“In My Life” by The Beatles
There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though i know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
Hum. To all my friends and family who have remained with me through the years. You are the reason I still have faith in humanity.
I’ve never had a stress fever before. I never knew such a phenomenon could actually manifest itself; I always attributed fevers to the whims of my body’s immune system.
But eh, needless to describe, but I had another terribly long day of school that ruined all of David’s plans. Of course, I feel guilty, especially since he will be in the South Bay this weekend.
Ah, well. My own fault. Cursed procrastination.
I’ll just buy him dinner. Food makes him happy.
It’s been a while; close to a month, I believe.
I’ve been in school for a month and a half, and I don’t feel like I have much to show for it.
I’ve been “ill” at least twice in that time.
Jimbo and I went to Knott’s Halloween Haunt, which was extremely reminiscent of those zombie-filled mansions in the Resident Evil video game series (sans slutty zombies).
I’ve missed you, but I always do.
I’ve missed my brother. We turned out so different despite experiencing the same trials, and he is so many things I am not.
I’ve missed my dad, who for some reason seems to grow more proud of me as the years go by. He’s the man I credit for helping me retain faith in the ideals of family.
I’ve missed my cousin. I feel awful that I’m not watching him grow up anymore.
I have made many new acquaintances at school, but none I would call a friend yet.
I am proud to call some of my coworkers my friends now.
I went to a burlesque show with those coworkers.
And today, I finally finished my first multimedia piece, which I am loathe to even watch. I just have to prove to myself and everyone else that I can do so much better.
I suppose this list leads us to the here and now. I am not feeling very well, but at the very least I feel at peace. No worries at the moment, so I am devoting my time to a small bit of introspection.
When I was at home recently, I spent an awful lot of time at my pa’s house in Carson. It’s where I first learned about God, the beauty of reading, and the rhythm of arithmetic. On the first day home, out of force of habit, I walked straight to my ma’s room. Although there are two bathrooms, we always used her’s. The door was shut, and I simply opened it without knocking. Ma wasn’t taking a nap on the bed, or lounging while watching her daytime TV shows.
I froze, my hand glued to the doorknob.
I keep forgetting Ma is no longer with us.
The empty bed before me was more jarring than the many photographs of her that Pa had arranged around the house. She was almost always on that bed. I would give her a hug, and then proceed to ask her if she could help me with the handful of loose buttons that are always floating in my possession.
I had to snap myself out of it and force myself into the bathroom. I didn’t want to dwell on it too long, but it is hard to avoid when I’m home. Unlike everyone else in the family, I’m the only one who does not have to cope with her absence on a daily basis. In many ways, I envy the rest of my family for having to confront the truth. Her death only hits me once in a while, and usually completely out of the blue.
My family still visits her grave every Sunday; she passed away in late February. Whenever I’m home for the weekend, I go with them, but the experience of standing before her headstone is still so surreal to me. We spread out a few blankets and sit and chat. We always have large umbrellas, because it always seems so sunny in the cemetery. We gather there, to say hello, to choke back on goodbyes, to force ourselves to move on. But it’s so difficult. With the sun shining so, and the squirrels jumping around, and with my brother’s incessant need to stay cheerful, it’s actually relatively easy to forget where we are.
As Pa went to get more water for the flowers, my brother and I reclined, knees bent toward the sky, arms cradling our heads. When he returned, he carefully cleaned Ma’s headstone. He brought a little pair of scissors to trim away the encroaching grass. And as he wiped down the blank granite on the left of the headstone, he said, “This is my spot, right next to grandma.”
My brother and I protested, told him it won’t be for a while. He left to get more water, and we both tried to reassure one another that it won’t be for a long while. I don’t think either of us would handle that very well if it happened soon.
It’s hard for me to go home. I can handle it, but it is always so taxing on several different levels.