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Morbid ramblings...Feel free to ignore.
Apr. 7th, 2009 07:12 pmIt's funny how quickly I can be taken back to that moment 3 years and 5 months ago, when I walked in my front door and found Shalan and Muse sitting there waiting for me and I could tell just by looking at them that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Sometimes it's something I know he would have appreciated. Sometimes it's the fact that my brother is graduating from the Naval Academy second in his class, having studied Nuclear Science and he's not even 21 yet. Sometimes it's that Dante is the brightest, most wonderful baby in the world and he's starting kindergarten in the fall and probably doesn't even remember his Grandpa Hat. Sometimes it's that when everything else in my life sucked, when I had no idea who I was, he would tell me that I made him proud, or he'd drive overnight thirteen hours to show up and rescue me.
I was watching a television show. One of my favourites. Catching up on the most recent episode, and I suppose the reason it hit me so hard was that, like in my life, there was no warning. Just a body and a gun and a lot of blood.
I still have so many questions about why it happened and how. His note was hardly enlightening and I don't know if I can ever fully understand why Muse didn't just *call* me. Why didn't my mom make her? Why did they let me wait hours, unknowing, and by that time the girls were already on their way to my house. Of course no one told the girls, and they were so excited about our party and they were fucking 15 and 16 and I couldn't tell them he was dead so I smiled all night until I was throwing up in the bathroom sobbing and by the next day, when I finally told them, when I finally got to go home, all the evidence of his body were gone from the house.
Maybe it's morbid, but I want to ask my mom how she found him. How long did she talk to his body before she realised it was just a body? Did anyone in the neighbourhood hear the shot? Did the wonder what it was? Where in his head did he shoot himself? In his mouth, at his temple? My dad was one of the smartest people I knew. He probably did it somewhere he knew wouldn't risk him surviving. In his coffin, before the cremation, he had on his favourite hat, and it hid whatever might else have shown. There was a mark between his brows, a furrow that I wanted to wipe away, but he was so cold and hard and empty.
I don't want to ask my mom these questions. I've never been able to. I didn't even see the note for the longest time. Thankfully my grandfather's connections made sure we got it back when the police were finished.
Mostly I want to know why people can talk about suicide, or when they do something stupid say "I'm gonna kill myself" or "I'm gonna shoot myself in the head" and it doesn't do anything to me. And then the cherry blossoms drift down around me on my way home and I suddenly can't breathe I'm so sad.
3 years and 5 months, and I don't think it ever gets any better.
Sometimes it's something I know he would have appreciated. Sometimes it's the fact that my brother is graduating from the Naval Academy second in his class, having studied Nuclear Science and he's not even 21 yet. Sometimes it's that Dante is the brightest, most wonderful baby in the world and he's starting kindergarten in the fall and probably doesn't even remember his Grandpa Hat. Sometimes it's that when everything else in my life sucked, when I had no idea who I was, he would tell me that I made him proud, or he'd drive overnight thirteen hours to show up and rescue me.
I was watching a television show. One of my favourites. Catching up on the most recent episode, and I suppose the reason it hit me so hard was that, like in my life, there was no warning. Just a body and a gun and a lot of blood.
I still have so many questions about why it happened and how. His note was hardly enlightening and I don't know if I can ever fully understand why Muse didn't just *call* me. Why didn't my mom make her? Why did they let me wait hours, unknowing, and by that time the girls were already on their way to my house. Of course no one told the girls, and they were so excited about our party and they were fucking 15 and 16 and I couldn't tell them he was dead so I smiled all night until I was throwing up in the bathroom sobbing and by the next day, when I finally told them, when I finally got to go home, all the evidence of his body were gone from the house.
Maybe it's morbid, but I want to ask my mom how she found him. How long did she talk to his body before she realised it was just a body? Did anyone in the neighbourhood hear the shot? Did the wonder what it was? Where in his head did he shoot himself? In his mouth, at his temple? My dad was one of the smartest people I knew. He probably did it somewhere he knew wouldn't risk him surviving. In his coffin, before the cremation, he had on his favourite hat, and it hid whatever might else have shown. There was a mark between his brows, a furrow that I wanted to wipe away, but he was so cold and hard and empty.
I don't want to ask my mom these questions. I've never been able to. I didn't even see the note for the longest time. Thankfully my grandfather's connections made sure we got it back when the police were finished.
Mostly I want to know why people can talk about suicide, or when they do something stupid say "I'm gonna kill myself" or "I'm gonna shoot myself in the head" and it doesn't do anything to me. And then the cherry blossoms drift down around me on my way home and I suddenly can't breathe I'm so sad.
3 years and 5 months, and I don't think it ever gets any better.
