originally i was going to spend some time away from the internet, but i gotta get out somethings. it's just easier for me to type and type and type. sometimes i lose my voice. sometimes i don't know what i'm going to say, and i like that this page can be empty and be my canvas. my sister wrote a blog about all of this on myspace, and it made me cry. i have never cried so much in my life - not even when i attempted to take my own life. i keep breaking down.

this all feels like an episode of gray's anatomy - and i'm the poor victim here. i'm the one the doctors have to console. and not only do they have to console me - but they have to console my mother, my brother, my sister, and any life my father has touched. he was only supposed to be in for the flu; he wasn't supposed to die. it wasn't supposed to be a big deal - i've been desensitized to hospitals. i spent most of my six year old life in one hearing that my dad was going to make it through the night and spent some time there last year for seventy-two hours. i repressed a lot of it, but i knew hospitals were a good thing. you get better there. you don't die. and you don't die with me clutching your hand and watching every member of the family being squished into the room and crying.

i haven't ever dealt with a death close to me. i've never attended a funeral. i've never had to go through this. when my grandfather died when i was nine, my dad took me and my sister out to dinner while my mom went to the funeral. he thought we were too young, and later, he brought us to the cemetery to say our goodbyes. it made the funeral less painful. and now my dad - who is half of my flesh and blood, well, he's dead. he's gone. no one is going to call me "pumpkin" or ring me up in the cities and remind me that my cat misses me. or that some stupid judge show was driving him crazy. or that he missed me and he wished we lived somewhere i liked. and that he knew exactly what it was like to find one city and go "that's it. this is where i am spending the rest of my life."

before my dad got sick, before he left for the hospital, before any of this happened, he sat me down on his bed, and gave me a speech. "if your heart feels like Chicago is the answer, then you have to go. you have to do what you need to do - and don't worry about anyone else. just get out there, get an education, a career, and make the best of it." i nodded and told him "thanks" for understanding how important the Windy City is to me and that I loved him. that was the last conversation we had - unless you count him asking for a few M&Ms and not telling my mother about it. i told my mom about this, and she cried. she think he knew this was going to happen.

i spent the last few days with my family. i've never seen my brother cry; i've never seen my sister cry so much. i had never hugged my brother before today; i had never hugged my grandfather either. my dad's side of the family wasn't too touchy-feely, and all of us kids inherited it in different ways. i've never broken down so much. i keep making calls in the bathroom; i sit in the bathtub fully clothed and ring up who needs to be informed of something. it's a habit i got from dad; he loved hanging out in his bathroom. it was warm and quiet - a good place to think. my Aunt Janelle remarked about how you could tell who was from my mom's side and who was on my dad's side of the family. dad's side (and myself) stood rigid by the bed before collapsing into tears and hugging like we meant it. mom's side hadn't stopped hugging since 10pm on Monday (when he went in).

i can't even walk into my parent's room without forming any tears. or think about walking into it. or think about crying in front of someone. i want to play the "strength" card because everyone needs it more than me. my dad always said i was the strongest person he knew - he knew i was a fighter, and even if we had our fights, and even if he kicked me out a few times--only to welcome me back after a few cooling down hours, he was still my father. and i'm glad i was home for all of this and my last week with him.

i don't want this blog to be too depressing, because in all honesty, my dad's better off now. he's not going to be cold. he's not going to hurt. there's probably some form of heaven (even though he was an atheist) filled with him and some cats. and probably lame saturday night tv shows like cheaters and cops. and of course, every sunday, there will be a good game of football. i bet all of us kids and my mom are up there too in some way, and he's looking out for us.

i want to end this on a happy note, so here's a hilarious memory of my dad. it was late summer, about three years ago. my sister and her two friends were outside from 9pm til 3am, and causing a ruckus. my dad walked outside and proclaimed to them (with me as a witness) that "THIS ISN'T A CRACK HOUSE." maybe you had to be there, but it was hilarious.