Elle

I’ve never been nervous going to the hospital before.

Of course, I’ve never been on a date in the hospital before.

Tuesday, I met with my old boss Gus about picking up some extra hours at the hospital where I used to work. I usually have 8 days off every other week and I hate the city I live in. Besides, I’d like to get a little more ER time. The NICU and PICU are awesome and I love pediatrics, but I feel like I’m losing some of my skills.

As I was leaving, I ran into Chris. Literally. He was coming down the hallway of the new addition and I was walking down the same long hallway where we first met.

‘Um, hi” I said. Chris look distracted. He didn’t say anything.

“Well, have a good day then”

I continued on my way, wondering exactly what was going on with Chris. He’d never been this way with me. Maybe my leaving really did affect him. Maybe coming back here was a bad idea. I can come up with a lot of maybes.

“Liza….wait. Wait” I was lost in my thoughts and kept walking. I felt a hand on my shoulder and instinctively my left hand curled into a ball and launched into a punch. Chris intercepted the punch. “What the hell?’

“I’m sorry” I stammered. “I was lost in thought and you grabbed me.”

“I’m sorry. I called your name and you kept walking”

“That doesn’t give you the right to grab me. I don’t care who you are”

‘I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Liza, please”

We stood there in the hospital parking lot–each one waiting on the other to say something.

“I go back to NC tomorrow.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know that I will”

“Well, I guess that means tonight, then”

“You’re working.”

“Yea, but I gotta eat. I can order food and we can eat together in the call room”

“Like a date?”

“If you can call the call room a date spot, then yes”

“What time?”

“I usually don’t get a lot of calls between 6:30-8:00 so how about then”

“OK. I call you when I get here.”

So I guess I have a date. Or something. With Chris. After knowing him for 3 years, I am just as nervous as the day I ran into him.

Blink-182: First Date

Jeremy promised to take me to Italy after graduation. I got so excited. I think I fell in love with the idea of Jeremy more than the reality. I loved his mom–a native Italian, and I loved the promises he made. But the reality was he had a lot of baggage and I wasn’t the one to unpack it. And once police get involved in a relationship, it’s mostly always doomed. But I still held on to the idea of Ischia and more broadly, Italy.

And arriving in Rome was everything I imagined it would be. Getting off the metro stop at Colosseum and seeing the literal colosseum was awe-inspiring. And being in Rome. Simply Amazing.

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After 2 days in Rome indulging in my archaeology-nerdy side, I headed north for the Winter Olympics. I am a major Olympics nerd, and a chance to see some of the less popular sports was high on my list. So off to Torino I go…

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” Hi. Is this seat taken?”

I look up and gesture that it isn’t. I’ve got my headphones in and don’t really want to engage in conversation. Also, I don’t speak Italian, or at least not enough to have a conversation. I’m much more focused on the scenery. A train ride through the Alps. In winter. Swoon.

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‘Wow. It’s really chilly.” I mention to no one in particular, after arriving back in the hotel lobby. Someone laughs, not really at me, but more my comment. “Well, it is winter. In the Alps.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just not used to it. I love it and it’s amazing, but it still catches me off guard.”

I was talking to Andrea, a fellow Olympic nerd, who I’d met in the hotel lobby the night before. Andrea was originally from Milan, but had been living in Stockholm for the last few years so winter was nothing new for him. We had spent the day completely outside watching some of the skiing events. I’m quite sure my fingers and toes were numb from the cold.

“Hey, are you going to biathlon tomorrow? If so, do you want to meet in the lobby tomorrow morning? I’m going to go up to my room and defrost.” I asked Andrea, careful to cut off any possibility of anything else happening.

“Sounds like a plan. See you in the morning”

Andrea was a buttoned-up Italian who had been living in Stockholm for a while. Emotional expression was not his strong suit. But I was in Italy to heal. Heal from Jeremy, James, and Justin. Heal from everything that had happened with my dad. Figure out what the fuck I wanted to do in my life. More Italy. Less bullshit. How do I make this happen? I absolutely did not need to think of the buttoned-up, well-dressed Italian in any way other than a fellow Olympic nerd.

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I arrived in the lobby a full 5 minutes before our scheduled meeting time, and Andrea was there, two cups in hand. Northern Italy is a lot more time conscious than Rome, or even me. Maybe it’s the proximity to Switzerland. Who knows? I feel as if I am always running late.

“Cioccolato. Caldo. Doppio. I still cannot believe that you do not drink caffe. In any form. Do you know how hard it was to get this for you?

“Thank you. You didn’t have to, you know?”

“I know. But it blows my mind that you start your day without anything”

I took the paper cup containing decadent hot chocolate from Andrea and we boarded the bus to take us to the biathlon site.

Other than ice hockey, biathlon is my favorite winter Olympic sport. I can’t explain it, I’ve never done it, but one day, I will. Curling also fascinates me, but I understand nothing about it.

“Hey, do you want to have dinner with me this evening. I know a really good restaurant that’s not too far away.”

‘Sure. I could go for a good meal. One cannot survive on bread, cheese, and gelato alone.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 4:30”

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Whilst packing I debated against bringing my knee high boots and a skirt. I’m glad I decided to pack them for the inevitable ‘what if?”. Clad in my pumpkin orange cozy sweater, cream courderoy skirt, brown knee high boots, and a chocolate brown pea coat, I was in the lobby promptly at 4p. I headed to the hotel bar and ordered a glass of chianti, partly to steel my nerves. Andrea arrived at 4:15 and was pleasantly surprised to see me.

“Where are we headed for dinner? 4:30 is a little early, isn’t in?”

“Well, we didn’t have lunch so I thought we’d have some appetizers on our way?

“On our way? Where are we going that we need to pack snacks?

“To Milano. I know a place…”

“Of course you do,” I laughed as he took my hand and we headed off towards the train station.

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We arrived to a rustic trattoria and the scent of garlic and herbs enveloped us. Andrea hugged the maitre’d, and launched into rapid fire Italian. They hugged again.

“My cousin’s family owns this restaurant. That was a friend from childhood who I haven’t seen in years.”

We went to a cozy corner table adorned with a checkered tablecloth. The walls were lined with rustic wooden shelves filled with jars of preserved vegetables and bottles of Chianti. As we settled in, Andrea eagerly pointed out the day’s specials, highlighting dishes that celebrated the rich culinary heritage of Northern Italy. I’d naively assumed that “Italian cuisine” was all tomatoes, pasta, and seafood. I’d never really thought about Northern Italy being so close to France and Switzerland and being influenced by those cultures.

“I have to recommend the risotto alla Milanese,” Andrea said, his green eyes sparkling. “It’s creamy and infused with saffron, a true Milanese classic.”

“I’d love to try it! And maybe the ossobuco?”

We talked about life in general and how the fates aligned to have us both in Torino for the Olympics. I talked a little bit about my work–people are usually impressed by the fact that I work with sick babies and children. It felt like the conversation had just started when the food arrived.

The risotto had a golden hue to it indicating its culinary perfection. Each spoonful of the risotto was a delightful blend of smells and flavors. “Andrea, this is incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it! It’s my nonna’s recipe,” Andrea said, pride shining in his eyes

We shared the ossobuco, the tender meat falling off the bone, and got lost in laughter and conversation, our connection deepening with each passing moment. The ambiance of the trattoria made it feel like we were in our own little world, separate from the winter chill outside.

After dinner, Andrea suggested a walk to the nearby Navigli district, famous for its picturesque canals and vibrant nightlife. The streets sparkled under the soft glow of lights, and the sound of laughter echoed from the bustling bars and cafés lining the waterways. We found a small gelato stand and Andrea tested my “It’s never too cold for gelato theory.”

“So, what’s your favorite thing about Milan?” I asked Andrea.

“The food, of course,” he smirked. “But really, it’s the way the city combines history and modern life. There’s always something new to discover, just like tonight. We went to my family’s restaurant but that gelato stand was not here when I was last in Milano”

“I feel the same way. Milano has been one of my favorite discoveries so far. I never expected to come here. Roma, of course. Firenze–absolutely, but I really had no plans to see Northern Italy other than to see the Olympics”

As we reached a quiet spot by the water, Andrea turned to me, his expression serious yet gentle. “Can I kiss you?”

I nodded, my heart racing as he leaned in. Our lips met softly, a sweet moment filled with promise. Andrea’s kiss was different, maybe because we both knew we have tonight. And tomorrow. And then Andrea goes back to Stockholm and I continue my journey in Italy.

As we pulled away, laughter bubbled up between us. “Never wait too long between adventures,” Andrea advised. “I think that’s advice I’d take to heart.” My heart–my spirit–felt lighter than it had in months.

Under the starry Milanese sky, we continued to talk and laugh, the winter chill forgotten, knowing this night was the beginning. Not necessarily the beginning of us; I’m not that naive. But I do feel, for the first time in a long time, that I’m truly open for whatever the future holds.

The All-star brake came and went. Justin went to Ontario, and I didn’t. And after that, things just weren’t the same. He stopped coming my the peds hospital in the mornings and I stopped going to the arena after practice. My friend Wendy and I went to the first home game after the break. Justin completely ignored me as if ‘we’ never existed.

“Wow. He really does not like you right now.”

“I know. You’d think I did something really bad instead of just saying no to Ontario”

“You know, it wasn’t about Ontario.”

“I’m beginning to figure that out. But I mean it really was about Ontario… at least in the beginning. I was angling to go to the Caribbean so Ontario was about the opposite of a warm beach vacay. I didn’t realize at first that Justin wanted me to meet his siblings and his mom. So when I said no to Ontario, Justin thought I was saying no to his family. And no matter what I said after that, Justin was cold. Cold as Canadian ice.

“I don’t even know why I bothered to come to the game tonight. It’s obvious that he no longer wants anything to do with me.”

“You came because you like hockey. And the team is doing really well. And you had free tickets”

“Yeah, you’re right. You remember that kid I was telling you about, Xavier? The one who lost his mom and dad in a MVA.

“You mean the one where the husband murdered his wife in a DUI.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it. Regardless, the little brother died too. Xavier is the only surviving family member. I bonded with that boy and I took it really hard. Like, I saw myself in him and wanted to do anything possible to protect him. But he’s alone in the world–at 10. Not many people know what that’s like. And now Xavier is going to grow up without a family. His whole life’s trajectory has changed. Anyway…I put in to be his guardian ad litem. It won’t happen. There’s too much background for me to get cleared in time for Xavier, but maybe in the future….

“Also, I’m taking a leave of absence. I don’t know how long, but with the NICU being off the chain, and Xavier, and now Justin… not to mention all the drama of this last year, I just need a break, you know”

“What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?”

“I was thinking Italy. Jeremy always said he was going to take me to Ischia. Maybe it’s time I take myself…”

I need a break. From life. From men, and definitely from my patients dying. Or becoming orphans. Winter has not been kind to the NICU/PICU kids. There’s been a horrific pertussis outbreak. The pediatric cardiac PICU opened up with it filling up on day one. There’s even been a spate of random accidents that has caused kids to end up in the hospital.

The other night I literally broke down when I went to check on pre-school aged patient named Xavier and found his school aged sibling in bed with him reading Harry Potter to him.

“Hey buddy. What are you reading?” I asked the big brother.

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” he answered. “It’s about a boy who finds out he’s a wizard when he turns 11. Did you know that I’m 10 and a half?”

“I did not know that” I mused to the big brother.

“I’m in charge now so I gotta make sure Xavier knows how to read.”

“Why are you in charge? You are not an adult.”

“My mommy and daddy were in the accident too. They were coming to pick me up so I’m OK, but their car got smashed”

“Are they in the hospital too?” I inquired because it was now a little alarming that a 10 and a half year old was seemingly alone in the hospital room of his younger brother with no adults coming.

“Well my mommy died, but my dad is in a big-person hospital room like this one so he can’t come visit. That’s why I’m in charge. They always told me if anything ever happened to them, I was in charge of Xavier.”

“Well, you are doing an excellent job. Keep up the good work.”

I barely managed to escape the room before the tears began to flow. I went to visit my friend Wendy who worked in the adult trauma ICU. It was good to see her, but I was really there to inquire about Xavier’s dad. I got off the elevator on the 2nd floor right as the ‘Code Blue-Trauma ICU’ announcement echoed through the halls.

I follow the crowd and see Wendy elbows deep in a man’s chest. An overwhelming feeling of doom came over me that the patient was Xavier’s dad. About 40 minutes later, they stopped CPR–after all, it’s damned near impossible to do on a person with a flail chest and several other broken bones. Wendy came over, drenched in sweat.

“That sucked.” I knew the feeling all too well. We’ve been doing a lot of unsuccessful CPR in peds lately too. “His wife died yesterday–similar injuries. They were in a car crash. Drunk driver. In some ways, I think it’s good. I wouldn’t want to live knowing I killed my wife.”

“Wait, he was the one driving drunk?” I asked Wendy.

“yea, I’m just glad no one else was hurt. Amazingly the car he hit was empty.”

“Can you tell me his name? Someone else may have been in the car.”

“No, our trauma alert was for a male and female car accident victims. One male and one female.”

And I barely uttered the words aloud, ‘and our was for a 4 year old male’ when Wendy suddenly came to the realization of why I was in the adult part of the hospital “They had a kid with them!” she worked out and said probably a little too loud.

“Yea, he’s 4. Kid’s name is Xavier. He’s not in great shape right now, but you know how kids are, they bounce back pretty quick. I told his brother I’d come try to find out anything about his dad. He already knows about mom. Or at least on some level. The way he so nonchalantly said ‘my mommy’s dead’ makes me think he hasn’t processed it yet.”

“Oh that’s terrible. I don’t know how you do peds. This right here is why I stick with adults. I don’t feel sorry for him. He killed his wife and himself. I’d want to take those babies home with me and tell them they were safe.”

I went back to the 5th floor–Pedi land–we called it to distinguish it from the adult part of the hospital. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Xavier’s brother; I didn’t even know his name.

Much too frequently I get that comment “I could never do peds” comment a lot along with “I’d want to take those babies home.” I’m sure everyone who works in pediatrics has their own reasons for gravitating towards that speciality, but mine is pretty simple.; I don’t often do a good job explaining it but I want to be the adult I never had, even if it’s for a 12 hour shift. I can be the adult that reads to a kid or plays ‘basketball’ with teenage boys or paint fingernails with girls. Yes, my work is serious and they wouldn’t be here if they weren’t really sick, but having an adult treat them like a whole person is an easy thing yet so many don’t do it.

I went back to Xavier’s room. His brother had fallen asleep reading to him. I pulled a blanket up over him and took the book and put it on the bedside table. One more night of having his world intact because in the morning *someone* will have to tell him he really is in charge of Xavier because both his parents are dead.

And on my way out after my shift, I stopped by the director’s office and formally asked for a leave of absence. It was granted and I left the hospital unsure of when I might return.

Frank Turner:  I Am Disappeared

My phone pinged and I looked at the name that flashed across my screen. “oh boy, this is going to be trouble,’ I said to myself. Michael, my first love, and ex-boyfriend was coming to a conference in my new city.

Our relationship ended because we wanted different things from life. He wanted to settle down in the same small town he grew up in and I wanted nothing more than to leave it. Michael wanted marriage; I wanted a relationship with my best friend. He wanted kids; I wanted a dog. Michael wanted the traditional white picket fence life, and I’m still not sure what I want. Despite all of our differences, I never stopped loving him.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to meet him. After all so much has happened since I last saw him. Jeremy. James. Chris. Justin. My core wants and desires haven’t changed. I still don’t want kids, and I’m pretty sure he still does. But for old times’ sake, and perhaps against my better judgment, I agreed to meet him.

We met for dinner and the conversation flowed easy. Five years older, hopefully wiser, I wondered if we were more compatible. He wasn’t Jeremy. And definitely not James. He was Michael and being with him felt like familiar flannel shirt.

I put a twenty on the table as Michael flagged down the server for the check. He pushed my money back towards me.

“I’ve got this,” he said as I got up to leave.

“Wait, let me walk you to your car.” he called out.

Walking next to Michael, I felt the familiar butterflies in my stomach, and that disconnected from my body feeling I sometimes get. It’s been a long time since I had butterflies. I never had them with Justin. Come to think of it, Chris gave me occasional butterflies–when we weren’t talking about work stuff.

Michael and I made small talk, but I don’t remember anything we said. “Well, goodnight,” I murmured, putting my hand on the car’s door handle.

Michael put his hand over mine and his other encircled my back. I leaned into him sideways, resting my head on his shoulder. He smelled like soap, clean and nice. We stood that way for a minute or so before, turning me towards him, he framed my face with his hands, and placed his mouth on mine. I leaned in, kissing him back.

Michael’s touch was strong and gentle, confident. We kissed again.

Separating, I looked up at his face. His gaze was soft. I imagine it mirrored mine.

“Now what?” This time he was murmuring.

“I don’t know”

Actually, I did know. If I followed him our reunion would be exactly like our last meeting, and if I didn’t, well nothing would happen. Either choice would end in my heart breaking all over again, but one choice would give me a night where the weight of loneliness wasn’t crushing my soul.

Taylor Swift: I Knew You Were Trouble

Working night shift is not for the faint of heart. One day you’re having beer and eggs at 8a while the next you are sleeping at noon. It’s constant confusion for my body and I’m perpetually tired. BUT I never turn down an opportunity to go out Because who is going to be able to  party like a rock star other than your favorite night shifters.

A few weeks ago, my PICU crew and I went to a hockey match kind of as a team building experience and a chance for some of the veterans to get to know some of the rookies [since we’re speaking in sport now’]. As it happens, one of the PICU vets lives in the same neighborhood as one of the players. He got a handful of guys to meet out group at the local sports bar right before the season really took off.

“HI” a tall, broad-shouldered, baby-face said as he came up to me. “Do you work with these guys?”

“I do. Do you play hockey with these guys?” I countered.

We both smiled at our pick-up lines as if we were the most clever humans on the planet.

“What position do you play?” I ask him before asking something more useful, like his name.

“Right wing. And you?”

I could see him blush at that mistake. I pretended not to notice.

“I’m a pediatric respiratory therapist. My name is Liza… ElizaMarie, but that’s a mouthful so most people just call me Liza.”

“Justin. Wellman.”

You didn’t seem very interested and after my crap-tastic year, I didn’t want to have another rejection on my hands, even if its someone I’ve literally known for five minutes.

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“Hey Liza, wait up.” One of my coworkers was calling after me “Do you remember meeting a guy named Justin at the bar when we all went there together?”

“Yeah, why?”

‘”He asked me if I had your contact info and if so, would I give it to him.”

“Hmmm, that’s odd. He couldn’t even string together a five word sentence when we were face to face.”

“He also asked me to apologize for that if you brought it up. So can I give him your info. Justin is a cool guy, one of the quieter ones on the team, but definitely not a playboy or anything.”

‘I mean I guess so, Can’t hurt, can it?” [Spoiler alert: it can]

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Three months later, we were officially dating–as much as a night-shifter and traveling hockey player could in season. We often met late in the evening after practice and games or early mornings walking out of the hospital. [Yes, he came to the hospital to walk me out. It’s always a head turner when a 6-4 220 pound guy is walking through the peds lobby] We were cute and definitely in lust.

“Come to Canada with me. I want you to meet my family” Justin implored me one day as we were grabbing a bite after his team had won yet another game. They were doing really well this year. “The mid season break is in a few weeks and we all get time off. I want to take you home to Canada. Neither of us was able to do anything for Christmas or New Years due to work, but this will give us time to spend together.”

“You do know that I have been to Canada before, right? When I talked about wanting to travel the world, Canada wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” We had recently been making loose plans to ‘go somewhere’ after the season was over. For me, I wanted to go somewhere I’ve never been. Rome. Paris. London. He wanted to go to a beach. somewhere secluded.

“Hey, it’s a start.” you laughed.

In the three months since our first date, we’d become as inseparable as two people can be under our circumstances. It helped that neither of us had family locally and spent all our free time together. It helped that I liked hockey before we met so his world wasn’t a complete shock to me. My world–well that’s something that even other healthcare workers don’t understand, but at least he listened when I talked about my feelings about my job. Also. Canada. In February? Not the best selling point.

“Justin, I have a better idea. Let’s go somewhere nice and sunny on your break.” I offered, hoping for a nice Caribbean weekend instead of frosty Ontario winter. “You even said how you wanted to go to a beach. We could go to the Dominican Republic or Aruba or anywhere really.”

But I could feel it–our first major disagreement bubbling up. You thought saying no to Canada was saying no to you–and to a lesser extent, your family.

Truth be told I was terrified of meeting your family. Meeting Family makes it real and without a family of my own to counter, what did that mean? Meeting family meant questions of marriage and children; neither of which I could confidently answer. And while I am certain about my feelings in the moment, how can I be expected to plan a future in where I can’t do my job in your hometown, and you never know where you’ll be next season..

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Something shifted when I said no to Canada. By the time I realized it, it was too late. I already loved you, and knew that you were going to break my heart just like the others.

Counting Crows: Accidentally in love

PICU is my favorite unit in the hospital followed closely by Pediatric ER.. But nothing about PICU is easy. What I like most about PICU is the variety. I can literally have neonates and practical adults all at the same time. It constantly challenges my brain and I really like that.

Last week, I had a really challenging case and I was talking to Chris about it

My patient was a 16 year old boy who had cystic fibrosis. I had taken care of Corey once before so when he saw me come into his room, he smiled.

“You’re still here”Corey beamed. “Yeah, where else would I go.

Kelly Clarkson: Stronger

As an intern, I have the chance to work in several different areas and do a lot of different things. I’ve done adult ICU and ER as well as Peds ICU and ER. I’ve even dabbled in research. But by far my most intense and transformative experience was deploying with DMAT–which is disaster medical assistance team. Living in the southeast, most of our disasters are either hurricanes and tornados. Some times both at the same time.

A lot of out deployments were support for the National Guard. Fortunately not many were medically difficult. I gave a lot of breathing treatments. Hurricanes and tornadoes stir up a lot of mold and dust which in turn makes breathing more difficult.

More difficult was the emotional toll. There was always someone who literally lost everything that they owned and had no resources to start over. The elderly on a fixed income. The family who were already had difficult circumstances. The children who lost a parent or the parent who lost a child. The most haunting memory was seeing some kid’s stuffed bear lying in a puddle. I wondered if the kid would ever get it back or even if the kid was still alive.

Plopping down in a community for a couple weeks an witnessing their most traumatic days will affect me for the rest of my life.

Onerepublic: Start Again

It’s been a rough start to the year. Jeremy and I broke up in spectacular fashion. James and I started *something*. My dad died. I graduated school. It’s been A. LOT.

So when I saw an ad in the back of a trade journal looking for *’residents’ * at a large teaching hospital a few hours away, I jumped at the chance to apply. Whether it’s due to a miracle or only my low-self esteem talking, I was accepted as 1 of 10 in the inaugural class of respiratory therapy “interns” with a start date of late August.

I took my licensing exams exactly 3 days after graduation and exactly 10 days after graduating, I worked my first overnight shift as a CRT with me being the only RT on site for the Saturday night shift. Lord help us all.

That Saturday night turned out to be amazing. Nothing bad happened,. No emergent ER needs, My favorite hospitalist was there. I hadn’t told him that I was moving so as we walked out together post shift, this was my chance.

“Why is your car packed up like a homeless person lives there?” Chris joked.

“ummmm, well, I’m moving. Last night was my last shift. I’m driving this morning to my new place, and I start a new job tomorrow at 8am”

“Like in less than 24 hours? Are you insane?” Chris asked.

“Quite possibly. I don’t necessarily want to go, but I need to go. This year has been brutal–you know with my break up, then my dad dying and all that drama, then the other break-up. You have been the only one keeping me sane these last few months. Imagine if I took a local job and ended up working with my ex and his new wife every day. I’m not that much of a masochist. “

“I was kinda hoping you’d work here”

“Well, me too, but they didn’t have a full-time position, and now that I’m not in school, I need to work regular hours– and you know, have a life. Go out. Do things. Maybe even date again. The last two were disastrous, but I don’t have to tell you. You had a front row to that nightmare”

“Maybe you are just looking in the wrong places.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t looking for either of them when they came along. James just happened to be there when the shit hit the wall, and besides, I’ve never done anything like that before, and probably never will again. Dating people you work with is a terrible idea even if it seems like a good idea at the time”

“I guess it’s a good thing that we don’t work together anymore, then” Chris says as he reaches over and gives me the tightest hug I’ve ever received. It seems to last for an eternity, and when he lets go, I feel overwhelmed with emotions. I tell myself ‘do not cry. do not cry”

Chris seems reluctant to let go, but does anyway. I think I see tears at the corner of his eyes. “Drive safe. You are going to be an awesome respiratory therapist. I hope our paths cross again.”

I got in my car and pulled away. As I pulled on the interstate, the tears came fast and furious. Thank god for light Sunday AM traffic.

The last thing I saw in my rearview mirror was Chris wiping tears from his eyes.

Semisonic: Closing Time

When the inevitable happened, I was taking an exam. I won’t say that I knew the exact moment, but I had a feeling that it *might* happen. I’d even fought with my aunt the night before.

“You should be here tomorrow. Your father will probably die. You will regret not being here if it happens when you aren’t here”

“I won’t, but thanks for trying to make me feel guilt that I don’t have. He wasn’t there for me in life; why should I be there for him in death”

And with that, I stormed out, not even a glance over the shoulder at the soon to be departed.

I may have been daddy’s little girl when I was 5, but that ship had certainly sailed by 15, and at 25, we were strangers. I’d like to think I’m past the ‘it’s all my parents’ fault, but are we ever really over it?

I sat in the back row of the church during the memorial service. My aunt, my dad’s new wife, my grandmother, and an assorted cast of loose acquaintances fill the pews of the small church that the service was held in. Next to me was my mom, who divorced my dad when I was a 7. Her husband didn’t come. My college roommate, who I hadn’t seen in a couple years, was on the other side of me, and beside her were two of my professors from school.

My cousin, the minister, gave the eulogy. It was all about how my dad was the best uncle to him and his brothers. And how he used to do things with them… how he was like a second father to them. He talked about how his recent marriage was a ‘new chance at life’. He talked about how he was a changed man by letting a dog in his life–and how that dog never left his side. My cousin the minister opined for nearly 20 minutes about the virtues of his uncle. He just forgot to mention that my father had a daughter.

Maybe it’s for the best that he forgot to mention me.

Everyone else did too.

Everclear: Father of Mine