Sunday, August 10, 2014

I remember when my dad died, I didn't cry. I helped my mom go to Costco to buy party supplies that would be necessary for all the people that would be coming through our house over the next few weeks. I had my mom buy me NBA live that day. I played the hell out of that game. I would lock myself in my room, bump music, and play NBA live and grand theft auto.

Anyway, over the next few days, I remember talking to my dad in my head, telling him that I knew that I now had to step up like Robert Horry(he was tearing shit UP at that time). I thought I would be able to step up and be the man of the house.

I learned quickly that it just wasn't possible. I was just a young boy with so much to learn. I figured that if I couldn't do that, the least I could do is do my best to not be a burden to my mom.

My mom had a horrible time trying to recover from my dad's death. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and struggled overall to take care of herself. She never wavered when it came to taking care of me or Jamie, but she couldn't find it in herself to do what she needed for herself. It wasn't for a lack of trying, either. She was going to support groups for widows. She was taking sleeping pills. She was talking to our doctor for possible solutions to her struggles. Nothing worked and it got scary for a while.

Then she found relief in church. Her best friend (my sister's godmother) invited her to join the cursillo with her. Together they went through the initiation process and together they made it. Part of the initiation process involved a weekend retreat. I don't know what they did during the retreat, but after the retreat, my mom seemed like a changed person. She seemed grateful and happy for all of the blessings in her life. After that point, I stopped worrying about my mom taking care of herself.

After she joined the cursillo, she forced my sister and I to go to church every weekend as well as join the cursillo in praying the rosary each Sunday. My sister and I attended CCD each week.

I hated going to church. For me it was boring and a waste of time. It didn't do much for me. I still wish my mom didn't force church on me and my sister the way she did.

That's not to say that I hated church and religion as an insttution. I firmly believe that the church saved my mom's life. Without my mom finding herself in church, I have no idea where my sister and I would be today.

So there I was. My dad was gone. My mom was there taking care of me and my sister and after she had found herself in church, I knew that she would take care of herself, which meant that she would be capable of taking care of us as well.

I figured life would slow down for me, that people would be sympathetic to my struggles. And I couldn't have been more wrong.

I was in seventh grade when my dad died. I was enrolled in some advanced classes already but I started struggling. I thought teachers would take it easy on me. But I never really communicated with them what was going on, so they never cut me any slack. They can't help someone who doesn't ask for help.

I became a little disinterested in things. I remember requesting to speak to a school counselor, just to see what she would say about my dad dying. Honestly, i really only did it have an excuse to get out of class. But when I did get to speak to my school counselor, I ended up telling her I was having a hard time focusing in school after my dad's passing. I guarantee you she had no idea that her workday was going to end with her having to console a grieving 11 year old. That poor woman. It's gotta be tough, being a middle school counselor.

My teachers weren't cutting me any slack, but the other kids were much worse. We were all trying to deal with the struggle that is middle school life, so it seemed that no one had time to check up on little me; they had no choice but to worry about self-preservation, something that admittedly is pretty draining during middle school.

Movies and television paint this picture that high school is this terrible place and time in everyone's life, full of bullying, judging, and public embarrassment. But in my experience, high school wasn't that difficult at all as far as social interactions go. Middle school was much worse. I saw bullying, fights and peer pressure all the time. Everyone was struggling to figure out where they were on the social scale.

For 11 year old me, this meant that my closest friends were unforgiving in their pursuit to make sure that they ended up as high as possible on the social totem pole. They saw a deflated boy with self confidence issues and pounced on that weakness. Despite the fact that I was struggling with morning my father's death, my friends went on with the teenage ritual which is poking at each other's insecurities, finding each other's weaknesses and tearing each other a new asshole. I would give examples but I think I might have blocked those memories since they were so painful, lol. What I do remember is thinking, "these are the people I call my friends. Why aren't they treating me the way friends should year each other?"

I was also bullied by the cool kids on the bus. They would flick my ears and I wouldn't react with anything more than an angry glance. They would point their laser pointer in my eye until I reacted, at which point they do their macho dance, screaming "what are you gonna do, pussy? Nothing, that's right!" After a certain point, I stopped taking the school bus and opted instead to have my mom drop me off and pick me up from school. I told her I was doing extra curricular work with teachers. I think she still has no idea why I really needed her to take me to and pick me up from school. This is about the same time that I realized that I wasn't capable of being the "man of the house", whatever that meant. Like I said before, I needed to try my best to not be a burden to my mom. Having her take me to and pick me up from school definitely wasn't what I wanted, but again, it was part of me having to do the whole self-preservation thing. I couldn't grow as a person while having to deal with all of that bullying and pressure.

I think the first time I cried over the death of my father was in October 2012, the ten year anniversary of his death. I was off at college, living it up. My friends were throwing a surprise birthday party for one of our friends. That entire day was a struggle for me, as I reflected on many things. Was I making my dad proud? Was I happy with where I was at in life? I knew I was okay because I was set to graduate college in four years, something that I knew my dad would be proud of. He had always stressed that he wanted me and my sister to graduate from college. I came to the realization that I probably had made it through his death okay. I didn't have any lingering after effects, no daddy issues I needed to get over. The tears that I was crying that October afternoon were simply because I missed him. And that that was perfectly fine.

I ended up missing the birthday surprise but I did make it in time to party with the birthday boy. We ended up doing the ever popular "Edward 40hands" drinking game and got entirely too drunk. I drove home that night and was too drunk to drive. I pulled over and opted to get some drunk food at Carl's Jr. I remember listening to Childish Gambino's "All The Shine" and just breaking down completely. I sat there in line at the drive thru, crying years' worth of tears. Up to that point I knew that I missed him but that moment really shed light on how intense my feelings were as far as missing him. I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking about how much I wanted him to be there to see me graduate. I wanted him to just know that I was okay, that my mom and sister were okay. I had come to grips with the fact that he was gone forever, but I wanted to give anything to have him alive for just one day, to celebrate how far we've come in life thanks to him.

Since then, I've definitely had a couple of crying sessions after thinking about my dad. Making up for years' worth of tears, I suppose. And I'm sure I'll shed more tears in the future when I think about him. It'll be so intense when I have to explain to my children that their grandfather died eleven years after I was born. It'll be tough when my sister gets married and isn't able to be walked down the aisle by Dad. Honestly the toughest thing for me is worrying that my mom will retire soon and won't have my dad there to retire into the sunset and grow old with her. Luckily she has a tremendous support system in the church and our relatives. And she's the strongest individual in the world, so I'm sure she'll be okay. Maybe the best way for me to pay back all of the hard work my dad did is to make sure my mom doesn't have to worry about a damn thing for the rest of her life.

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