…as there is nothing from my father, who was the main person who used to e-mail me.
I hate using Facebook. He was the main person who used to talk to me, and now it is empty.
I hate autumn and winter. I hate seeing the leaves fall and being reminded of mortality and death; my father’s and my own. I disliked fall even when I was younger, and at 35 I like it less than ever.
Without my father I feel like I am lost in the hot sun with no more shade anywhere, and a baby to take care of.
I am tired of the nightmares and even of the dreams.
I read stories online of people who clinically died for a moment and returned to life upon resuscitation. Most of them said it was like…nothing. If those accounts are to be believed, I will not be seeing my loved ones again, and I also will not care. I always found that an easy truth to swallow, until now.
I have no siblings. My parents always told me that my cousins were my siblings. I come from a culture where one uses the same word to address both; in principle there isn’t supposed to be a distinction.
But of course in practice there is. “Of course I would help my sister before my cousin,” my husband said to me in another context today. “She’s my sister. We grew up together.” And it was one of those things where I knew it was true, but my stomach still fell a bit when I heard him actually say it.
“You can adopt my family as your own,” he said a little later.
But I didn’t grow up with them either.
My husband says I worry too much, and I don’t deny that is true. But no matter how much I worried I could not have come up with something as horrible as the last two years of my life, starting with my mom’s cancer diagnosis, and then my father’s horrific journey, which will end soon in death.
My baby will grow up without a grandfather, just as I did. She might grow up without any family at all outside of parents, just as I did. It’s not a pie-in-the sky worry; it’s reality, if we keep going the way we are. I don’t want that for her. I don’t want her ever to be as alone as I am now.