My dad died on Valentine’s Day from a cancer in his brain that he fought for a year and a half. I’ll talk about that more one day, but what I want to say now comes from the buildup and the fallout. What I want to say is not about the suffering and turmoil that I watched my dad and my family experience for that year and a half, or the milestones we hit every day that I never mentioned, like the last day he had ice cream or went outside. I want to talk about him and I will. But today, I want to talk about the aftermath. People don’t know what to say about death and dying. They tell you they’re sorry and they could never do what you’re doing, they tell you how strong you are and graceful you’re being, admire how you’re “back to work” or “still able to have fun”. Grievers are told time and time again, nobody knows what the right thing to say is. And we have grace. Giggle it off and nod our heads, tell them thank you and it’s okay. Because it is okay. They aren’t doing anything wrong t...
I never would have done it myself. But in my head, I thought about if a city bus happened to slip into the intersection while I was crossing. Or what if my shellfish allergy found me behind a big plate of seafood? I didn’t google the side effects of mixing my meds with alcohol. Didn’t turn my music down in my headphones walking at night. I didn’t pull the blanket down from over my head when it felt like I couldn’t breathe under it. I used to tell myself that worst case scenario, I run out of money and lose all my friends, finally push my family away, and in that case, it’d be okay to die because there’s nothing left I’d want to live for. There was even a point where I couldn’t think about the next two hours without completely falling apart. I had to take things by minutes. Just get through the next minute. And the next. A few more minutes and I’ll be asleep, that’ll cover at least a few hours. I was so desperate just to fall asleep, because that would take the weight off of my focus on...