Category: death

>four weeks

>We watched Seven Pounds with Will Smith in it last night. I have to say, this is one of the saddest movies I have seen in a very long time. The premise of the movie was different… but definitely something different.

In the movie, Will Smith meets a woman who is terminally ill. She has chronic heart failure and is given four to six weeks to live.

After we watched it (and I cried.. hard)… we headed to bed. The wheels in my head started to turn. What if I was told I only had four weeks to live? What would I do? How would I live the last thirty days of my life?

I mulled over things in my head… and found myself over come with emotion at this. All the things I would miss… birthdays.. weddings.. holidays…. what to pick and choose… what is most important… ran around inside my skull.. doing a little tap dance on my heart.

So here’s what I came up with.. in no particular order.

write letters to my girls for special occasions… milestone birthdays.. wedding days.. graduations
write good bye letters to all that I hold dear
spend an afternoon with each of the girls just one at a time.. doing whatever they wanted
go do a complete spa treatment
spend a full day in bed with Ben… having sex.. laughing.. cuddling.. and Im sure crying
go to the coast.. see the ocean one last time
have a full family bbq
watch the sunset
stay up all night and watch the sunrise
quit my job
get a family portrait done
eat at my favorite restaurant
doing a weekend in Vegas.. renew our vows
throw a birthday party for the girls
take a long hot bath with candles.. the radio… and Ben
go for a drive in the mountains
visit one place I’ve never seen before.. like Vancouver, BC
spend one whole day watching movies
spend one whole day outside… soaking up the sun
sleep till noon one day and not feel guilty about it

When all is said and done… it really amazes me just what things I love to do.. did not make the list. The simple things are the things that are most important… but in the same thought.. they aren’t so simple. I hope upon hopes that I never am faced with that knowledge… that my days are numbered. It would be the single most scary thing I’ve ever endured.

I want a life filled with lots of years ahead of me… filled with my family… and my friends. I want to grow old next to my husband and watch my children grow… and have children of their own. My heart goes out to anyone that has experienced something like that… it is terribly heart breaking.. no words do it justice.



>Ben and I were laying in bed the other night talking before going to sleep. One of his co-workers had recently separated from his wife. It was kind of a surprise to us because they seemed so happy for one… and had been together for over ten years. This got me to thinking about relationships in general. Nothing in love is 100%- no matter how much you want it to be. This is why love is a risk… you jump in and hope for the best.

I’m not saying that Ben and I don’t have what it takes to make it. We are completely committed to each other with deep love, respect, and trust. What I am saying is that life throws curve balls at you and one never knows what will happen.

So this got me to thinking about something. If I could see the future and see if indeed we will always be together, would I? I thought about it for some time and realized I wouldn’t. The what ifs were too much for me. Would it make you spend everyday after finding out wondering if that day was the day that we’d end? It could be years before this happen, but what I not appreciate the time we did have? Would I squander it based off my knowledge? My end decision came off that fear and the belief that our love can transcend time.

Ben was undecided… bringing up a valid point. Would this knowledge make you work harder to make it work? Would you just completely avoid the event that caused the demise of the relationship? I think if it came down to it… he would choose no.

This took us to other stuff on a bigger level. God. When I was a child I used to attend church often. I believed there was a God and that there was life after death, in heaven. The older I got my faith dwindled. I still believed there was a God but that religion was overrated and full of hypocrites.

Such as… how can a word be a bad thing? How can the word shit, damn, fuck be bad? They are just words. The basic premise of religion is good… like don’t kill and steal. They are good guidelines to live your life to be a good person. I think its silly to think I would go to hell for cursing. Who is someone to tell me how to live my life?

And sex… why is sex before marriage a bad thing? Humans were made to procreate… that is our purpose. How does having a piece of paper make it all of a sudden okay to have sex? I understand that a commitment is good to have but what sin is it to enjoy what we were made for? I just don’t get that.

Is there life after death? Is there a heaven and hell? Is there really a God that looks over us and loves us? And if there is… why would he or she for that matter let horrible things happen, like children being molested? I understand that its been compared to being a parent and that a parent must let their children make mistakes. BUT isn’t it also a parent’s responsibility to protect their children? Would a parent let their child knowingly (because supposedly God is all knowing) be molested? Somehow I think thats a load of crap.

And life in general… if you could get the answer to life.. if there is a God.. if there is life after death… is your death date determined the day of your birth…that kind of stuff… would your brain be able to comprehend it? Or, would it be too much to handle and this is the reason why we cannot ever know.

Our conversation went on for a bit before we decided it was time to sleep. These things still linger with me though… I’m sure I’ll never have the answers I seek.


>Yesterday one of my friends from work informed us that his mother passed away the night before. When he came in I could tell he was not his normal chipper self but I wouldn’t have guessed his mom had died. He was holding it together so well. He told us that she was old, in her 80’s, and he knew it was coming. It really surprised me how well he was doing… though, I’m sure appearances are deceiving.

Today we bought him a card and some coffee…. we couldn’t really think of anything else to accompany the card. After we purchased it, we went to where he was and gave them to him. He seemed so thankful… it felt good to give him something to smile about.

However, in the same moment he was thanking us, he took a drink of his coffee… and burnt his mouth. Being the funny guy he is.. he of course made a joke about it and we all laughed. He proceeded to tell us a story about his mom when he was a child and sat his drink down. Unfortunately, he set it on the edge of something and it tipped… shooting the coffee at his groin.

We were way worried that he burned himself badly…. but in true form… he made another joke. After we were sure he was ok… it was quite funny. It looked like he had peed himself… and funny because this nice, thoughtful thing we were trying to do…. ended up being something painful for him. We got a good story to tell from it though.

I had later talked to him and asked him how he was doing and when he was heading down for the funeral. We chatted a bit… he told me he was going to speak at the service. He had been trying to think of things to say and said he was going write it down later today. I told him about when my father died and about my experience, hoping in some way he could see I understood what he was going through.

My father and I were never very close. When I became an adult we had a better relationship, but it still could not be described as a good relationship. Still, he was my father and I respected him for that.

I had moved away about a year before he passed away…. almost 3,000 miles away. I think that I took away the few things he had left to live for. See, my parents had me when they were older (mom was 35 and my dad I believe was 54). So by the time he died he was well into his 70’s. I honestly am surprised he lived that long. He was a smoker till I was twelve and drank my whole life. He was such a drunk that in his late years, he lived in a nursing home and they would allow him two drinks a day because his body depended on it. It just simply could not go without the alcohol.

I think his alcoholism is part of the reason we had such a strained relationship, that and the fact that we’re both very stubborn people. Needless to say… when my mother called and said he had died, all of this stuff did not matter. It did not matter all the horrible things he had done or said. He was my dad and he had just left this world. I cried, but not hard. This didn’t surprise me either.

We had the memorial service a month later so that I wouldn’t have to pay a large sum of money for a plane ticket because at the time I was in college. I flew back alone and stayed with my mom, which was not fun… yet this is another story… one I do not think I wish to tell.

Dad was cremated. His remains were on the shelf in the computer room… which was kind of creepy to me. Mom carried his ashes, I could not seem to bring myself to do this. We had the service at his nursing home…. and few people were there. This made me sad.. that his imprint on life was so small.

My brothers from my dad’s previous marriage came. I had only met them maybe two times and had not seen them since I was eleven. Now I was a grown woman… living my own life. It was odd. It was like being around a parent… since there were that age. We had old pictures Dad from his Navy days and life before and after I was born. My brothers told me stories of what he was like when they were children.. that he was a preacher. I knew this… but it seemed so foreign to me. He was certainly not that man for me…. and part of me was very jealous of this fact.

I wondered what had happened between his divorce to their mom and marrying mine. What happened to him to take him down the road of drinking… apparently this information I will never know. It seems no one knows.

The preacher at the nursing home got up and spoke about my father. I sobbed… the grief hit me like a brick wall and I was taking it way harder than I thought. Apparently being there made it real… made it real that I would never again see my Dad.

I had said I wanted to speak.. and got up to do so. I cried so hard it was hard to get anything out… I was a wreck… and thinking back its kind of embarrassing.. but I’m sure no one thought poorly of me for it.

After the service, I said my good bye’s to brothers.. knowing that I would most likely never see them again. We exchanged numbers… they told me to call if ever I needed anything. They did not seem like my brothers… they knew next to nothing about me. I have not seen them since… this was six years ago. I am at peace with this, though.

Its funny how funerals happen and they bring people together you’d not see otherwise. It is so sad to think that such a sad moment has to happen before relatives come together. I wish I had a relationship with my brothers…. I wish I had a better one with my parents… yet these things will not happen. Perhaps they aren’t meant to happen. I guess I will never know.