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Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Life and Death Outside Twitter

My dad died. A week ago exactly. It was an accident. 
Most people know that I am very private online person. The Internet spammers and stalkers drove me to changing my passwords, emails, and even my last name. Then why am I writing a blog post about something so personal as my dad’s death? Well, two reasons. It’s inevitable that I will have to tell people and explain about my absence. It’s better to have it out at once then having to repeat the same speech over and over again. And I hate repeating myself. The other reason is to show my appreciation to so many Twitter friends who sent kind messages. 
Last Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from my sister. She was on her way to the hospital with my mom. Dad was in surgery. After 3 hours, he passed away. They couldn’t stop the internal bleeding, and he never regained consciousness Instead of running to the hospital, I stayed home. Mom said he looked really bad, and I didn’t want to see him that way. Oddly enough, I didn’t shed a tear or have a meltdown. I calmly started to do the research and made phone calls. There are so many aspects to one's death. So many legal and financial matters tend to. Emotional needs came last. Then I got asked a by a stranger on the phone. She asked me the name of the deceased. That's when I lost it. I opened my mouth but couldn’t say his name out loud. That made his death real, and I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge it. I wept.
The last time I saw him was a few days ago during my regular visit to their house. Normally, we would say our byes inside the house. On that day, my mom and dad came out after me as if I was leaving on a long trip. He stood there in his driveway and waved at me. I saw him smiling and waving as my car turned the corner. He’s never done that before. I just threw him a casual “See you later” and left. I didn’t know that would be that last time. If I knew that’d be the last time I’d see him alive, I would’ve said something nice or even give him a hug. His funeral is this Friday. It’s an open-casket funeral, so I’ll get a chance to say something nice to him. And maybe give him a hug. Too bad he won’t know.
From that night on, I was bombarded with emails and phone calls. I was overwhelmed, and the last thing I wanted was to have my iPhone go off from Twitter messages. I stopped coming to Twitter. I spent the whole week locked up in my house, going out only when it was necessary. I wanted to avoid running into anyone or being forced to talk. It’s usually the same questions and same words of condolences anyway. I know they mean well. Still, about the twentieth time telling how my father ran into the pole and bled to death, I kind of got sick of it. 
My dad used to say I was born sassy. And as you all know...I can be quite stabby. I’m really angry though. About everything. Even the kind words of the well-wishers made me angry. Is it me or are some of these sayings really stupid? “He’s not suffering anymore.” “He’s in a better place.” You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if he was the most unhappiest, suffering person alive. I don’t want him gone. I want him here with me. So he was right. I’m no mother Theresa. I’m selfish.
There. That’s the reason for my absence and not answering tweets, DMs, and emails. I probably won’t be back online until after the funeral. However, I want to say thank you to my Twitter friends, especially Andy (@vizprod) and Ciara (@ciaraballintyne) before I go. Andy for chatting with me even while working, and Ciara for sending me a million emails a day and the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever received. They forced me to communicate so I could vent instead of keep things bottled up. For short periods of time, they made me forget and even managed to put smile on my face. Oh, I can’t forget my #stabbylove crew. You know who you are. I must say, I didn’t imagine that I’d end up making so many real life friends when I came on Twitter. Who knew there were such gems among the douches? I’m truly humbled by it. So, thanks, guys. You guys make it worth coming online. And having a Twitter account.  
Okay. It’s official. This proves that I’m not the most gracious person on earth. Even as I write about my dad’s tragic death, I can’t make it moving and beautiful. But this was just an update anyway. I didn’t want people worrying about me. So everyone who’s been wondering what happened to me, here it is. I’m still alive. I’m okay. And I’ll be back on Twitter with my stabby #writetips and somewhat helpful blog posts. Until then, take care. 

Drive carefully.


17 comments:

  1. Take your time. We miss you. Take care. :))

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  2. *hugs* I'm so sorry. Being selfish at a time like this is okay. Look after yourself first. The rest of the world will be fine.

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  3. Does anyone write anything beautiful about the passing of someone dear to them while they are still locked in the throes of grief? I don't think so.I think it comes later. Maybe then, when you can remember the good times without so much agony, then the beautiful words will come.

    I have been surprised by all the wonderful people I have met on Twitter, people I talk to my family about because they are REAL. You are definitely one of them. *hugs and kisses* I'm here anytime you need me.

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  4. Writing honestly is both beautiful and moving, and you did that. You've a right to anger and selfishness. The only way to ease the pain is by talking it out as often as you can stand. Luckily you have some wonderful supporters who love you. Lean hard on them, cause they would gladly do it for you.
    Peace. xox

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  5. I'd comment because I like you and feel for you. But I've been there and know better. If you want a bag to punch, or a face to slap, I'll stand in.

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  6. Take care and don't worry what others think. I lost my dad in an accident at home when I was 17. I had gone out of town with a buddy for the weekend and called my mom the next morning to let her know I'd arrived safely (I'm old, this was before cell phones ;)). She told me Dad had died and I should come home. Shock, anger, disbelief, these all ran through my mind. Sadness came later. Take your time.

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  7. *hugs* Su, I'm sorry to hear about your loss. If there is anything I can do don't hesitate to ask. Miss you!

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  8. You're honest and that's one of the things I like about you, Su. People say those paltitudes because they don't know what to say-- what can one say. There will come a time when you might see that many have a ring of truth.

    You are in my thoughts.

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  9. Just remember the smile and wave. That was your father.

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  10. You are missed and in my thoughts. (And okay, stabstabstab.)

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  11. I am sorry to hear of your loss. My brother committed suicide 23 yrs ago, and it seems like yesterday. The unexpectedness of a sudden death is hard to deal with.
    As the song says," We are all 1 phone call from our knees."
    I want to encourage you that you are not alone. You will not always be in the place you are right now. Hold on to each other and see each other through.
    Blessings to you and your family.

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  12. I never know what to say outside of my condolences and ((HUGS))Stay you. Sassy and Stabby.

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  13. SHIT. Su, I am such a dolt. I have not been on Twitter much myself these last few months. Just saw you tweet something and I thought I should check in here and see what you've been up to, and I find this. Wow. What a shock for your family. I'll spare you all the usual niceties and simply say that I love you and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Let's talk soon (my number hasn't chanaged). XOXO

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  14. Su, I haven't done much blog hopping these last few months. I saw you on Twitter and thought I better check out your blog. I didn't expect to read this. What a shock. Sending you hugs. Perhaps we can tweet soon?

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  15. Su, having lost my father suddenly (about four years ago) I understand what you're going through. The hurt, the anger, tears and loneliness. Many prayers for strength and comfort to you and your family.

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  16. I'm so sorry to hear this.
    My Mom and Dad have both passed, and there isn't a day I don't think of them.
    My husband started going on business trips by plane early in our marriage, and being afraid of flying myself, I always imagined his plane would crash.
    I used to work in insurance and handled a lot of auto accidents.
    Knowing how sudden death can be, I got into the habit of treating every goodbye like the last one.
    The worst thing is not getting to say goodbye.
    My condolences. And Huggs. : )

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