Dead.

Day 2 - Your thoughts on death.

Well, I can break this down into two different explanations, what I would like death to be and what I actually think happens. I'll start with the less depressing one...

Obviously, if you've been reading my blog or you know me, you know I'm not religious. So I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't believe in a particular God, but what I do believe in is energy. We are all full of it. When someone talks about souls, this is what I picture. This energy we all have has to go somewhere. When our body dies it doesn't mean our soul does so I think one of two things happen: It either is absorbed into the universe, which in turn creates a ghost or it finds a new host body, which would be reincarnation. I believe most of us are reincarnated. I also think that you can tell an "old soul" from a "new soul." Those of us who have been told we are "wise for our age," the more mature ones, we're "old souls." People who are more childlike, more wild, they are "new souls." My family also toys with the idea of reincarnation. They've told me on a few occasions they believe I'm the reincarnation of my mom's best friend who died at a young age, and they've told my maternal male cousin that he may be the reincarnation of our great grandfather. Though like me, they aren't completely serious about it. It's fun to think about, and you hope it's true, but in the end we all know what will probably end up happening...

... You just die. That's it. There is no second life. There is no heaven. You just die. No one wants to believe this because it's kind of terrifying and depressing to think, but it is a possibility. This is why it's extremely important to never, ever waste a second of your life. We only get once chance to live this particular life, and whether you just die or you're reincarnated, this is your only chance to live as the current person you are right now.

I'm terrified of dying, especially right now. I'm not ready, there's still too much to do and see. I'm especially terrified that this more depressing explanation of death is the right one. I think human's natural fear of death is the reason why the story of God was created. We needed something to look forward to when we die, something to help us cope. The idea that when you die there's this wonderful paradise and you'll be able to see all your loved one again, that's a wonderful idea. I'd love to be a part of that. I do hope I'm wrong, but I always keep the depressing idea of death in the back of my mind. It's just a little reminder to myself to not waste this life.

Please Forgive Me.

I remember where I was when the phone rang. Depression had rendered me useless and I sat plopped in the center of the couch, wrapped in my favorite blanket, staring idly at the TV. I can't remember what was on, but I'm sure it was nothing good. I had been waiting for this phone call... Dreading it is probably more accurate of a word, but I knew it was coming. I had been warned for months now to expect it, so when it rang and my mothers name popped up on the screen, I knew. Before answering my heart had already sank, the tears eagerly got in line behind my eyes waiting for their cue to fall, and with one breath, one syllable from my mothers lips, no other words were necessary. I knew what had happened. I knew she was gone. A feeling that I had never quite felt before filled my entire body. An overwhelming mixture of sadness and helplessness. "One more day..." kept repeating over and over in my mind which only added to the the helplessness, the uselessness. There were no more days, not now. I tried to recall what the last things I had said to her were. I wondered if she had even known I was there during my last visit. I silently spoke to her through the atmosphere whispering over and over again that I loved her and missed her already, but I was happy she was no longer in pain. After taking a second to cry uncontrollably, I gathered myself and called my then boyfriend. He too knew this was coming and only needed a, "You need to come home now," in order to know what had happened. He came home right away and I collapsed into his arms and cried. I felt like the tears would never stop. I suddenly understood that it was actually possible to cry for days because I had no intention of stopping. This was the day I lost my grandmother. The day that we had escaped a few times before and I had childishly hoped would never come.

My maternal grandmother, my Nana, was someone I was very close to, much like the rest of my mom's side of the family. We spent every holiday with her and would frequently visit. She was a huge part of my childhood and played babysitter (with the help of my aunt of course) every time my parents would go away. She was diagnosed with emphysema when she was in her 60's so I was accustomed to seeing her with inhalers, and later on in life with oxygen, but it was normal. Since she had a lung disease, when she got sick, she really got sick. I remember a few times when I was younger that my mom and aunt had to go down to Connecticut, where she was living at the time, to take care of her. I don't think they ever tried to insinuate the severity of those times, but I always picked up on it... Though she always ended up pulling through. She ended up moving closer to my mom and aunt which was nice for my sister and I because that meant we were able to see her more often. She attended every one of my functions she could and we would go to visit her on a regular basis. I think my favorite thing to do with her was to go to plays. I was lucky enough to see a few of them with her, JUST her. Those were my favorite times. I loved having all her attention. I loved her, and still do, with just about every fiber of my being.

But there is one thing that still plagues my brain, still haunts me to this day, and still pains me to think about or say. I've thought about this entry for years now and every time I go to write it I would delete everything because it's painful for me to admit... but here it is:

My Nana died on December 17, 2006. I was 20 and still very much in my own selfish world. I think I was about 19 when my mother sat me down to tell me that I was upsetting her. I was a little taken back by it. How could I be hurting her? I guess my cousin would call her on a pretty regular basis, something my sister and I did not do. My cousin lived in New Jersey and went to school in Pennsylvania so she did not get to see her as often as Ali and I did, so to make up for it she would call. I guess my grandmother started wondering why my sister and I didn't do the same thing. I started getting defensive. I used the excuse of "Well (my cousin) doesn't see her as often as we do, that's why she calls!" and "I'm really busy and have to work all the time!" My mother agreed, but suggested that we maybe start emailing her. I ended up talking to my sister about it and we decided that we would go and have lunch with her on a regular basis. We knew she would like that and we thought it was a great plan. But for some reason or another, we never got around to it. And when my grandmother got sick in October of 2006 THAT was the first thing to cross my mind. Why didn't we go? We should have gone.  Maybe it was the child in me, I foolishly thought that I would have more time, but this was it. She would not pull through this time.

I tried to visit as often as I could during her final months. That was quite possibly the hardest thing I have EVER had to do in my entire life. Watching someone dying is the most overwhelming thing to be a part of. I would hold her hand, tell her I loved her, but would have to frequently leave the room when it was too much to take. I would get out of earshot and cry. I still don't know if she knew I was there. I'm not sure she knew who I was if she did know someone was there, but I would do it all again if I had to.

My biggest fear is that she didn't know how much she meant to me. Just because I didn't call as often as I should did not EVER mean that I didn't love her. I don't think I showed her how much she meant to me. I can't believe how selfish I was, how completely wrapped up in myself I was, that I couldn't just take a few fucking weekends to go have lunch with her. I feel like the biggest, most worthless piece of shit for not doing it. I regret it as much as someone could ever regret something, and the fact that I can never take it back eats away at my brain.

I still talk to her as though somehow she can hear me, and I've told her through that way that I am sorry. I still tell her I love her when I feel the need. When I do something that I think she would be proud of I tell her that I wish she was there to see. I have no idea what the hell happens when you die, but I hope that if she can hear me, she's listening... Nana, I love you, I miss you and I'm so, so sorry for being selfish. Please forgive me.

They call me... Ray of Sunshine

This past Saturday I was running late for a show in Plaistow. Corey and I had a little miscommunication issue so we left about a half hour behind schedule. He, his sister and I were traveling down route 111 in Hudson when, seemingly out of nowhere, break lights were all we could see. Naturally my first instinct was to get annoyed, as I usually am in traffic, but as we came closer to the cause of all the congestion my mood changed. At first we thought it was a car accident, but the only cars we could see were ones that had pulled over to help. Then we thought maybe it was a motorcycle accident, but a few seconds after that was suggested we discovered that it was a pedestrian who had been hit. I was driving so I only got a quick glimpse of him, but that was enough. Corey was in the passenger side and got the "best" look at what happened. After we drove past he just looked forward and said, "Oh god... he's dead. He's definitely dead." Which made all of us in the car feel a little off, but most of all Corey. I tried to be positive about the situation and hoped that he would be okay, but Monday we all discovered that he had not made it. (See this article for more information)

That morbid scene then became an in depth discussion between the three of us. Corey had been the most affected. He claimed it made him question his own mortality and made him realize that death can come at any time. I can't fully speak for his sister, but I can say that it didn't affect me as much. I told him that I must be desensitized by death, to which he said that most of society is. Obviously, the scene made me think. Obviously, it made me sad. But no, it did not make me as upset as it made Corey. This may be because death is something I think about on a constant basis.

This, with the exception of funerals, was the first time I've seen death "in person." I've watched people dying (but never actually die). I've always had a morbid fascination with death, ghosts and haunted places. And on top of it all, the number one symptom of my lifelong anxiety disorder is my overwhelming fear of death.

Ever since I was a little girl I've had issues with leaving people. Still to this day I can't help but have a minor freak out every single time I say goodbye to those I care about. For some reason, my brain likes to make me think "they're going to die" every... single... time someone walks out the door. I've been dealing with this for almost 25 years now, so I've learned little ways to calm myself down. My earliest memory of this was when I was between 3 and 5 years old. I remember staring out the window at my parents as they left to celebrate their anniversary. I remember the panic start to fill my body. Then, and for years after that, my family just called me a "worrier." It was somewhat of a joke, but it wasn't until maybe high school that I realized it was anxiety. I used to sit up in the middle of the night for hours having panic attack after panic attack thinking to myself that something was wrong... that my parents were going to die. Sometimes it was so severe that I had to go into my parents room to check on them. I would wake up my mom and use the "I had a bad dream" excuse just to put my mind at ease... just to know she was still alive.

Now, I know exactly what those feeling are. I know how to try and talk myself out of them, but they are still there constantly nagging me. I have no idea where this irrational fear of death came from. And I don't fully understand how can I be simultaneously fascinated and afraid of it. I know it's just a natural part of life. It's something we all have to deal with, and there is really no way of stopping it from coming. I've experienced a good amount of death in my time. I've been to kind of a ridiculous amount of funerals for someone so young, but still I fear it. I still think about people dying all of the time.... so I think that's why when I was faced with the death of the man on the side of the road I could somewhat keep the same state of mind. Again, it's not that I wasn't sad for him (because I am, very much so), I just wasn't as affected as Corey. Sometimes I think he thinks he's invincible, so maybe the man on the side of the road served as a bit of a reminder to him that he should be a little careful. But maybe I should adopt a little bit of this invincible thinking so I don't slowly drive myself insane...

To my Abbie

It was like she chose us, and as cliche as that sounds, it was almost serendipitus the way she entered our lives. Tired and disappointed from a day of puppy searching at the local shelters, my family and I had accepted defeat and given up, but then out of nowhere there she was. A happy, bounding, white ball of energy on her way back into the shelter. Jenny, her name at the time, was about to re-enter the Salem Animal Shelter because her owner realized she didn't have the time to care for her, but lucky for her she was quickly scooped up and accepted into the Angelo family. Now, when you're an Angelo dog you are no longer just a dog, you are a new and welcomed member of the family. You are spoiled and loved like any other human child. We are no "speciests" in my household, if you are alive you are loved.


Jenny became Abbie, and even on the car ride home, we realized that we were in for one hell of a puppy stage. She had endless amounts of energy and always seemed to be chewing on something, especially my hand. She had many accidents in the house, but lucky for us she was smart, most likely due to her Border Collie genes. Soon enough she was trained, and joined by two other massive, fluffy white dogs. We were a family, dogs and all.


Two days before Thanksgiving I received a call from my mother informing me of her deteriorating state. Coombs disease, she said. While I was concerned, I was very optimistic. She was only nine years old, all the Angelo dogs have lasted until they were at least fifteen. Abbie was sick, not dying, and this "wonder pill," as it was so called, would fix her. With no real doubts in my mind, I hung up the phone and kept my dog-sister in my thoughts.


Thanksgiving came and only then did the doubts start to come. Our once very energetic, alpha dog lay motionless and tired on her bed. I sat with her for a while, gently petting the graying fur on her face, hoping to somehow psychically take away her pain and make her better. The bones on her head, which I had never felt before, were very apparent, and obviously due to very rapid weight loss from the disease. My own dog, Valo, must have sensed something was wrong because even in her excited, puppy romp, she avoided touching Abbie when she was usually the first dog to get a big dose of Valo in the face. But still, even with the minor doubts I was feeling after seeing her, I still kept an optimistic view on the whole situation. The "wonder pill" will work, no worries. So as Corey and I left for his parents, I realized I had forgotten to say goodbye to the dogs, which is my normal routine. I thought of Abbie, and for a brief second hoped it wasn't the last chance I had. No, everything will be fine and I will visit on the weekend just to be sure she's feeling better.


But only a mear 24 hours later, that wasn't the case. She had died the day after Thanksgiving surrounded by my family. I know most people think, "Oh it's just a dog," but not to me. No dog I've ever owned was just a dog, they were my family, someone I loved with the same intensity I have for any other human being. Her death leaves an empty hole in my heart just as it would if I had lost anyone else. I feel guilty for not saying goodbye, something I do every time I go to my parents. What possessed me to break routine then? Still, I am happy she is no longer in pain. The disease crippled her, made her into a dog I could not bare to see suffer. Though in my selfish heart, I wish she had more time. Nine is much too young for a dog to die.


So this is my memorial to my dog, my sister, who, though she is no longer living, will always be in my thoughts. I will still love her everyday my soul is alive, with the same intensity I had while she was alive. I love you, Abbie, and I'll see you again someday.

Jaiden Tlapa

About a year ago, The Cabinet started covering a story of a little girl who was critically injured by falling off her deck and into a snowblower. Don't directly quote me on this, but I am fairly certain that's what happened. My co-worker and I both started following this story. At that point, we had a hand in putting the paper together, so we were able to read the newest story every week. Unfortunately, she lost the fight and died from her injuries. She was 8 years old.

Friday I was reminded of this horrible accident when, in my pile of ads, I discovered I had the memorial ad for her. Immediately I thought, Oh god... I HATE doing memorial ads because I am a ball of emotion all the time. The first one I had to do back in 2006 made me cry for at least 15 minutes after I typed it all out. It's strange, but this little girls ad felt almost personal to me. Even though I had never met her, or her family, I still felt some sort of connection. I wanted to make this ad beautiful, I wanted the family to look at it and think what a nice job that designer did... I wanted to somehow convey to that family that I was pulling for her too, and that I have them and her in my heart. It was a very simple message, stating that the family is still thinking of her and will love and miss her always. I couldn't make it look exactly how I wanted since it was a small ad, but I tried. The only thing they wanted in it was a dragonfly in flight. I found a cute cartoonish one, but I felt like I needed to do something more personal, so in the flight lines I created, 2 of them are conviently create the shape of a heart. It didn't turn out as I wanted it to, and I don't even know if they'll be able to tell, but I really hope they do.

I couldn't imagine how this family feels. The unimaginable loss, the hurt, the guilt. How do you ever heal from something like that? She was so young, so full of life, and it was all cut short by one accident. I don't know her, I don't know her family, but every time I hear her name or am reminded of this story I can't help but fight back tears. I wish that somehow there was something I could have done, though obviously there was nothing. I will probably never talk to this family, but if by some small chance they come across my blog I want them to know that my heart goes out to them. And that even though she might not be here in body, in spirit and memory Jaiden lives on forever.

Chain of Events

My family was never religious. They never discouraged me from religion, instead they let me find my own way. Most of my friends went to church, so I wanted to see what it was all about. My first experience in a church was a Roman Catholic one. And let me tell you, being an 8 year old who knows nothing of god or religion, sitting there in that place had to have been one of the most boring experience in my life. I never fully believed in this "christian god." Every so often I would ask it to help me with something, saying, "If you are there..." I never really got an answer, I never really expected one, so in turn I've created my own theories. By no means am I religious, not in the least, but I am a pretty spiritual girl. I think we all have souls, we all have an energy, and when we die I think something must happen. For a long time now I've believed in reincarnation, mostly because I am supposed to be a reincarnation of someone. One thing I've been questioning after many deep conversations with a handful of different people is my theory on fate. I tell people I don't believe in god, I believe in fate. This meaning I believe everything happens for a reason. Until recently I believed that our entire lives are already planned out, every path we chose was because we were supposed to, and most people find that a little depressing. I feel torn. One the one hand, it makes so much sense. Think back on your life. Think of where you are now. I know I can trace all the series of events that have lead me to where I am. I can pin point the littlest things that have really turned out to be HUGE turning points in my life. I can't help but feel I chose those things on purpose, because I was supposed to. Fate planned that for me, and that's why I did it. What if I had chose the other path? Where would I be. I think the biggest turning point in my life was when I decided to go to youth group with Alison. Had I not done that my entire life would be different. I wouldn't be the same person, I wouldn't have the same friends, I wouldn't have had my first long relationship, I wouldn't listen to the same music... And now, even recently, I've seen fate working again all starting with my decision to go to American Idol with Jackie. That vacation turned into an eye opening experience... then after that my decision to go ahead and go to that party (a party at a friends house that I had JUST reconnected with)... all of these things feel like they were set there on purpose. I was SUPPOSED to do what I did, to go where I went. Then you have to think about the more depressing things, like death. I hate the saying, "it's part of god's plan," because sometimes death just doesn't seem necessary. Most of the time it seems that people are "taken" too young, and what is the point in that? Yes, it's a learning experience, truly one of life's big tests for you, but is that something that was supposed to happen? Was that laid out? Was it avoidable? I could go on for days with this, but this entry is already long enough. I wish there was some way to really know what is right... and if people think I'm totally insane for thinking the way I do.