be able to move forward and get out of the darkness that is your own obsession.
Don’t hate me because he chose to love me and I chose to love him back. Don’t hate me for my happiness. It’s not personal.
I didn’t even know you existed.
Love,
Your sister
Don’t hate her because she has him, remember he chose to be with her.
Don’t judge her because he loves her. Don’t try to pick her apart and try to figure out what the formula is that makes him desire her.
Don’t waste your time trying to see what it was about her that made him want more with her than he did with you.
Sometimes life just works that way.
They were meant to be, because they are, whether or not you agree.
Why should you waste your time commiserating with your friends on her hair, her outfit, her skin, her weight, her height, her voice, her talent, her laugh, her shoes, her hands, her eyes, her ass, her attitude…
What if you took the time to get to know her? Are you afraid you might find out that she has a huge heart and she would be crushed if she ever heard what you and your friends say about her? Are you afraid you would see past your own insecurities and see that she can be insecure too? Are you afraid to find out her life isn’t perfect and it isn’t her fault that he didn’t love you?
You might even learn that she didn’t even know that you existed. You would find out that everything she does is not intended to hurt you, every time she laughs she isn’t laughing at you, and when she looks beautiful it isn’t to spite you. Her only crime is ignorance to your existence.
Does it scare you to let go of the unwarranted anger against her because you are afraid that you will see that you are really mad at him and at yourself for still being hung up on someone who doesn’t return your affection?
You don’t know her, and if you did, you would realize she is a lot like you. In other circumstances you may have even become friends.
Be angry with the one who betrayed you, the one who hurt you, the one who mislead you. You may be surprised to find that you need to be angry with yourself for letting it go this far.
Don’t be angry at the object of his affection. Feel for her because she is your sister and hope that he never makes her feel the way you do. Hope that you can let go of your anger and bitterness and move on with your life and try to be happy that someone you claimed to have had feelings for is happy in his life too.
Life is too short to waste your time or tears, confront your pain and make sure you are directing your anger at the right target.
The biggest favor you can do for yourself is let go of your pain. As soon as you lift that dark veil from your life you will finally be able to see what is really in front of you. You will finally be able to move forward and get out of the darkness that is your own obsession.
Don’t hate me because he chose to love me and I chose to love him back. Don’t hate me for my happiness. It’s not personal.
I didn’t even know you existed.
Love,
Your sister
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
