This blog was originally posted on MySpace.
I am going to do something that I normally don’t do. I am going to type a diary of sorts for my trip and hope to post them when I can. Please don’t feel the need to comment if you don’t have the time as I am probably not going to get to the replies very often if at all. If you do leave a comment, tho, please know that I will read them and appreciate all the comments none the less.
Let me say thank you first for all of the amazing emails and comments I have gotten thus far about my previous blog. Your kind words and thoughts mean a lot to me.
So here begins my blog. I am typing it in MS Word so hopefully the spelling wont be too bad, but I can’t promise the grammar will be worth anything. Plus I am sure, without a doubt that I will babble. I am a babbler. Nothing I can do to change that, I just accept it and so should you. :o)
9/29/06 2:43 pm CST
We are driving thru Chicago right now. I HATE Chicago. With a passion. There are way too many people here. In defense, I have only just ever driven through Chicago. I haven’t ever actually stopped here. I find the thought of stopping nauseating to say the least. The people drive like they are all on crack and have somewhere to be and are late. ALWAYS late. I don’t understand how we can actually be passed by cops when the posted speed limit says 50 and we are going 75. It baffles me. However, I think living in a rural town for so long has just set my mind in a calm traffic setting. See, in Merrimac, we have no traffic. The most that ever even happens there is that you may get stuck behind a tractor. Big whoop.
Chuck is trying to drive and work at the same time. He keeps fielding phone calls from work and I hear constant yelling, bitching and the comment of how “someone just isn’t doing their job right”. I think it is crazy that he still has to deal with these phone calls when not even 24 hours ago he was informed of his favorite uncles passing and we are driving there now to be with his family and attend the funeral services.
I don’t have a lot of experience with death. What I do have is very painful and hard to even discuss. As many of you know, my step father passed away January 21, 2004 after losing a two and a half year battle with lung, liver and brain cancer. It was the most difficult time in my life and I hope to never have to go thru it again. Jim was just as much a father to me as my real father is. I love them both dearly and was given the amazing gift of having two amazing fathers. This is how I always looked at it. They are both wonderful in their own ways and I cannot imagine life without either of them.
See? This is the problem. I don’t think I even realize that Jim is gone yet. It has been almost 3 years and I still think about times when I want to pick up the phone and call him up. Ask him a question or two or just say hello.
I am not a religious person, so I don’t know how I really feel about God or the afterlife. I do know that I think there is one or some place that our spirits go. I guess I would be considered Agnostic. I was raised loosely in a Divine Science household. My mother is very metaphysical and has strong beliefs about her feelings of God. My father claims to be an Atheist, although there have been many times when I think he is not really. I guess that is a whole nother story. Jim was raised Catholic as with a large portion of my family. He did stop attending the Catholic church for many reasons that I wont go into now, after he and my Mom married when I was 12.
I wonder tho, is there a place that we go? How do we get there? Is it painful? Is death just a way to teach the souls that love us to love us better? Or more? It seems to me that when a loved one passes, if they do indeed go to a better place, then isn’t it selfish of us to feel the way that we do? To be in pain so much? If we know they just went to a better place, why are we so upset and mad? Shouldn’t we be happy for them? Shouldn’t we throw a party? “Yea! George went to heaven! WOOHOO! Break out the champagne” But yet, this isn’t the way it’s done. In some cultures they mourn someone every year on the anniversary of our death. I know if I was in the great here after looking down after my loved ones seeing them do this every year, it would surely not make me proud. So why does this occur? See? I think it is a selfish thing? You may think that I am a bitch for saying this, but it really is how I feel.
When I got the news yesterday, it broke my heart. I think that as soon as I heard the news that Uncle George was sick, I just told myself that he would get better. Just like I did with Jim. I told myself that I need not worry because everything would work out. And I avoided the pain. Part of the reason why my heart hurt so badly yesterday was not only because I loved Uncle George and that I am sad to see that he is no longer with us but because suddenly there I was, back at Jim’s beside, seeing him take his final breath again. My heart stopped for a moment as if to say “WTF??? NO NO NO NO NO! Wait, just wait! Not yet” But yet of course we can not stop fate.
Is that what death is? Fate?