May 2012
April-23-1995
I find myself growing weaker as he slowly slips away. The doctor told us he has six months left, maybe longer if he keeps as healthy as he can. Of course I don't blame him for leaving me so soon. I knew it would happen soon enough. I just didn't know it would be so soon.
Heart disease runs in his family.
I don't know how we are going to tell the children. One doesn't usually think about the day when they have to tell their own children that they wont make it to see their lives evolve.
Where are you God? When I need you most?
Sometimes I stare mindlessly out the window late at night, when I can't sleep (which is becoming more and more frequent) and I search for answers to impossible questions. Charlie doesn't hear me when I talk to God. I wont let him. I think he would be discouraged with the way I'm handling all of this. Most of the time I'm angry with God. Then, I become angry with myself for doubting the path he's created for me. I've believed in God as long as I could ever remember, but lately he's left me questioning him. How could something so cruel and heart wrenching be the least bit beneficial for anyone?
My Mother
I was seventeen when my mother died. No one still really knows what happened. She didn't leave behind much to describe why.
I was seventeen when my mother took her life.
I never really felt I had much in common with her. She was more of a romantic than anything, and i'm more of a realist. In fact the only thing we ever had in common was our height (which is rather short) and striking green eyes. When my father died I expected her to have a breakdown, seeing as how in love her and my father were and how much she thrived on such movies as Gone With the Wind and Casablanca. But the funny thing is, she kept living life as if dad was never in it. Which I thought was quite disrespectful to his memory. Then, I thought maybe this was a strange coping method that she was doing for the sake of us kids. I expected her to be staying in bed for weeks on end, never changing out of her ridiculous pajamas and refusing to go any where.
This was the opposite of what my mother did, three days after my fathers funeral she was back at work. She was a editor for the New York Times. She loved her job as far as I could tell. She always attended the Christmas and New Years parties, despite the fact that we are Jewish. She was always looking for a way to connect with her co-workers. She was a people person, I'll give her that. I've never been good with socializing, I'm like my father in that way.
Life is beautiful,
don't waste it.
The Discovery
Two months ago I was going threw my mothers old things that my brothers and I put in storage, until we found her will. That's when I found my mothers journal. I didn't really feel bad about taking it. I never really understood her that well and her death was the biggest mystery to me. I was hoping that in reading this I would have the smallest insight into my mothers way of life and what she meant by her suicide note.
I find myself growing weaker as he slowly slips away. The doctor told us he has six months left, maybe longer if he keeps as healthy as he can. Of course I don't blame him for leaving me so soon. I knew it would happen soon enough. I just didn't know it would be so soon.
Heart disease runs in his family.
I don't know how we are going to tell the children. One doesn't usually think about the day when they have to tell their own children that they wont make it to see their lives evolve.
Where are you God? When I need you most?
Sometimes I stare mindlessly out the window late at night, when I can't sleep (which is becoming more and more frequent) and I search for answers to impossible questions. Charlie doesn't hear me when I talk to God. I wont let him. I think he would be discouraged with the way I'm handling all of this. Most of the time I'm angry with God. Then, I become angry with myself for doubting the path he's created for me. I've believed in God as long as I could ever remember, but lately he's left me questioning him. How could something so cruel and heart wrenching be the least bit beneficial for anyone?
My Mother
I was seventeen when my mother died. No one still really knows what happened. She didn't leave behind much to describe why.
I was seventeen when my mother took her life.
I never really felt I had much in common with her. She was more of a romantic than anything, and i'm more of a realist. In fact the only thing we ever had in common was our height (which is rather short) and striking green eyes. When my father died I expected her to have a breakdown, seeing as how in love her and my father were and how much she thrived on such movies as Gone With the Wind and Casablanca. But the funny thing is, she kept living life as if dad was never in it. Which I thought was quite disrespectful to his memory. Then, I thought maybe this was a strange coping method that she was doing for the sake of us kids. I expected her to be staying in bed for weeks on end, never changing out of her ridiculous pajamas and refusing to go any where.
This was the opposite of what my mother did, three days after my fathers funeral she was back at work. She was a editor for the New York Times. She loved her job as far as I could tell. She always attended the Christmas and New Years parties, despite the fact that we are Jewish. She was always looking for a way to connect with her co-workers. She was a people person, I'll give her that. I've never been good with socializing, I'm like my father in that way.
Life is beautiful,
don't waste it.
The Discovery
Two months ago I was going threw my mothers old things that my brothers and I put in storage, until we found her will. That's when I found my mothers journal. I didn't really feel bad about taking it. I never really understood her that well and her death was the biggest mystery to me. I was hoping that in reading this I would have the smallest insight into my mothers way of life and what she meant by her suicide note.
