Coping

Every now and then, I sift through my Calvin and Hobbes books just for laughs. I opened the book and stumbled upon this particular piece. “How appropriate,” I thought. The funeral was yesterday.  I showed up at around nine thirty in the morning and waited for all the guests to arrive. I was ambushed by embraces and kisses…Hispanics. As the service commenced, I calmly sat as a guy led us in a few songs. I honestly never felt more numb in my entire life. I just sat there, frozen in disbelief. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. All I could do was stare off into space as tears streamed down my face. The sermon wasn’t so bad.  I escaped the scene around two, hugged and kissed my cousins, aunts, and uncles goodbye  and scurried on home to change. I was evading them. I wasn’t in the mood for interacting with the people that reminded me of her.   Most of my family came in from out of town and I feel horrible that I’m not up to par to entertain them.  On the way to hang out with some friends, I told myself that I would deal with it later, so I brushed my issue aside in attempts to convince myself that everything was fine. You would’ve never known that I had just come from my grandmother’s funeral by evidence of my calm and cheerful demeanor, but I knew what I was facing on the inside as things slowly kept eating away at  me. This morning I woke up early and went to church. It was during service, that everything came flooding through my mind and, for a few minutes, I felt incapacitated. I have good days and bad days, but what I cling to the most is the word given by God, in Isaiah 41:10,  to “be not dismayed, for I will strengthen you, help you, and uphold you.” There have been days, since her passing, where I wake up rejoicing that she’s in a better place; however, there are those instances where I think about her and find myself weeping because I miss her so much. No, I haven’t completely dealt with her death, but I’m taking it one day at a time, getting stronger as each day passes. Still, I find myself thinking, “Lord, I don’t feel like being strong anymore…be strong for me.” It has been difficult to write for the past few weeks because it’s in my quiet times that I’m forced to face reality all over again. Today wasn’t the best days, but I’m certain that there will be better days, brighter days.

Love,

Ari

Watching Someone Die

In my previous entry, I mentioned that my dying Guelita, grandmother, evacuated to my place to escape the floods of Hurricane Ike. I also stated that her cirrhosis of the liver has progressively gotten worse. She has maybe a few days left of life, which is amazing since she was supposed to have passed a couple years back when first diagnosed. Cirrhosis of the liver is a disease marked by degeneration of cells, inflammation, and fibrous thickening of tissue. People who drink usually get this, but others with Hepatitis also contract this disease. She never drank a drop of alcohol in her life but did contract Hepatitis.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Maybe, I feel like getting this off my chest. Ashamedly, I’m afraid to watch my grandma die. It’s like watching a gruesome act of violence. I never had to sit and watch someone die, especially someone related. When my beloved Lito, grandpa, died I was here in the states studying for final exams. I never got to see his dead body or attend the funeral because it was in Mexico where he passed. He was away at his house in Mexico and was only supposed to be gone for a few months. He was supposed to come back and never did. I waited. I waited for him to come back and he never did. He never came back to kiss my forehead and tell me about his stay. Sometimes, I feel like he’s still away on vacation. Sometimes I wake up and find myself missing him. I miss his hugs and how he was so sentimental. I miss his bad habits, his pranks, his love. I miss our adventures. After the scare of almost losing my mom, he stayed with me in the waiting room. He’s gone now and there are no waiting rooms, no hugs, no kisses, no silly dances, no pranks.

I feel it happening all over again. My grandma is dying right before my eyes. The worst part is that I’m forced to sit and watch. I have to watch her in the peak of her dimensia. I have to watch her mumble in her sleep, talking to my dead relatives. I have to watch like a helpless little child. Her bright blue eyes have faded into grey pools of weariness. She has forgotten my brothers but still manages to remember me. She asks for me by name and it tears me to shreds because I feel so pathetically paralyzed, especially in her time of need. I want to run and help her. I wish I could do something but can’t budge a muscle. I can’t do anything to save her. I can’t take away her pain. I can’t buy her more time when God is calling her to come home. It scares me when I hear her gasping at night because I soon realize that each breath might be her last. I know that it’s her time to go, but I can’t sit and watch her life leave her body. It’s torture. It pricks me like millions of glass shards. It’s hard when someone you love is suffering. I know she’ll soon be in a better place. I was never as close to her as I was with my grandpa, but out of all her grandchildren, I was the closest. She raised me while my parents were at work and used to yell at me in Spanish to frighten the mischief out of me. As a child, I remember walking with my hand in hers, the umbrella in the other, as we took my older brother to school. We would pick strawberries in the garden at home. We always had strawberries and oatmeal for breakfast. She made me soup when I was sick and would tell me all about the family history before I went to sleep.

I feel like doing what I did as a child when I was scared or in an awkward situation: I’d run as fast as I could to my hideout under my bed with hands covering my ears and eyes so tightly shut that I saw dots. “Such a strong and courageous woman who isn’t afraid to live,” is what friends used to comment about me. At this moment, I feel that statement the farthest from the truth. Sure, I’m not afraid to live my life or risk it. Sure, I have little fears. No, I’m not afraid to stare death in the eyes, knowing that it will never make me succumb to fear it. What of all this talk of bravery now, Ari? What a slap in the face! When the life of one of my family members is at stake, I want so desperately to switch places to end their suffering. I’m not so brave when it comes to losing the people I love. As Christians, we know that when one of us dies, our spirit immediately enters the presence of God. One of our own graduates to the next life. “It’s her time,” I hear God saying. It melts me everytime I hear it and wish that I could sleep and not watch her in the midst of anguish but sleep does not come. The other day, I was finishing up a sculpture that cracked. I had to start all over. For a moment there, I wanted to cry because I too felt as if I had cracked. I cracked inside but did not allow it to be seen. I feel like my heart is cracking and breaking into millions of pieces. I know that this too shall pass but pray that it passes quickly. I pray that the peace of God fills me to where I no longer feel sorrow but joy that one of my own will be in a better place. Still, I find myself asking God the same question I’ve been asking Him my entire life,”why do I love so deeply?” Why do You allow me to love people so deeply, knowing that it’ll break me in the end?

Hurricane Ike

What an eventful past couple of days. I honestly did not expect for this hurricane to worsen to this extent. I didn’t expect long lines wrapping around the freeway for gas, looting, high water, no power for two days, and powerful winds.

I was at work when the day before the storm hit and half my friends were called to evacuate. I knew that I was nowhere near the coast so I’d be safe. I also completely forgot about the heavy winds that usually come with hurricane weather. The day the storm hit, I was at a friend’s house watching movies. It wasn’t until that night that I realized how serious the storm had hit. I heard the branches outside snapping in the wind and brushed it aside. I figured that my branches needed some pruning but did not anticipate that the over-sized pine tree branch would hit the light pole causing it to lean and tilt towards the neighbors’ house.
My dying grandmother had evacuated to my house in order to escape the flood waters. It didn’t help that her illness had progressed as she slowly became delusional, mumbling nonsensical things in her slumber that sent chills up my spine. Over her stay, her condition worsened as she lost motor skills, which intensified the situation even more especially when dementia kicked in. Her heavy gasps of air frightens me as I’m reminded of my grandfather’s death. I’m almost afraid to come home in the incident that I might find her passed away. Yes, she’s being cared for by my mom, but I’m not sure if I can handle losing her this way. I don’t want her dying in my house to be the last memory I have of her, especially when I know she’s in pain and has forgotten where she’s at. I also had eerie dreams that night, which deprived me of some much needed sleep. I first had a dream about a guy who I was supposed to marry. He was the perfect guy; charming, Christian, and witty. He even picked out the perfect ring which was a 20’s style ring. His mother even cried when he proposed, but the scene changed and I remember being tragically forced to marry a different guy who ran off with another girl at our wedding reception, leaving me the responsibility of having to annul the marriage. It was definitely not a pleasant dream at all. When I awoke the next morning, the power was still out. It was humid and raining.
I walked out to two different scenes:

the shingles had been ripped from the roof

It wasn’t so bad as the next picture

Apparently, the pine tree in my front yard decided to break apart during the heavy winds and crash into the light pole. This morning when we tried to cut it down, we realized that it was the only thing keeping the light pole from crashing down in our neighbors’ yard.

It has been one loooong weekend. School is closed, work is closed, a few exhibitions were canceled, and projects delayed due to this storm.
Taking into account all that has occurred, I haven’t let these things get me down. I am excited for the Andy Warhol exhibit at the Blaffer Gallery, The Secret Handshake concert, and finishing my sculptures. I have until tomorrow to finish my sculptures…it’s going to be a long day but am glad to have electricity back. It was starting to feel like a sauna in this house.

Hope all is well!

Love,
Ari

So One Sided

The problem with secret love is that it feels so one-sided. I’m smitten and don’t know what to do. I think that I might just go a little nuts. Oh how I hide it well. You’d never know, but I know. I know that it eats away at me slowly. I’m tempted to just say it aloud so the whole world can hear me. Maybe then it just might fade away. No. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t. I’ve been trying to make it fade for some time now. I figure that if I busy myself, I won’t think about it so much. It doesn’t work. I figure if I date other people, it’ll drift away like a forgotten dream. It never happens. If for but one second, I could forget…I can’t. Lord, help me. I think I’m crazy. Please give me back my sanity.

Love,
Ari

P.S. Green tea ice cream is the BEST!!!!

Insufficiency, Projects, and Random Scruples

    “How did I plan this moment―with much pleasure. (The Count of Monte Cristo the movie) When I ponder over this short week and all the events that have occurred, one word instantly comes to mind―constructive. My schedule has been overbooked with projects, events, work, church, and everything else you can imagine. I’m currently piecing together two designs: one for a monument, the other for an eclectic artwork. Aside from my large scale pieces, I have a drawing assignment that’ll keep me company this weekend along with an exciting photo project on dreams and fantasies. I’ll still manage to make it out to a few events but am certain that a heavy cloud called ”sleep” will be a little non-existent this weekend.

    I noticed an ongoing trend with a large number of people nowadays. People have grown lazy and insufficient. People always want instant service all the time. I blame McDonalds for this (not entirely). I don’t understand what sets people off, what makes them so impatient. A perfect example would be your typical “houstonian road-rage driver.” You can see them tailgating others, dodging in and out of traffic, and honking at every little stop. What causes them to be so impatient? (it’s the McDonald’s mentality) Sometimes, I wonder if fastfood has ruined our society by creating the ideology that “you can have it your way, or when you order it.” Reality check, people. YOU CAN’T HAVE EVERYTHING YOUR WAY OR WHEN YOU DEMAND IT. Yelling at the top of your lungs isn’t going to make people want to serve you in a quicker fashion. A simple, genteel, “PLEASE” still works wonders in most, if not all, societies. Where did we go wrong? When did people stop reading signs? When did people stop being self-sufficient in some areas?  Some things baffle my mind.

 

Love,

Ari