Thu, Feb. 3rd, 2005, 01:40 am
I wish she was mad at me
b/c that would be a reason why she hasn't tried to talk to me
Otherwise, well there's no g-ddamn excuse
I made a conscious decision to not to call her, and see if she called me
cause i had this sneeeeeaking suspicion that our relationship had gotten one-sided
So I haven't called, and look, we haven't talked
_sometimes I hate being right_
Sun, Jan. 30th, 2005, 03:24 am
My sister brought home this styrofoam cup from school. It was full of cotton and seeds and it had some normal length stems of grass growing out of it. I remember making those when I was younger, so proud of myself that I was able to make something out of nothing. Her hebrew name is written proudly on it, and when I picked it up, I had tears in my eyes. I traced the grooves that the pen marks made and repeated her beautiful hebrew name over and over again. I love that little child more than I ever though it possible to love a member of my family, and I have a small glimmer of what it will one day feel like to love my children. (g-d willing)
Thu, Jan. 27th, 2005, 12:06 am
My grandmother is in the hospital.
So it is natural I think that right now I am feeling a lot of emotions towards her, and towards my childhood.
When I was younger I could always feel love from my grandparents as strong as the sun on a summer's day. I would go over to their house and be showered with every drop of their love. They poured everything they had in them into cooking for us, I felt glowing from their love. I felt safe. I do have to say that as much as I love my grandmother, I felt more of the love from my grandfather. He was always so anxious and ready to please us. He took me to the park. I used to love going to their house and taking the walk to the park. He used to wear white undershirts, and I can feel myself with my arms around him now, hugging him and holding him. His cheeks were usually stubbly so everytime I kissed him he would rub his cheeks and I used to grab my cheek and pretend like it was painful, but inside I was gleeful at our little game.
I remember the week before he died I was at my grandparents house, and it was passover and we were visiting and I remember my mom coming to get us and I wanted to stay. Something inside me told me to stay. And I slept over, and as usual I was showered with love and attention and I felt safe and secure and comforted. I was thirteen and I dont think I had slept over there in ages but I decided to do it. And a week later my grandfather was coming down the stairs to go outside at a friend's house and he fell. He broke a lot of bones, and went to the hospital. At this point my whole family thought he would be fine, except that my mom, dad, aunt and uncle knew he had Leukemia and nobody else did. So a few days later I went to visit him, and at this point I thought he would be fine. I am very tentative around people in the hospital, but my grandfather requested that all of us be there. I learned later that he probably called us all in because he wanted to say goodbye to all of us and he got to see us all, even my little sister who was only 6 months old at the time. The last image I remember of him is seeing my grandmother sit with him on the bed, and they were holding hands if I recall, and they looked so much in love. The next day he was put into a coma because his pain was so great, and then his heart stopped. My older cousins were allowed to be there, but I was not. My parents came home from the hospital and my dad broke the news to us, while my mom quietly directed her attention towards the table, pulled out a chair and just sat down. She was still in shock. It was then that I learned he had Leukemia and did not have a good prognosis anyway, and at least he didnt have to get worse and worse until he died. The funeral and shiva was a mix of pain and new discoveries, and nothing I have the time or patience to get into. I just realized hardcore that you never knew how great something was until it's gone.
So now I feel devastated, because while my father has promised that my grandmother is not dying, I still have all these feelings. and that whole long paragraph I wrote about my grandfather, I wish I had one about my grandmother. A few years ago when she had a stroke she was never the same, and I was just thinking sadly about how I have not had a real conversation with her in years. I know that she loved me. But Im trying so hard to remember specific little details and I cant. I do remember tomato soup, it ws my favorite and she made it all the time. Is that all? Tomato soup? I want to remember... And I'm so scared that I can't, or even worse, that there really wasn't anything to remember. But that can't be true. It can't be. But now it's so much easier to remember her as listless and not talking. I'd even give a lot to go back to when she was more vocal and openly criticized my haircolour and the fact that I don't drive. I don't know what she thinks of me. I don't know what she thinks of anything. I know I used to make my grandparents proud and happy to see me, and now when I see her I feel numb because it's better than feeling the pain, and her being in the hospital is ripping my heart out and everything I'm feeling in my heart come out of my eyes. It's painful when someone you love is changed from what they were before, and I have never truly accepted her after the stroke, I should have adapted our relationship but I never bothered. I can only blame myself, but I am selfish and I couldn't face the pain of facing up to it so I just shut myself off.
" She lifted the seedlings out of the flat, untangling their nets of tender white roots. Her bare hands worked them into the ground, prodding and gentling, as if putting to bed an endless supply of small children. She wiped the tears off both sides of her face with the back of her left hand, leaving dark lines of soil along her cheekbones. To live is to be marked, she said without speaking. To live is to change, to die one hundred deaths. I am a mother, you aren't, he wasn't.
'Do you want to forget?'
She paused her work, resting her trowel on her knee, and looked at me. 'Are we allowed to remember?' "
I suppose school has been going well. I am (trying) to be caught up on my readings like a good little girl, but again, I have to wonder what it all means. Sometimes I feel that my schooling is pointless. On the otherhand, it's a pathway to my career. Yes, I want to teach. But there are so many other things I want to do as well. I want to travel the world. I need to leave my house and all the poison here and try it out in the real world, away from my family. It is only when i am not near them do I really appreciate and love them, so it'll really actually be beneficial for me to leave. hah. Now I just need the money.
Mon, Jan. 17th, 2005, 01:51 am
The Great LiveJournal
Outage of 2005
During the outage I hoped that pressing reload page would bring live journal back.
What did you do?
Brought to you by geek-foo
You Are 22 Years Old
Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.
13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.
20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.
30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!
40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.
Fri, Jan. 14th, 2005, 03:44 pm
" I was just one more of those women who clamp their mouths shut and wave the flag as their nation rolls off to conquer another in war. Guilty or innocent, they have everything to lose. They are what there is to lose. A wife is the earth itself, changing hands, bearing scars.
How did they manage? When I remain hounded by judgement? The eyes in the trees open onto my dreams.
Sometimes I pray to remember, other times I pray to forget. It makes no difference. How can I ever walk free in the world, after the clap of those hands in the marketplace that were plainly trying to send me away? I had warnings. How can I bear the scent of what catches up to me?"
" I rock back and forth on my chair like a baby, craving so many impossible things: justice, forgiveness, redemption. I crave to stop bearing all the wounds of this place on my own narrow body. But I also want to be a person who stays, who goes on feeling anguish where anguish is due. I want to belong somewhere, damn it. To scrub the hundred years' war off this white skin till there's nothing left and I can walk out among my neighbors wearing raw sinew and bone, like they do.
Most of all, my white skin craves to be touched and held by the one person I know has forgiven me for it."