IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Blog

I vaguely remember when I used to care about my birthday. Now that I'm....gag26gag, a lot of things have changed. For one, I'm old, and I have 2 kids, so the presents aren't as awesome as they were 15 years ago when I WAS a kid. (MOON SHOES! WHOOO!!) I stopped liking cake (What?! Who does that?!) I'm lactose intolerant, so I regularly choose NOT to punish my guts with an ice cream hangover. AND..I get more excited spending 6 months planning my children's birthdays than I do even entertaining the thought of celebrating another year of not acquiring wrinkly skin, grey hair, or saggy boobs. (AIR TALLY!) Because I obviously know which path my thoughts are headed, be warned..I may end up taking the happy out of happy birthday. I have spent my last 7 birthdays remembering the the first day of my Grandma's final days. So, I am just going to write it out loud. My mom, sister and I moved to Tennessee on December 29, 2004. While I have a horrrrible memory, I do remember pulling out of the driveway, and the majority of the trip down here. I can remember Grandma's face, where she was standing and how she waved. Same with Grandpa. I remember going through Indiana, and when my now step dad, Rick, honked his horn as we got to Tennessee. I remember 2 1/2 months later when I went back to Illinois for my 19th birthday, but I don't remember how I got up there. (See?...horrible memory.) I remember being at my Dad's and having the conversation with my mom on the phone where she asked me if I was going to Grandma's and, after I told her I was, I remember her asking me to talk to Grandma about going to the doctor. I know now that Grandma had been sick since before we moved, however, at the time, I didn't know that. I remember going to Grandma's, seeing her, Grandpa, and Aunt Rosie. Beyond that, I can recall very little of what happened, aside from me sitting on the floor in front of the dishwasher texting mom, and the conversation I had to force myself to have with Grandma while sitting across from her at the kitchen table. Unless a family member or one of my close friends reads this, you won't quite understand, but Grandma lived in her chair in the kitchen. That's where she was, all day. She was short, and could twist her little legs up in the chair in what appeared to me to be the most UNCOMFORTABLE position imaginable. How her legs never managed to fall asleep, I'll never know. But, on March 12th, 2005..my 19th birthday, she was still in her chair, just like always, but this time, not the same. Her legs hung down, her body slumped over, her chin was on her chest. I watched Grandpa help her up and walk her to the bathroom. (Why can't she walk? I thought she had a cold?) I remember texting mom, but I don't know what I said. Something along the lines of her appearance, I'm sure. When grandma came back from the bathroom, I had put myself just over an arm's length away from her. She hated the doctor. Probably as much, if not more, than I did. "Convincing her to go is not going to be easy." That was the first sentence of the pep talk I gave myself. Game face on, I wasn't taking no for an answer. As it turned out, I didn't need a speech. It took one sentence, with a promise that I would go with her at the end of it, and we were getting in the car. I remember texting mom from the back seat, behind grandpa, to let her know that grandma was en route, and that I was with. She told me Aunt Sue was going to meet us up there. Still, as a 19 year old, the thought "Mom..I got this." Went through my head, but stopped before it hit my fingers. Every single time I think about that doctor's visit, I still cannot believe how naive I was. Maybe it was the kid in me who thought their family was just going to be around forever. Maybe it was the fact that until that point, I had never really been around anyone who had more than pneumonia, at least not that I can remember. (SURPRISE!) Until that day, NEVER before had a sentence that had come out of anyone's mouth, let alone a doctor's, made me deaf, made me angry, made me only able to hear my own breath sharply exhale and place the weight of an elephant on my chest. I absolutely despise that little knot that creeps up in your throat when you're trying not to cry. That day we found out that grandma had cancer. Instead of getting medicine, going home, and getting better, we were headed to the hospital. Instead of me feeling like a hero, I felt responsible. Responsible for my grandma finding out that she had a terminal illness, and instead of being able to go back home, and sit in her chair, she had to go to a HOSPITAL, and lay in a BED on a floor surrounded by nothing BUT Cancer. I don't know how I did it, but I do know that I made it out of the room we were in, down the hall, through the waiting room and outside before I started crying. I had never been told not to cry in front of anyone, and even though I obviously was not the girl who discovered cancer, I knew enough about the situation to know that crying in front of my grandparents was not going to be motivational. And as I made it outside, and already felt like the grim reaper, then I had to call my mom and tell her. I only threw up twice before she answered. I don't remember what I said, but I know I was crying, and I know that because of the words that came out of my mouth, my mom was crying. As a result, she was also on her way to Illinois. To be completely honest, I don't remember anything that happened after that for the remainder of my birthday trip.(Seriously, how do I even remember my name?) The next time I would see my grandma, it would be Christmas Day, 2005 and again, she'd be in the hospital. By the time we made it there she wasn't able to talk, open her eyes...move. It was exactly an hour before she took her final breath that we made it to her bedside. While I know that she is no longer suffering, and wouldn't want any of us to cry, I still do. I am now, and it happens frequently. I can't help it. Someday I will be able to forgive myself, and convince myself that it wasn't my fault, and that she is in a better place, etc. But sometimes I wonder how long that will take. Does time really heal emotional wounds? I don't know. And i don't know why, in the name of all that's holy, that at some point I stopped wanting to celebrate my birthday, and instead spend the day thinking of those who are no longer here to celebrate their own. That's morbid, I know. Ben mentioned his high school reunion the other day, which in turn, sent my gears into a smoky oblivion of thoughts. We have lost a lot of great people from Oswego. Some before we made it to high school, others passed while we were in it, and still..others pass now that we have left. And every single time, we feel as if they were taken too soon. "God called them home." "He needed them more than we did." "It was their time." These are all things we hear and say following the passing of a loved one or relative. Does it help? I'm asking seriously. I am guilty of being in the receiving end of that statement and just nodding my head in agreement, still wiping tears and blowing my nose. I have also said those words myself. In that moment, when life after death must go on for those of us still here, not a sentence on earth seems like it is going to help. I suppose at one point in time it does. I don't believe that it helps at a wake, or a funeral..or a burial. There are stages of accepting death. It DOES take time. (Time...heals?) Thinking back to high school, one of the worst stages of accepting death is anger, in my opinion. I whole heartedly believe that it is essential for everyone to go through this stage, regardless of how strong you are. It is horrible while experiencing it, and could be damaging if it is one that you can't get past. But it IS okay to be angry. It's okay to cry. It's ok to miss them, and wish that they were still here. Those are all normal emotions. Celebrating their time spent with us is normal, too. I am going to speak through experience without mentioning any names, because I happen to be friends with several of them now on Facebook, about one of the most devastating events that death usually sparks. Not always, but sometimes. While I do believe that many "negative" emotions need to be dealt with, and not shrugged off when someone passes away, It literally breaks my heart when people start arguing or fighting, or saying hurtful things to other people. This happened to me. I may be the only person who ever reads this, and that's fine, but if you aren't me and you also went to Oswego, you may remember Lindsey. I do, because we talked every day. She sat next to me in journalism, she had been to my house, we would text, not often, but often enough. We had a lot of the same friends at one point or another, and WE were FRIENDS. Linds passed away the day before my 18th birthday senior year. I went to Lindsey's funeral, along with several other classmates. A small group of which was not happy that I was there. Apparently they felt as though I wasn't her best friend, like they were, and they said some pretty heinous things to me. Hurtful, (and yes, if you were one of them, said those things then and are reading this now, I did cry. Thanks.) Not only did they say things to me during the funeral, but also at the burial, at school the following weeks, outside, at the grocery store...wrote it on my locker, etc. Every time they saw me. That's not the point. My question is...why?! Everyone always has such positive things to say when they aren't emotionally tied to the death of a loved one's loved one. So why get angry at ANYONE for..paying respects at a funeral? Lending a shoulder to a friend that is hurting? Sending the family a card? I don't get it. Why put a limit on the amount of people mourning for someone you cared about yourself? Is that really how you would imagine they would want their own funeral to be? "Dude, if I die, make sure you say mean things to people you didn't know I talked to, k?" No..probably not. You never really know how many lives a single person touched until they are no longer here to touch them. Why be hateful? Why do we talk so rudely about anyone that has passed, the way they passed, or other people who cared about them, too? This includes celebrities. If they overdose, or get too drunk and depressed and take their own lives that means it's okay to tell crack jokes for 3 weeks to see how many people will hit the "like" button? Really? They're people, too. I have lost close friends to drugs. I dare someone to write on their Facebook "Hey Brad..crack is whack. Spoons are for cereal! Bahaha" Why do people make jokes about lives lost? I'm sorry, but it sickens me. It never seems to sink in until it affects someone personally. Hypothetically speaking, Whitney Houston, for example. She was a daughter, a mother, a cousin, an actress, a singer, an INSPIRATION.. and yeah, she was famous. She consumed a deadly cocktail, and as a result, she passed away. So let's say..your mom did the same thing. Is it then acceptable for me or anyone else to put pictures of a "Candlelight Vigil" featuring a spoon and some crack held over a candle on your Facebook? ...on her Facebook? ...what about on my own? I would never even CONSIDER IT. It's not funny. I know there are a ton of people who don't agree, and that's fine. You don't have to. I guess while pondering my thoughts of how much it concerns me to watch some people be so selfish, maybe I am being selfish, as well. So, on my birthday this year, I am going to make a wish. I wish that everyone would spend a few minutes today 1.) Remembering the lives we have lost, most recently being Matt Schindlbeck, and celebrate their time here. 2.) HUG those who miss them 3.) LISTEN to those who need to vent 4.) UNDERSTAND that not everyone will always have the same opinion as you, or feel what you are feeling or have felt, but this for not make them wrong or you right. 5.) Don't JUDGE, IGNORE, or shrug off anything. 6.) Tell the people you LOVE that you LOVE them. And last but not least, 7.) RESPECT. Respect everyone you meet, everyone you knew, and everyone you know now. Happy 18+8th Birthday to me <3

If you're happy and you know it, don't read my shit.

If you are still here, you're weird. But I am, too, so it's fine. Here are some serious warnings that I am going to list off now, so nobody can WHAT THE FUCK me later. 1.) Reading my nonsense will not not make you any smarter. 2.) I really have a buttload of random crap to say, and it has nothing to do with world peace or saving the planet. 3.) The only reason I started blogging was because everyone else blogs and not being mainstream is the new mainstream. So any way you look at it, this is all pretty much your fault. 4.) I cuss a lot. So, if you get offended by no no words, then..just click the x. No hard feelings. This does not mean that I'm a terrorist, or an atheist or..whatever. it just means that meanie poo poo head simply does not accurately convey all of my emotions. 5.) There are a lot of people and a lot of things that I just don't like. Kind of like you. Everyone believes in something. Everyone dislikes other things. That's because we CAN! And since this blog has my name on it, don't be alarmed when I say something crazy and then all of a sudden you hate me. If you agree with it, high five! If you don't, high five! Just don't spend an hour leaving a comment about how you think I'm an idiot. Make your own blog, and talk about it there. 6.) I don't travel, I don't go to the movies, and I rarely go out to restaurants. So I can not amaze you with pictures and reviews. 7.) I don't watch tv, and obviously then..I don't have cable. It's kind of like camping 365 days a year! 8.) If you're awesome and you blog, I will probably want to read your craziness. So share it. 9.) I'm double jointed. 10.) That's pretty much it, for now. -Krista