cleaning out the unused mailbox, a message for memorial day

Dear everyone (anyone?) who still reads this:

 I stopped writing some time ago. I consider this my living life time. I kept coming to conclusions and living and concluding that my previous conclusion was mediocre comparative to the more recent of the two...and then time passes and I realized that everything is cyclical. Living, thinking, learning, growing, living.

I read what I wrote for so long, and I was basically saying the same thing. I was a broken record stuck in a cocooned innocence, pealing back a layer at a time in a slow molten discovery.

With time, I became an “adult.”  I moved away from home, age 20 and ready, enrolled in the one of six law schools I was accepted to. Ready to learn. Ready to grow. Ready to do my own laundry and explore a big city. With virgin eyes I began to understand the true meaning of being broke. Being truly lonely. Homesick. Feeling like I made the biggest mistake of my life by enrolling in a place where legal rhetoric and ideas haunt the majority of my waking days.

I’m here. Here in St. Paul, spending money on an education that makes me feel guilty for not being more grateful for the opportunity to be here. I keep wondering what conclusion I can come to. “In the end, this will be worth it.” Can I say that? Should I have gone to grad school for English? Would I be happier?

The truth is, I don’t know the answer to that. My life has been backwards.

I grew up too fast because of circumstances that made me do so. My biggest problems were resolved like pages falling into closed chapters, having mostly to do with other people’s decisions impacting me than my own did. Those I loved were the catalysts to most of my life events, and I was a reactor, trying to stay positive, trying to make the best result happen.

And then my life neutralized. Like an aftermath of an explosion, I began to pick up the pieces. One piece, forgiveness. Another piece, guilt. Another, the question of what it means to love myself. Another, responsibility. Another, and another, and I realize that I am only now discovering who I am.

Before I was on defense. Now, I’m on offense. And every choice I make I am just trying to make it right. I’m trying to understand what this life means. And I can’t really write about that, because I just don’t know. I don’t know what it means in the slightest. And I just don’t understand many people anymore. I could play Aristotle all day long if I wanted to, but the thing is, not many people like to sit and think like him, not many people want to sit and try to understand… so as long as he’s around for now, I’m just not going to spend my time trying to get others to either.

 That having been said, maybe I'll find myself inspired again in the future. Maybe I'll write a novel. Maybe, I think, is the best way to start. Until then, cheers, take care, and adios.

- Kristin

I once had a postcard that read, "Change your shoes, change your life."

Change. It's everywhere. And as humans, it seems we crave it.

With everything changing, sometimes it difficult to determine whether or not one is making the best choices, people coming and going, going, coming. Change happens so often sometimes we don't notice it anymore.

Who haven't we called? Who haven't we said I love you to? Who has been neglected? Forgotten? Who needs a hug? Who isn't smiling today? Who is hurting? Who is happy?

Change mostly with the who's...as the cliche would say "things don't change, people do..."

So in efforts to change ourselves we look to things.

The new. The improved. Upgrading. The stuff we clutter our lives with. The things. The most important things aren't things (I don't remember who said that).

Regardless, different doesn't always mean better. Different doesn't always mean worse.

This is bipolar, I know.

What I want to say I should just say.

My life has been difficult. I have been through more in the past year than my 25 year old friend said he has been through in his entire life. And I'm not bragging, I'm not bragging. I just wonder how I do it. How do I continue to love? To see the best in people. To smile non-stop. To believe in myself.

Today after my poetry class, the professor asked to speak with me. "Fern, I'm sorry to hear about your father. Student affairs informed me that he had passed away. I wanted to let you know that two of our chapters are on death and dying. 22 people will be critiquing your work. I just thought I'd let you know in case it was too difficult for you and you would want to withdraw from the course now."

I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. I mean I don't blame the guy for thinking I wouldn't be able to handle it. It's only been a couple of weeks. But death is a part of life, we are always closer to dying.

"I think I'll be fine. I'm a strong girl. I like myself enough that I can handle criticism from 22 other people."

The death of my father hasn't been easy, don't get me wrong. But it is a relief that he is done suffering. In Donnie Darko when he says, "Everyone dies alone." That was true for my father. I think that's what hurts so much. The poor man must have been so lonely. He had no friends. No friends because he didn't know how to let others close.

And I had abandoned him in efforts to get him to stop drinking. But 10 days passed and not a single person noticed he wasn't breathing anymore. No one noticed he was gone. No one knew his body was perfectly still.

Until a cop came knocking at the front door of the house I grew up in.

Until I saw 7 missed calls from my mother and she told me I needed to come home.

Until I realized I would never get to hug him again.

But I know deep in my heart that he is not alone anymore. He can be with me whenever he wants now. He can finally stop feeling guilty.

I thought I needed to forgive him. That part was easy. It's forgiving myself that has been difficult. The last voicemail he left on my phone--he was telling me how much he missed me, how proud he was of me. How he was worried about me. How he wanted to take me out for lunch.

I could have said goodbye. I could have seen him ONE last time. But I can't change it. I can't fix it.

So I embrace it. I learn to deal with it. And accept the conditions that I've been dealt.

But the lessons. I am who I am because of him.

And beyond his life...when it comes to dealing with my life...I have accepted that who I am is my decision. Who other's are is beyond my control.

As much as things change, change will always be out of our hands. We can control ourselves, and that is all. That is the answer to my questions..."I just wonder how I do it. How do I continue to love? To see the best in people. To smile. To believe in myself."

The answer lies in a variety of things. My faith in God. My mother. My support group (aka friends ). My attitude.

But also my ability to forgive. Forgiveness is so important. Seventy-times seven. That's how much I'm supposed to forgive. I won't get walked on, but I will not carry bitterness. I have forgiven every person who has ever hurt me. I have let go of the angst. And THAT is how I continue to love. To see the best in people. To smile. To believe in myself.

Not that I am always able to do this, but I try, I always try.

Because in the end, in the middle, and since the beginning people have been changing. And they aren't going to stop. The butterfly effect is affecting you right now.

And the only way to make change work out for the best is to recognize that while you can't always control the change, you can change the way it ultimately turns out...the way the change changes YOU.

That is exactly what my dad would say.

Currently Listening Colour the Small One By Sia don't bring me down see related

[Update: Funeral Weds. @ 2:00 at St. Joesph's Catholic Church in Moorhead. Thanks for all the kind emails, phone calls, and visits- I feel loved and am surprised that so many people have showed compassion and empathy. THANK YOU! It has been a light for me during the darkest moments. GOD BLESS!]

About an hour ago I found out that my dad passed away.

The cause of death was alcoholism- rock bottom for an alcoholic being death; but there was much more to my father than the disease that consumed so many aspects of his life.

The deeper side, I guess.

He wasn't perfect, and in fact, he could be a real asshole. He wouldn't mind me saying it, I think he knew. Always yelling at me to clean up my stuff or put a plate in the sink-NOW, not later. He was right, I wasn't planning on doing it later, even when I said, promised, vowed that I would.

When I was little, I washed my hair with strawberry shampoo and conditioner. Soaking in the tub until my fingers made raisins look youthful. I would put on my long pajamas and run downstairs, jump on his lap and wait for him to say it... "You smell good."

I was his little girl. His only girl. He wanted me to succeed in life. He wanted me to have it better than he had it. He bought me a car he didn't want to buy me because I wanted it. He was right about it too-it was a dud. He gave in to my persistence about smoking-quitting after I pestered him for years. But no matter how much I pushed the alcohol, it took driving him to a rehab center (while he was still drunk) to make him quit. And by quit, I mean, he tried for a year and a half.

Toward the end I stopped answering his phone calls. I told him I couldn't have a relationship with him until he stayed sober for 6 months; in a way this prepared me more for what I found out tonight, a little bit of lost hope and a little bit of distance.

But regardless to the end, I loved that man, my father, more than I have ever loved another man. I saw so much of myself in him.

He had a temper that put Rush to shame, a unending love for jalapenos and Tabasco, and a sense of humor that forced people to laugh out of sympathy.

I guess it was those things that made me love him more.

Whenever I woke up in the morning and begin to creep down the stairs he would sing, "I love, I love, I love my little..." and wait. I would have to answer, "Noodle Doodle." That's what he called me. His noodle. Little skinny me. His.

There was a time where he came into the room I'm in now-the computer room at my parents house, and told me..."I'm not going to be around forever, and I'm not perfect. There's a lot of things I haven't done right. But I have tried for you. I have given you a good life." We had both started crying...and he put in a Cat Steven's CD, clicked the button until the song "Wild World" started playing. He told me the lyrics were for me.

In honor of you, dad, I'm posting these lyrics. You'll always be my dad-even though you're not here with me. And I'll always be your noodle. I forgive you, I love you, and I'll miss you. Always, your noodle. 

Now that I've lost everything to you
You say you want to start something new
And it's breaking my heart you're leaving, baby I'm grieving
But if you want to leave take good care
Hope you have a lot of nice things to wear
But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there

Oh, baby, baby it's a wild world
It's hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby it's a wild world
I'll always remember you like a child, girl

You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do
And it's breaking my heart in two
'Cos I never want to see you sad girl. don't be a bad girl
But if you want to leave take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware

Baby I love you

But if you want to leave take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware

Currently Listening The Very Best of Cat Stevens By Cat Stevens Wild World see related