A field guide to growing up without growing apart
My name is Sleeping Booty and I’m a hoarder. Well, sort of. I like to think of myself more as a memory preserver than a junk collector, more like an information database than a maggot infested trash dump. I’m a keeper of records and saver […]
I have now been married to a wonderful guy for ONE WHOLE YEAR. **silent cheer** And in that time, I have stumbled upon the key to a happy marriage. Since you can probably barely contain your excitement right now, I’ll just say it. The secret […]
So I’ve faced mortality this week. A whole boatload of it. And to be honest I’m not sure what I’ve learned. Or how I feel. Hopefully we’ll figure something out together.
It began with putting our family dog down on Saturday. Rhoda is (was) our 15 year old yellow lab who may quite possibly have been happiness incarnate. She’s the only pet we’ve ever had and has been a greater part of our lives than most of our relatives. I can trace almost every childhood, pre-teen, teen and 20-something memory I have back to her and the things she’s taught me. Everything just feels wrong without her here, and while I’m glad she had a full and outstanding life with us, I still have cried more in the last two weeks than I did when my grandpa died in October.
She’d been in pain for a while. We knew she had bone cancer in her hip and about three months ago she stopped being able to get up on her own. But we got a system down; she’d bark and we’d come running to help her up, and once she was done exploring she find one of us and flop back down by our side like nothing was wrong.
It was hard on all of us to see our independent, fearless, adorable best friend go from leading the pack of hikers to waking us up three times a night to go outside. And while all of us would have rather she just died peacefully in her sleep like her sister (my friend and I got puppies from the same litter) we all knew she was too strong and stubborn for that. She’d never dream of tagging herself out of the game.
So when my parents decided it was time, it was hard for me to come to terms with it; I was torn between feeling terrible for selfishly wanting to keep her around and feeling guilty for looking forward to sleeping through the night. Nothing seemed to be the right choice and it was only when I stopped thinking about how it would affect me that I accepted it was the best thing for her.
Life sucks sometimes and one of my bosses asked me to come in on Friday, so I worked instead of spend that last day with her. But as hard as I sobbed for our lack of time, it actually gave me a little bit of closure because I had to face my goodbye earlier. On Saturday my parents and brother were a mess, they couldn’t function much less get her to the car or say goodbye. I had already had a private moment with her a day earlier so I was able to hold it together for the rest of them, taking the lead on the whole process and reminding them of the positive when their anger or despair got too intense.
Once we got her to the vet the scene got even worse; my mom’s friend pulled up next to us with her sick 9 year-old black lab in tow. Her husband died about 7 years ago and her children were all out of town so she was on her own to deal with her pet’s unexpected sickness. We carried our dogs in together and when neither of them came back out it made everything harder and easier all at once.
I was grateful that our whole family had been able to be there together and that we’d had time to say our goodbyes, but it was also unbearable to see another friend going through a similar thing, with no real way of helping. I didn’t really understand what being a widow meant until I saw her there crying into my mother’s arms. She’s alone, with everything, and it’s so much harder. We weren’t keen on getting back home quickly so we stopped by her house to let out her other dog and get a few things while she filled out some more paperwork, and it was heartbreaking to see the broken garage door, the leaky sink, the table full of bills, all the things that her husband should have been there to help her with. Losing someone is so much more than the initial pain of missing them, it’s the rest of your life that you don’t get to share with them.
The next day I stopped by my childhood friend’s house on the way to Disney on Ice (which was super epic btdubs. Rapunzel and her man did flying acrobatic tricks on skates without wires. I have never been more sure performers would slip and fall to their deaths) and while she was gathering her things I picked up a self assessment journal of hers and started skimming. It was out on the front table so I was shocked when I read that the lowest point in her life were the times she’d attempted suicide. Our parents are friends so I’ve physically known her my entire life and I’ve never known that. I knew she’d had some trouble in high school with bullies and an even worse time at college with some less than supportive roommates, but I’d never considered that it had gotten that bad. She’s always been shy and socially conscious but it really checked my reality to realize that someone so close to me had considered ending their life early without my knowledge. I closed the book and she didn’t see me reading, but the words couldn’t be unread. I’ll always worry about her now.
On Sunday my brother announced he was taking a solo spring break road trip this week to hike through southern Utah. He’s always been sensitive, so we weren’t surprised when he took the loss of Rhoda really hard. And while my mother would have preferred he take a friend to avoid a 127 Hours type scenario, I know he needed the space to come to terms with his friend being gone. But I also know that it’s been almost ten years since he told me he was thinking about suicide and I still worry every time I see him cry. Rhoda was one of the things that helped him get through it then, so when he left with tears in his eyes this week, I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again. Will I ever stop worrying about him? Or my friend? Will they ever stop worrying?
For my mother, the loss of our dog has inevitably drawn parallels with her father’s death in October. I’ve watched as she’s beaten herself up for feeling relieved the moments she’s dreaded are over. I know she wants to move forward but every time she comes close, she feels guilty for trying to do so. It’s a terrible thing to move on from, but if there is one thing I know about my unique and wonderful grandpa it is that he wouldn’t want any of us to hold ourselves back on account of him.
Then there is my dad’s dad, who is currently 99 years-old and going strong. This week my dad has been on the phone constantly with his siblings, working out the details for his dad’s future. He told me my grandpa now carries a Do Not Resuscitate order in his wallet that prevents any attempt to save his life should anything happen. As impossible as it is for me to understand, I know he’s lived an astounding, beautiful, full life and must have found some sort of way to come to terms with his inevitable end. I’m going to miss him, but what more can I ask for? What more could he ask for?
Yesterday my brother called to tell us his trip was going great and that he’d made plans to skydive on the way home. On any other given week I would have been all for it, a little adventure is worth the risk, I like to think. But hearing him tell me he’d set a time and would call me the second he landed I lost my cool. I know he’s wanted to do this for a while, I know he’s turning 21 in a month, I know it will clear his head. But he is not Rhoda or my grandparents. He hasn’t lived his life yet. A loss like that isn’t something I can process.
And as if all that wasn’t enough I just found out one of my coworkers lost his wife yesterday. She’s had cancer for about a year but it was in remission until a weird flare up a week ago. He’s got 5 kids all under the age of 16 and is only about 40 himself. The whole office is in shock. How would you handle that? How do we even begin to help him?
My brother just called, his jump went well. Marvelously, in fact. But I still don’t know what is up with this week. Maybe it’s just been a series of random occurrences that my brain has decided to put together, and maybe it’s the magical universe teaching me some lessons I really needed to see for myself. I don’t know.
But I do know that it makes me more grateful for everything I have. And makes me want to go after all the things I don’t. All we can do is try to live full, happy, beautiful lives, because death sucks no matter what. At least if we live fully we’ll have some solid ground underfoot when we have to face it.
Naughty Princesses Assemble! We’ve been at this whole blogging thing for a few months now (so far so good??) and I figured it was time you folks learned a bit more about the four of us and why we go by the pseudonyms we do! […]
It’s that time of the year again…the time when the stores are full of pink and red candies, heart-shaped balloons, and musical greeting cards (well, except where I live). The time of the year when single girls everywhere eat too much chocolate and wish they […]
Wow. Where to start… The last week has been insanely hard on me. My feet are covered in blisters, I can barely keep my eyes open, and there were moments where I felt so inconsequential it was heart breaking. But this week was also incredible; I learned so much about the world and myself and after seeing so many stories brought to life I am overwhelmed at trying to pick just one tell you. I grew up here in Park City and I feel like Sundance is something like my heritage. And while this film festival has meant different things to me over the years, it has always felt like an old friend, coming to visit and help me live in a way I usually wouldn’t. This is the first year I’ve lived at home since high school and being a local for Sundance again reminded me how much this town is part of me. So here follows, in no particular order, and in the form of the ever-astounding list, the things I learned over the first 7 days of Sundance 2013.
Day 1 (Thursday):
Day 2 (Friday):
Day 3 (Saturday):
Day 4 (Sunday):
Day 5 (Monday):
Day 6 (Tuesday):
Day 7 (Wednesday):
Jack Kerouac created something beautiful but he didn’t live a beautiful life. We saw Big Sur tonight and while it was shot perfectly and hearing Kerouac’s language was mesmerizing, the film didn’t paint a picture of a person I want anything to do with.
And it’s not over yet. 5 more days and countless more films to go!
My name is Sleeping Booty and I’m a crusher. A few days ago I read a psychology study circulating the internet that claimed a crush lasting over 4 months crosses over into the territory of love. While I’m not sure I agree, it still got […]
No, no, this isn’t what you think. This isn’t the blog in which Cinderslut announces she’s caught the baby bug, although now that you mention it there are a heckuva lotta cute babies on facebook these days. That blog might come one day, but not […]
It’s that time of year again folks (no I’m not talking about bringing out the NSYNC Christmas CD. That happened a month ago of course), it’s the time of year when we make our lists and check them twice. We write lists of presents, lists of resolutions; lists of what we’re thankful for and what we’ll return. We ask ourselves what matters and who we want to be. We hope Santa will forgive our bad behaviors and grant our wildest wishes. We think hard about what we want in our lives and the things we want for others. So when Cinderslut sent us the “what would you change about your life right now” question this month, I was simply brimming with ideas. But as you read I couldn’t choose just one, mostly because I wasn’t sure I would really be happier with the change I asked for.
The thing is, that isn’t true. Well, it isn’t the whole truth anyway. There is one thing I’ve always wanted to change about my life; one thing I’ve asked Santa for and never got; one thing I miss more than anything. I will always want an older sister.
A few years after my brother was born I begged my parents for a younger sister. I could dress her up and teach her to play monopoly, or we could create our own concoctions in our Easy Bake Oven! Oh what fun we would have! When I found out my dad had tied his tubes, I cried (They hadn’t even consulted me!). And just like that my dream was gone. Don’t get me wrong, my brother is the best of the best, but there is something about a sister that just isn’t the same.
![My Sister%27s Voice 3[1]](http://twentysomethingcondition.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/my-sister27s-voice-31.jpg)
The most obvious thing I can’t do with my brother is share clothing, though admittedly I have stolen a shirt or two from his collection. I’ve worked hard to be someone he trusts talking about his relationships, but it gets tricky when we realize how unfair we are being to the other side; he can’t stand that I’ve done the same thing to guys that other girls have done to him. We share millions of memories, but many of them only briefly intersect, since I was sitting at the girls table and he was hanging with the boys. Both he and I have always relished our space, but in my latest state of 20-something turmoil I’ve needed a bit more attention than his newly-20 state of independence is like to provide. I love him and he is someone I’ll always be able to stay up all night talking to, but because he’s my little brother he and I can never be each other’s best friend. No matter how close we get, he’ll never quite fill that void.
As for girls, I grew up with a lot of them. My parents’ friends have daughters just a few years older than me who have become almost like sisters over the years. I have friends from elementary school that I still pick up from the airport and Skype with on weekends. Just a few days ago one of my friends from middle school told me I’ll be her maid of honor at her wedding next year and I even have a few friends from college (namely the Naughty Princesses) who I can tell anything to.
I have no shortage of girls who have been and continue to be like sisters in my life. But maybe that makes it even harder, because they all come so close. These girls understand some of where I come from, they understand how I grew up or why I’m scared of inaction. We can talk about boys or talk about politics; we can talk every day or only once every few months-it doesn’t matter, we always stay close no matter the distance. But none of them know all of me. No one has been by my side through all of it. I can’t yell at them like I can my brother. I don’t look at them and see myself. I never miss them like they’re part of me. A sister is that person who challenges me, who I’m not afraid to push back. How differently would I see myself if I had someone that similar by my side?
A few years ago I found out my mother had a late miscarriage right before she had me; a girl. Since then my older sister has become my unspoken daydream. I’ve imagined what she’d look like and what she’d think of my choices. I’ve thought about how proud she’d make me and how I’d get to be the cool aunt to her kids. Believing in her makes me feel young and protected; like she’s somewhere out there paving the way for me, like all I have to do is write her a letter and she’ll understand. She always knows the right thing to do, and has more fun than anyone I know. Sometimes I even bring her up with my brother, just to make her feel more real.
I know there are sisters out there who don’t get along and have little in common, but when I think about my sister I know our differences would only bring us closer. If some people have a hole in their heart where their first love is, then I have a space for her. She would have been my best friend and I think that the lack of her is the reason I do a lot of the things I do. I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone who’ll replace my sister, but sometimes around the holidays I wish I could.
Now, I think I mentioned a few days ago there might be another chapter of Lady’s Mareena and Her Torrid Troubles on the way. However, although you all have been undoubtedly on the edge of your seat waiting, I wasn’t at first planning to write […]
I thought I should write a blog post on the confused mess that is my love life (or, perhaps more accurately, my “love area”, that is, the place where a love life would exist if I actually had one). However, when I set about pursuing […]
People always say you are supposed to meet the love of your life in college. Well, I did. But it took me a helluva long while to figure it out. I started dating a sweet and brilliant (if nerdy) guy at the beginning of my sophomore year. It was four months of heavy makeout sessions in dorm rooms and various places around campus, studying together, watching movies, and many Chipotle burrito dates. In other words, pretty much exactly what I wanted from my first real relationship. But as the fourth month approached, I grew restless. His silly personality began to get on my nerves, he frustrated me with his tendency to ramble. And to make matters worse, the relationship seemed headed down the marriage fast-track. If he’d had a glass slipper, he would have jammed it on my foot long ago. He was sure. I was surely not.
Increasingly, I sensed it wasn’t meant to be. A lot of complicated emotions went into this decision, including fear of commitment. I was 20, and terrified of forging ahead with a relationship I wasn’t sure I wanted. And so, as my own case of the Twenty-Something Condition was just developing, I dumped him. I dumped him real good, over breakfast in one of the dining halls, right before Music Theory 101, a class we had signed up to take together. In retrospect, it was not my best move. He cried, I cried, and then…we went to class together? Twice a week for the rest of the quarter? Oh yes, we did.
My prince did not take the break-up well. He was in love with me, and couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that I didn’t feel the same way. And thus ensued two years of awkwardness, friends with benefits, angry passive aggressiveness, and why-do-I-hate-it-that-I-like-it-when-he-smiles-as-me-across-a-crowded-room confusion. Taylor Swift had yet to write her song “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” but I was singing this anthem loud and clear, except for in the quiet moments when I fantasized about him at night, or tried to sit near him at church. Not next to him, mind you. Just close enough that he knew I was there, which he always did.
My fellow naughty princesses remember this time well, because I nearly drove them out of their minds with my vacillating and backsliding and promising that I was done forever. More than once they would ask me, “Do you want to be with him?”
And I would confidently answer, “No, never.”
They would say, “Are you sure?”
And I would say, “I’m sure.”
But I wasn’t. The what-ifs never completely abated, even though I stood by my decision to end the relationship. Then, during the summer before our senior year, I started spending more time with that prince, mostly in group activities. But I noticed something strange: I really loved being around him. At this point he was about to leave for graduate school in the Middle East, so clearly nothing could happen now. If I was certain I did not believe in getting back together, I was dead-set against long-distance relationships. To acquiesce to both would be unthinkable.
Well, you can guess what happened. A few months later I took the plunge, fired up my webcam, and did what I’d sworn never to do, and it was the best decision I ever made. We dated while he finished a Master’s degree in a faraway foreign land, and all the while people warned me, “Just don’t marry him and move over there with him…”
“It’s not safe. Terrorism. 9-11. Burkas. Women’s rights…”
Their concerns were valid in my eyes. I could never live in a place like that. Marriage might be back on the table, but moving? Never.
You can guess what happened next. I’m now living in a country I’d sworn never to visit, with the man I rejected a thousand times over. It’s a life I truly never imagined I’d have, but it’s been more fun than I could have ever dreamed.
November 7th, 2011: My prince flew around the world to surprise me with my birthday present: an engagement ring. Guess when he bought the ring?
2008.
He bought me a ring all those years before because he was sure. Even though I wasn’t, he never gave up on me. I’ve learned a lot of lessons over the years of knowing this man, and here’s the biggest one of all.
Never say never.