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helpfulcorn's journal
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helpfulcorn's Journal  god called in sick today There were lots of things that I'd randomly pick up for Lissa when I'd go out. Stuff she didn't know about to surprise her when she was blue or just to give her when it would be silly. I came across one of those things today. It was a disney endless love coloring and stamp book. I thought she'd think it was cute and I remember thinking I'd tell her she could pretend the cartoon couples in each picture were us. I don't know what I'll do with it now. My company does like a toys for tots thing at Christmas. I guess I'll add it to the pile. Endlessly My brother's in town and I'm happy about that. Today though we went biking by the ocean and I had a disturbing realization. Since Melissa's been gone, natural beauty has made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. The entire time, I was incredibly stressed out and I had this sick feeling hiding behind my stomach like I was trespassing somewhere or I were some sort of lab animal being put through a maze. I've noticed this feeling before: pretty much every time I see something that could be put on a postcard. It's not that I hate such environments. It'd be pretty stupid to yell explatives at a sunset. But they do make me feel incredibly anxious and insecure. I really don't like being in places like that. Even Death Does Not Part Them Anna and Raymond Ernst's family believe the only time the two have ever been apart was last Thursday night after Anna died. But Raymond followed the next day. Buffalo, NC -- The enormous extended family of Raymond and Anna Ernst filled St. Bernadette's Catholic Church in Hamburg on Monday. "Nearly 76 years of marriage, together as a family, they lived a simple life," said granddaughter Marya Doerfel in the eulogy. "They lived a full life." As a young man, he was a race car driver, the car he drove was her brother's. "And he was racing one day and he had a little accident," daughter Carol Fornoff says, "and she was in the stands, and she came down and was holding his head on her lap. He came to, because he was out, and he said, 'That's the girl I'm gonna marry.'" And he did, of course. For 38 years he worked for General Motors Gear and Axle Division. She was a fulltime wife and mother. Ray and Anna had four daughters. The daughters had children of their own, and those children? When the Ernsts have family reunions, the four family branches wear colored shirts to identify themselves. In all, Ray and Anna had more than 100 children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. "They did everything together," Marya says. They even left this world together, both at age 98. The funeral mass is somber at first. Then it turns into a celebration of their lives together. Grandson Tom Doerfel and his wife and four of their kids play a bluegrass rendition of the gospel tune, "I'll Fly Away." He says that his grandmother introduced folk music into the Catholic Mass in Western New York 40 years ago. "When we get together, it's like we never missed a day apart," he tells us. "And that's the bond, the legacy, my grandparents left us." Marya continues the eulogy: "Together they personified commitment, love and unswerving dedication. They left a great family legacy and lesson for us all." The Doerfel family band plays "Amazing Grace," with guitar and banjo in the lead. Ray and Anna lived long. They wove their lives together. And through their example, they taught their children and their children's children how to be a family. Marya adds a footnote: They liked to hold hands. -------- God Bless 'em. I'm jealous. I used to feel like I sort of owned my time here. It's just a rental. A few spins. Forgotten at the depot. Current mood:  exanimate.
It's been a shade over 9 months now since the horrible phone call.. I'm worried. Lately it's like I've been getting more depressed/melancholy/hopless etc. I used to sort of just fill my day with "stuff". Places to go, people to see, and yeah lots of the time it sucked thinking "oh i'm only doing this to get away from that" or "oh Melissa will really enjoy this i'll tell her...oh wait...*gravity hits*." But the "inbox" filled with hours eventually found it's way into the "outbox" and that was that. But now...now I'm not sure. It's like I don't really want do do anything in particular. I'm lethargic. It's not a lack of wanting activity though because when I'm at my job I almost feel better. Granted I count down till 5:30 just like the average red blooded american but being home alone is definitely not better. I think because it's "my" time, not someone else's and I have to be the person who decides how to allocate it. The problem isn't "wanting to do nothing". It's instead the need to do something, but every something I come across seems completely banal. Truly EVERYTHING. I think I could be pulling people out of a volcano or fighting a company who profits by clubbing baby seals and I'd still feel indifferent. If in the consumption of time, the purpose were to derive some sort of "human" nourishment, I'd be staring at my plate each day, barely nibbling at then idly rearranging the left overs, unable to taste and merely consuming for sustenance. 9 months...does it get better? Worse? Is this the lead indicator for some new run on depression or is it merely a dip, a small correction to be nullified over time? I'm quite confused. I feel more depressed/powerless and more *blah* than I have in quite some time. Thoughts? I take meds to sleep. Usually they're still in my system when I wake up I'm groggy for a few hours before I slide into some semblance of coherence To wake up like this is to be handed 18 odd hours or so of emotional gruel to be merely digested. Every so often though, I find Melissa. I walk out to California sunshine so beautiful that I swear I can feel my skin warm itself awake and begin creating vitamin D as soft rays dance the lethargy away from my mind. Her ultraviolet speaks not the language of gruel instead dishing bowls of vitality. This is what it was every moment to be loved by Melissa. Her each breath a sunbeam indescribably creating life inside your very soul. It is how I felt each day, each moment we chatted. It is, I know, a thing countless others felt as well. To know Melissa was to feel Melissa. She was more than just a soul on this globe trying to find right. Instead she created a little patch of rightness around all of us. And her laughter touched our skin like dancing. To find Melissa was to find a kind of special beyond that of books, movies, or anything story. She glowed in a way that "just was" beyond what could be described in any sort of narrative context Melissa was a different kind of special, the "something more," kind, the kind that makes you remember why you got up in the first place and each day she saved up all her sunshine, so she could pour it on our skin. We become accountants within that space before sleep: tallying one day, projecting the next. Each night, when the numbers come in, I die a little. Hear that lonesome whippoorwill? He sounds too blue to fly. The midnight train is whining low: I'm so lonesome I could cry. I've never seen a night so long, When time goes crawling by. The moon just went behind a cloud, To hide its face and cry. Did you ever see a Robin weep, When leaves begin to die? That means he's lost his will to live. I'm so lonesome I could cry. The silence of a falling star, Lights up a purple sky. And as I wonder where you are, I'm so lonesome I could cry. I'm so lonesome I could cry. Current mood: dead. |
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