Happy Freakin Mother's Day

Hey Kel,

I’m sure by now you are aware that Seth committed suicide last week. Have you seen him? If not, please go find him and ask why he would do such a thing when so many loved and cared about him. I just don’t understand. I don’t know if I ever will. I’ve thought about suicide on and off throughout the years especially knowing people who have made that choice. I’ve always had the same two thoughts: Sometimes it would definitely be easier than what I am going through. I could never do that to my family.

By the way, Char thinks we killed you. She thinks all the morphine and whatever else they had us pumping into you those last few days is what actually did you in.

“Really, Char?”

“No Marla, I really think we killed her with all those drugs. That’s why she’s mad at me and not talking to me.”

“Char! First of all, she was always mad at you because that was Kelly and she is not talking to you because she is dead, you idiot. Secondly, she was dying from effin cancer eating her alive so even if we did give her so much morphine it killed her, well, so what? Would you rather she would have had two extra hours of horrendous suffering without all the drugs? I definitely do not want you in charge when my time comes. Please, just let my kids pour a bottle of pills in me, wash it down with a beer and then go have a party. Seriously!”

“We need to go see the Long Island Medium. I need to hear from Kelly.”

“Wait, I think I just got a message from her for you. “Charrrrr…..you are an idiotttttt.” There, now give me fifty bucks for my services.”

Ever since you died, Char has been hell-bent on going to Long Island to see that gal on TV. We are not going. First, if God wanted us to talk to dead people would he really charge us for it? Secondly, I talk to you every day and I am pretty sure you have talked back to me through dreams and such. Maybe it’s not actually you, maybe its God just trying to get through to me or maybe it’s my incredibly vivid imagination or maybe it’s all the drinking I have been doing lately. I have no flippin idea. All I do know is this: I aint payin to talk to dead people!

I am thinking, however, of paying for some counseling. I am isolating myself more and more from people and the things that use to be important to me. I find myself crying more not less and not caring about much. When I’m at work or with people, nobody knows because I am good at faking it. I laugh, joke around, and act pretty much like I always did. I think. It’s when I’m alone that I notice the difference. My thoughts are so dark. I cry. A lot. My eating is out of control again and I am putting on weight. I don’t want to see anyone or go anywhere. I don’t answer phone calls, emails or letters. I just want to be left alone.

I have people in my life whom I love very much that are going through absolutely hellacious things right now. Things that no person should ever have to face. Things that bring me to my knees crying, “Really God? Really!” I watch as they also cry out to Him but with hope and faith that there is a purpose in all this suffering and I feel ashamed. One lousy dead sister and I crumble and cave and doubt. One stupid dead sister and I stop breathing. Stop living. Stop trying or caring. You might have been right all along, Kel. Maybe there really is something wrong with me.

Please tell Mom I said Happy Mother’s Day. Tell her I miss her and I wish she was here more than ever. It doesn’t feel quite fair to have to give up my mother and my little sister. But like Mom always said, who said life is fair? Who indeed!

 

I've been thinking all morning about a few of the other things Mom use to say to me all the time and I started to smile because I realized you said them to me too. All. The. Time.

 

"For heaven's sake! Look at yourself. Go put some makeup on."

 

"Marla! Really! What will people think?"

 

"Stop being so dramatic. Have you lost your mind?"

 

"Just because you feel that way, do you have to let the world know?"

 

I miss you, Kel. Everyday.

Mar

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Know Darn Well, I Am Not A Morning Person

Hey Kel,

I woke up at 5:27 am this morning thinking about your first brain surgery. Is there any way you could leave me alone for just one day? We both know the answer to that. When have you ever left me alone, dead or alive? Exactly!

I wonder if you remember things from here like your surgeries. I have read so much throughout the years regarding death and dying and you know I am a bible-thumper and yet, still so many questions. Maybe there just aren’t any answers this side of eternity. Who knows?

Sometimes I feel really bad because people say and write the nicest things to me about you being dead and my heart says, “How sweet”, but my head says, “Um…….are ya sure about that?” You know me though Kel, always the snarkiest shark in the tank. Someday I’ll change and be a sweet, demure, truly awesome human being. I know, makes me laugh too. Who are we kidding, right? Anyway, next time I hear you are at peace with the angels, I promise to do my best to believe it instead of picturing you arguing with the apostles over their lack of style and need for a personal trainer.

So, back to your first brain surgery. Can you believe it will be fifteen years this June? Seriously, how crazy is that? It still seems so fresh in my head, as if it was just a few years ago but then how could that be when I think back on all the gazillions of surgeries that followed. I remember so well the morning of. Do you remember me sitting in the back seat of your Jag, teaching myself to crochet as Ron drove us to Hogue Hospital? It was 5am and he was listening to Howard Stern and as usual, you two were arguing.

“Ron, turn that off. You know Marla hates Howard Stern.”

“Well, sorry Mar, I think he’s funny.”

“Ron, listen to Kelly before you end up in hell. What kind of Catholic are you anyway. Sheesh!”

Of course, Ron and I always thought we were so funny because, well, we are. You, on the other hand, were always annoyed with both of us, individually and as a tag team. Not shocking that you two ended up divorced. I was just always thankful you couldn’t divorce me because I am pretty sure papers would have been filed. You have to admit, Ron and I did make the six weeks I stayed with you memorable if nothing else.

I still have the card you wrote to me, thanking me for taking care of you. You handed it to me the morning Ron drove me to the airport. I still remember you crying, thanking me for being there and telling me not to open the card until I got home. Of course, as soon as I was on the plane, I opened it. I never told you this but I cried when I saw all the money. It was ridiculous how much cash was in that card. All I wanted was your voice. It made me sad that you thought you owed me anything else. I was your damn sister, not a hired caregiver. I didn’t know what to say then I thought about it and realized, you were just like dad. Giving cash and gifts was the way you showed love just like wiping butts and cleaning up puke was the way I showed mine. I had no cash to give and you had no butts you’d ever be willing to wipe so it all worked out the way it was suppose to, I guess. We both had our avenues we were comfortable traveling on.

It’s funny now to think about all the times we fought over stupid things. Like the way you never let me take care of you without buying me a thousand gifts. Now all I can think about is how there will be no more unexpected packages showing up at my door. No more things I don’t need but you need to give me. No more calling you to tell you to stop wasting your money. No more you telling me to get rid of the crap I have and have some style. No. More. You.

 Is there FedEx in heaven?

 I love you,

            Me

 

 

 

Holy Crap

Hey Kel,

So I got through my birthday without you. It wasn't easy but it was full of some amazing surprises. First, there was Bob showing up at my work to take me to lunch. I hadn't told anyone it was my birthday because I didn't want to have a birthday without you. So, I boycotted. Then Bob showed up, told everyone and they made me leave the store and go to lunch. Here's the amazing part. It was fun and I laughed. Not just ha ha laughing, laughing until I was in tears and not the miserable tears I have been crying. These were good tears.

We had just finished our wonderful meal and headed outside to the car. I noticed a store across the street had closed down and I mentioned to Bob that the guy who owned it was a real jerk. I told Bob some rather unsavory things this character had pulled on me and we agreed it wasn't too shocking for someone like that to not make it in the business world.

" Yeah, dude thought he was a balla."

"Um.....what?"

"He thought he was a balla."

"Um.....honey, I have no idea what you're saying."

" A balla. Dude thought he was a balla."

"Ok, I am pretty sure you and I are running in completely different circles."

This is when I started laughing.

"No Marla, I mean it, I think it's time I got you out of here. How do you know this stuff?"

Then I went from laughing to hysterical laughing. Then we both were hysterically laughing and life was good for a moment.

Later, on my drive home, I did what has become the norm. I cried. I cried because I thought about how funny my conversation with Bob had been at lunch and how I would have definitely called you and we would have definitely laughed until we couldn't breathe over it. But you aren't there anymore. So I called Char and I told her my stupid story and we laughed and I felt another moment of hope.

Then tonight, the gift I was hoping for, praying for, longing for arrived. Words that sunk deep into my heart. Words from you. I believe it.

I opened my email tonight and there was a short sentence from my friend, Glen. It was in response to the foolishness I wrote last night about horse poop. It simply said;

"Has it occurred to you that you were a wild flower in the poop of Kel's life? "

When I read those words, I heard your voice and I could see your smiling face again. And I cried. Sad tears but not quite so sad. I cried because it had not occurred to me and suddenly, it was so clear. So I cried because even wildflowers need water now and then.

I miss you,

Mar

A Horse With No Name

Hey Kel,

Tonight, as I was closing down the store, I mentioned to Ron that I was worried about tomorrow. I told him you always called me and sang to me. I stood there crying asking him, “How am I going to get through this with no phone call. She always called and sang.”

“Well, Marla….,” he said with that totally John Wayne twang of his, “just think about her purty singin to ya tomorrow.”

“I said she sang to me, Ron. I never said it was good.”

Then we both started to laugh and he reminded me to keep laughing. He told me to try and find the laughter in the middle of all this swirling pain. This made me think of horse poop.

Do you remember how I have always loved the smell of horse poop? It is one of the best smells on earth. It makes me think of Aunt Meta and the ranch, riding Pokey and playing outside all summer long. I absolutely love the stuff. I got to thinking tonight how this whole dead sister thing is such a pile of crap. Then I thought about what Ron said and about horse poop and well, maybe I am just focusing on the wrong type of crap, because I love horse poop and it’s definitely crap. Somehow though, I seem to be able to find wonderful things in it, like memories I cherish. Just the smell of it makes me smile or tear up with happy thoughts. I have even seen wildflowers sprouting from Dunnie’s poop. No seriously, sometimes when I am out walking with her in the back pasture, I have come across old piles of her poop with beautiful, delicate wildflowers coming straight out of the middle of them. How could anyone not love the stuff?

Do you think that’s possible? Could I find wildflowers in the pile you left my life in? If I ever stop crying for more than five minutes, I just might try to ride this new horse with no name.

Please come home now.

I love you,

Me

 

 

 

 

More Than Words

Hey Kel,

I have been purposely ignoring you for the last 9 days. You were making my life a living hell by being dead. So, I woke up on March 1^st and made the decision to forget you. I told myself I could choose to not think about you. Choose to be happy you went on a long trip and I could live without you until you got back. Choose to stay so busy I wouldn’t have time for hot, angry tears. So, as of March 1^st, you no longer existed and then I heard you laugh.

All freakin day, every day, for the last nine days, I have seen you, heard you, been reminded of you. I have dreamt about you repeatedly. When I laugh, I hear your laugh. When I look in the damn mirror, there is your nose looking back at me. Well, not actually your nose, it’s my eyes looking at my nose which is exactly the same as your nose which I always loved because we always said we had the best noses ever. Now I can’t even look at my stupid nose because of you. Thanks a lot, jerk face. And I ramble like just now. I can barely put three words together that make sense because all my energy is going towards ignoring you. You were impossible to ignore when you were alive. Now that you’re dead, you are unbearable when ignored. I seriously hate you sometimes. No, I don’t but I am seriously mad at you.  Well, maybe not seriously mad but…. Look what you’ve done to me. I’m a freakin mess!

The day after you died, I prayed you would have left me something. Not money, jewelry or things. I wanted words. I looked through your nightstand hoping to find a letter addressed to me but it wasn’t there. A few days later, when I was getting ready to head home, I made David promise he wouldn’t throw anything away. Not one single piece of paper. He was wonderful, as he looked at me knowing full well I was losing my mind, promising not one paper would leave that house until I got to look at it. You were always the most organized person I ever knew. Everything in its place, labeled, dated and filed. I still tell myself there is a file somewhere in that house with my name on it, full of letters from you just for me. Please.

Hey, your high school friend Zana wrote to me. How nice is that? You are going to love what she said.

“Thanks for sharing Marla. It was hard to ask about what was happening and always getting the everything is fine response. I felt so shut out. Of course I knew everything was not fine. Thanks for letting me in a little. It's so sad, so funny, so screwed up and so beautiful at the same time. Can't believe it's been 21 days already.”

Do you remember how you and I use to fight over this very thing? You never wanted to see anyone, talk to people, let people know the truth. You freaked if there was a picture taken of you in your wheelchair. And what did I always say?

“Kelly! People love you, stupid. They don’t care what you look like, how bad you feel, if you’re in a wheelchair, walker or paddy wagon. They just want you, idiot!”

You never believed me. We fought over this like two stray cats on a field mouse. Well, I was right and for once, you can’t argue with me. I thought winning an argument with you would feel better than this. My consolation is choosing to believe you now know I was right. So……Ha!

                                    Wish You Were Here,

                                                Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How Dare You

Hey Kel,

I had a major meltdown on my way home from work tonight. I mean snot dripping, mascara in my eyeballs, pull the car over to the side of the road before I kill myself trying to drive kind of meltdown. I actually had a pretty decent day until the drive home. I suppose being in the car, having a moment of quiet where I could finally think had something to do with it. Anyway, as I was driving home, I realized it was eleven years ago today that mom died. One minute my mind was racing with work crap and the next minute I’m reliving mom’s last breath. So, I did what I have always done in times like this. I reached over and grabbed my cell ready to hit “Kelly”. As soon as the phone was in my hand and I realized what I was about to do, I came unglued. I’m so tired of this dead sister thing and it hasn’t even been one month yet. How am I going to survive this?

I wonder about so many things? Are you with mom and dad? You were always saying to me how you just wanted to go be with them. Remember how much that pissed me off? Sometimes I thought that was why you said it and other times I thought you really meant it. Most of the time, I knew you really meant it. That’s why I got so pissed with you. It scared me. I didn’t want you to want them more than me. I desperately wanted you to want to stay.

The night you died, I was so angry that you waited for me to leave the room before dying. After you were gone and the nurse said you probably needed Char and I to go before you could leave, I wanted to throat-punch her right there on the spot. I didn’t want to believe that. I still don’t. I thought about the last two days I spent with you. I thought about all the things I had whispered in your ear. How many times did I tell you not to worry, that I would look out for David and all your animals? I told you everything would be okay, that it was fine for you to go. I mean seriously, Kel, how many people have I walked this road with before? Sisi, Mom, Dad, Lucy and Uncle Lou. I did the hospice training thing, read the books, took the classes, watched the videos. I get it. I know what to say and I said it to each and every one of you. I did my best to walk each of you eternally home. I wanted to be there. Every time.

Then tonight I had a thought. Maybe, when we come to the end of our lives, we don’t just hear the spoken word. Maybe, just maybe, we hear the words people’s hearts are holding. If that’s true then you needing me gone before you could die would make sense, I suppose, because I remember the words of my heart oh so well.

For two days, my lips told you to go and be well with mom and dad. For two days, my heart screamed, “Don’t leave me!” That’s it, isn’t it? You heard the cry of my heart. I think I knew it all along.

Can you still hear it?

 

                                                I love you,

 

                                                        Me

 

 

 

C'Mon Stink

Hey Kel,

 Have you been wondering where I’ve been? I went to Texas for a few days. I needed to get away from work and family and friends. I needed to get away from you. But you followed me. Driving south through Oklahoma, I thought I had outrun you. There was no crying, no remembering and no stomachache. Then I crossed the border into Texas and it all came slamming back as if I had just driven straight into a brick wall. What was I thinking running to Texas to get away from you? How could I forget all those trips south to meet you in Houston? The days, weeks, months spent with you at MDAnderson? Why wasn’t I thinking before I left? I could have prepared myself, right?

Anyway, I met Lori there. We spent the weekend visiting her family, crying, praying, cussing and drinking. Oh yeah, it was real spiritual. No, it really was. It was just what I needed. Being with someone else whose own grief seemed to match mine was terrifying and yet it somehow helped me. Isn’t that strange?

The first night there, I dreamt about you. It was late and Lori and I had had a few too many drinks, cried late into the night and fell into the sleep of the dead. Literally. I thought I was walking through a zoo looking for something and suddenly there you were. You had that same hideous hospital gown on and you were barefoot. Your hair was long and blonde like when we were kids and you were smiling. Not just a smile. You were grinning from ear to ear, almost laughing when you saw me. You put your arms out and I ran to you. I held you so tight I was afraid I might hurt you but you just kept giggling. I wasn’t laughing though. I was crying. My heart was breaking into a million pieces and I could feel each jagged little piece falling around my feet. All of a sudden you pointed and told me to look across the walkway. When I turned, I saw the tiniest baby skunks. I ran over to get one because you and I always said we wanted a baby skunk. When I turned back to ask you to help me catch one, you were gone and I immediately woke up. You’re still gone.

 Lori gave me a wonderful book to read. It’s called Tear Soup. It brought me to tears, had me smiling here and there and gave me hope that I am not going insane. One thing it said was that people can really only handle about one month of another person’s grief. You have been dead twenty days. That means I have ten days left before people get sick of me and my dead sister.

 Sucks to be them.

                                     I miss you,

                                             Me

 

PS......This stinks to high heaven. Is that what you were trying to tell me?