Sadness

My mother died recently.

It wasn’t sud­den. My fam­ily knew for a long time that this was going to hap­pen. She’s been sick for too long and I’m glad her suf­fer­ing is over.

Of course, I wish it hadn’t hap­pened in the first place, but it wasn’t really any­thing she did to cause it. It’s not like she drank her­self to death or died sky­div­ing. It was like can­cer, but it wasn’t can­cer. I still don’t know what caused it, I think it’s quite pos­si­ble that no one does. It’s just one of those things that happens.

I think that my mother’s emo­tional state was greatly affected by this dis­ease. The first occur­rence of the brain tumor was before my par­ents got divorced. 1987, I think. I know when she had brain surgery my dad was still around.

But they got divorced in 1989. Again, the details are fuzzy, but I think she had no more brain surg­eries until some­time in the early 90’s. I know she was really sad about the divorce. But any­one that knew my fam­ily could eas­ily see that it was for the best. My dad is kind of a dick.

She got a job and worked to sup­port me. I can’t even imag­ine doing some­thing like this, con­sid­er­ing she was a stay-​​at-​​home-​​mom and her mar­riage of 20+ years was now over.

Some­time around this time she got rear-​​ended by a drunk dri­ver, her car flipped over, and they had to pry her out with the jaws of life. Unfor­tu­nately, I can’t remem­ber if this was before or after the divorce. She had more brain surg­eries. I moved out, and she had more brain surg­eries. She stopped work­ing and started get­ting social secu­rity money. And then more brain surg­eries – Into the dou­ble dig­its. They cut her skull open 10 times, at least.

I think she prob­a­bly felt like the unluck­i­est per­son in the world. We never really talked about this. I know she resented what hap­pened with my dad. I know she didn’t under­stand why she had all these brain tumors. I know she was really upset about the car accident.

I think she felt that suf­fer­ing was what she did.

I went back to michi­gan when my mom died. I looked at a lot of her things — old pho­tos, news­pa­per clip­pings, etc. I saw a poem she had saved. I don’t remem­ber the poem exactly, but it was basi­cally about an ado­les­cent girl who feels like she isn’t pretty and doesn’t have much to offer the world. It was very sad. My mother had saved it in a box of keep­sakes, and wrote next to the poem “me.” I don’t know when she did this. It looked old, but not too old. I imag­ine that she did it in high school, before she was mar­ried to my dad.

I didn’t really know too much about my mother’s child­hood — just that she was artis­tic and that her older sis­ter often had to drag her out of bed in the morn­ings when they went to school.

Now, look­ing back on all these things, I am forced to con­clude that I am much more like my mother than I ever real­ized. For the most part, I tried very hard to not be like my mother — but I guess that’s how it always goes. I’m sad about most things. I feel like bad things hap­pen to me more fre­quently than any­body else I know. I feel unlucky in love.

I don’t think any­one could say that my mother lived an amaz­ing life. We were really poor, she was sick, she didn’t have any roman­tic rela­tion­ships that I know of since the early 90’s. Her father died in 1995. I have a very real desire to do bet­ter than that.

I know that my mother did the best she could — and, for the most part, I believe that her cir­cum­stances, that is, the things in her life that were out of her con­trol, were truly unfor­tu­nate. So far, none of the really bad things that hap­pened to her have hap­pened to me.

But I can’t help but think that her atti­tude might have some­thing to do with her sad­ness. And, since I’ve just recently noticed that am pretty much just as sad as my mother was, I am wor­ried that I will end up the same way. I don’t want that. I don’t want to die at 60, unable to clean myself and basi­cally alone. I want to have an inter­est­ing career. I want to find love. I want to be happy.

So I have decided to try to change some things about myself. I want to stop think­ing that bad things always hap­pen to me. I want to make good things hap­pen. I want to be less pes­simistic. She suf­fered. But maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe I don’t have to.

I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s worth a shot. This rejec­tion of the qual­i­ties I inher­ited from her isn’t meant to dis­honor her. I think if she knew that I was happy, it would have made her happy, at least for a lit­tle while.

I don’t think she would have wanted me to be sad. I would not wish sad­ness on any­body, and I don’t think she would, either. So I don’t think she would dis­ap­prove. I hope she would be happy that I’m try­ing to make things better.

I miss her.

It’s like a strike beard, but different

I’m going to attempt to grow an unem­ploy­ment beard. This means I’m not going to shave until I get a job. I’m sort of afraid that it will reflect poorly on me dur­ing an inter­view, but that’s only going to be a prob­lem until it gets long and lux­u­ri­ous. Then it will be an asset.

Update: Holy crap that was a bad idea. Being a man is hard. No more beard.

I suddenly have much more free time

So, as of fri­day, I’m unem­ployed.

Expect there to be increased activ­ity over here on the blog. I’ve already imple­mented com­ments (some­thing I’ve been mean­ing to do for a while any­way) and I’ve got a new design in the works.

Also, and I think this goes with­out say­ing, if you have any money you want to throw at me for doing some “work,” please, send me some elec­tronic mail.

On This Day

Hor­ri­ble events that occurred

1989: Exxon Valdez Oil Spill
1998: Jones­boro Massacre

Famous Peo­ple born

1915: Gor­geous George
1930: Steve McQueen
1962: Star Jones
1974: Alyson Han­ni­gan

Kevin McGuires born

1980: Kevin McGuire