I am in a sad, annoyed, and slightly depressed mood. It's because I have been home since I got out of class. This means I have spent it all with my mother and sister. I think it's the saddest thing in the world that they of all people put me in this sort of mood. A family is supposed to mean happiness, right? I don't feel happy around them. I feel happiest when they are away. My mom will be home this weekend and that depresses the crap out of me. I like to be home alone, able to come and go as I please without having her constantly on my back. I get this terrible nagging feeling everytime I see that she has called or is calling my cell. I especially hate it when she calls work. I can't stand her.
My sister is usually a pleasant part of my life, but only when I see her in small doses. When she's around me for long periods of time, she turns into our mother. She nags and criticizes until I pretty much hate her. She's always asking, "Well, why don't you do it this way? Why don't you do this? Why can't you be more of this?" Who the hell wants to hear that all the time? I certainly don't. I'm sorry you don't understand "the way" I am, sister dear, but get the fuck over it and accept the fact that you and I are NOT the same in any way.
Since I'm in the mood, let's talk about God for a moment...I'm sorry if this offends a good 98% of you, because I know that most of you are Christians. Also, beware- I've had a lot on my mind...
I'm not a Christian. I don't know what you would call me, but I haven't been "saved", nor do I ever intend to be. I dislike going to church, I gave up on praying long ago, and have very little faith in God. I'm not an atheist because I believe God exists, but it's such a messed up belief that I don't even have a name for myself. Does this make me a bad person? Should people think less of me for having different beliefs? I certainly hope not, because I'd lose A LOT of fantastic friends if this were true.
A history of what was: My parents had nothing to do with what I believe now. My dad was a hardcore Catholic who went to church EVERY Sunday, no matter where we were. If we were on vacation, he would look up the churches in a phonebook and go to one. Before he met my mom, he went to St. Ambrose to study to become a priest. THAT'S how devoted he was, but instead of going for it, he married my mom who was a Methodist (*gasp!!!!*). If you know Catholics, they are all about marrying inside the religion. Their marriage was quite scandalous, because they had both a priest and a minister at their wedding. My sister and I were baptised in both churches as well- we're religion mutts. Growing up, I mostly went to the Methodist church, but I did enjoy going to church with Dad. In fact, I loved going to church with him and my grandma when we went to visit her, because they were both so into it and went through all of the routines like it was running through their blood. I liked that. I never took communion though, at either church, because I'd feel like I was betraying a parent or something.
What happened: Death has been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember. I know some people who have never been to a funeral...I've been to entirely way too many. I was named after my mom's sister who died by being hit by a train. Before I was even born my dad's dad died, my Aunt Sandra died, and my cousin Robin died by falling into a grain bin and suffocating. I have heard all of these stories since I can remember. Holidays equal anniversary of death's days...and I'm not kidding. All of my relatives die on a holiday or on/around someone's birthday. We'll get to that as I go along, though.
The first funeral I can vividly remember is my Great Aunt Delta's. She died on Valentine's Day of a brain hemorage. I was in 5th grade. I remember being sad, but more in awe of how extremely badly my mom and sister took it. I blame my lack of sadness on the fact that I didn't know her as long as they had. This particular death didn't have any effect on my views towards God at this point. However, praying seemed silly to me because I always felt that God had more important things to worry about than anything I ever had to ask for, so I didn't. I did start to dislike going to church and would try to find ways to get out of going. I think I learned what a cult was, and noticed many similarities in the two and got creeped out.
My doubts in God began in 7th grade when one of my dad's older brothers, my Uncle Pat, died. I didn't really know him all that well, but his death affected me like no other. He had a massive heart attack, but was still alive, so we all went up to Wisconsin so Dad could see him before he died. I still don't think this was such a great idea. Maybe if we had waited, I wouldn't have such a jaded view on things. Anyway, we get there and he's hooked up to so many machines. His lungs were filling up with his own fluid. I saw him laying there, and heard him trying so hard to breathe, but the fluid was too much. That gurgle sound each time he tried still haunts me to this day. That was the first time I seriously prayed. I prayed to God to stop his suffering, and became very bitter for making him suffer in the first place- that was the part I didn't understand, and still don't. Why did he have to suffer and try so hard to breathe? If God needed him in Heaven, why didn't He take him when he first had the heart attack? I had to leave because it was too much for me. He died the next day on my grandma's birthday.
The next person to affect me in such a way was my dad's sister, my Aunt Mary. She had bone cancer for almost a year, and the entire time it hurt her so much. I start crying when I think about how much pain she was in. On one of our last visits with her, my dad wanted more than anything to give her a hug, but he couldn't because it hurt her too badly. Her grandkids wanted to cuddle in her lap, but couldn't. This pissed me off. Why the hell did she and her family have to go through so much for so long? She died my sophomore year on my mom's birthday. I bawled at the funeral, not only because I would miss my aunt, but because I was so angry at God.
Next on the list is my Grandma Seal (it's actually Lucille, but we couldn't pronounce that when we were little so we shortened it to "seal"). She is my mom's mom. She and my grandpa came to live with us May of my junior year. She wasn't in that great of shape, and needed someone to watch over her. From May to June, she had many strokes and digressed into this frail little woman who didn't know who she was or who we were. I remember this one time when my mom and dad went to the doctor's to get her some medicine. I was home alone with her for maybe an hour, but it was one of the scariest hours ever. The woman I was with was not my grandma. She was spacy and mumbling incoherently. If you've ever seen
The Jilting of Granny Weatherall...she sounded exactly like that. That's the second time I prayed. I prayed that God make this stop and to just take her. She mumbled things about seeing Aunt Sandra standing there, and how her mom was coming along soon. This scared the crap out of me. I wanted mom and dad to come home right then. She died a few weeks later, in our living room, on my parent's wedding anniversary. Weird thing: I knew when she died. I woke up suddenly because I was cold, and I thought to myself, "I wonder if Grandma just died..." then went back to sleep. When I woke up, all of the people were there taking her away. Having someone die in your house is a lot of work...
...to be continued. I actually feel better now that I have vented all this, but the conclusion shall be tomorrow's task. Good night and I love you!
