Dear Dad...

Dear Dad,

How is it possible that you've been gone for 10 years?! I'm writing this a day early since I'll be traveling on your actual anniversary. I had hoped to spend the morning at your grave but I can't put off the trip.

Where to start? I can't seem to find the words to say to you. There so much I wish I could say, but it all fails to come close to what I wish I could express. I guess I'll try.

First, I want to say "thank you." Thank you for everything you did for me.

Thank you for taking care of me for the first 23 years of my life. I know I ended up helping take care of you in the end but you did so much for me. Taking care of you during the last years (and especially months) of your life was an honor.

Thank you for all those sacrifices you made for me. As a young, selfish girl I didn't understand but as a grown woman I appreciate them immensely.

Thank you for teaching me to work hard for what I want and to not stay down when I've been knocked down. You taught me never to give up, no matter how bad things seem. You also taught me to look outside the box for creative solutions when I can and that's saved me several times.

Thank you for showing me what it was to be loved and respected. You were the first person to show me what it meant to be loved unconditionally. You taught me to respect not only myself but others as well.

Thank you for your last words to me: that you trusted my judgment. I can still remember when you told Pedro that you trusted my judgment. I hope I've made you proud thus far.

Thank you for teaching me my own worth; to not settle for anything less than I deserved. Not in a manner that would make my haughty, but in a way that gave me confidence and self-respect.

Thank you for the memories you left behind, which are priceless. I can't remember what your voice sounded like. I barely remember the arguments we had. I do, however, remember all the good times. I will have random memories that will pop up when I least expect them and they make me smile.

I'm sorry you missed seeing me graduate from college... and having gone after two additional degrees after that. I know just how important my education was to you. If people only knew how much you sacrificed to make sure I had the education you wish you'd had yourself.

I'm sorry you missed witnessing me getting my driver's license and learning how to fix basic car things. It sounds like a silly little thing to others but they don't know how much you loved cars, especially fixing them. Oh, and thank you for teaching me how to parallel park like a boss.

I'm sorry you missed seeing me become a published author and start a career as a writer. I bet you wouldn't have been surprised because I was always writing; notebook and pen almost always in my hand from the moment I could write.

I'm sorry you missed seeing me grow into my woman I've become in the last 10 years. I like to think you'd be proud of the decisions I've made in my life so far. I bet you would've been surprised I became an Oblate novice. Or maybe not. Me making that solo trip would have surprised you, though.

I'm sorry you'll miss seeing me get married one day. I still have that chapel veil you got me a few months before you passed. I'm saving it for that special day. I hope my future husband will be the man you would've approved of; the man you would've gladly given your blessing to. (side note: don't worry, I'm sure Pedro will interrogate him in the future, lol.)

I'm sorry you'll miss meeting any children God may bless me with. I know how much you loved children -- and how fitting it was that you were buried only a few feet from the area set aside for burials of babies. They'll only hear about the wonderful memories I have of their maternal grandfather.

I'm sorry you'll miss all other milestones I've yet to envision; things God will surprise me with. I know you would've been with me through them all if you could've been.

Mom said you were worried about leaving me; about not being around when I needed you. I still have moments when I do miss you terribly; when I feel like I do need you. I break down in tears because you were the only one who made certain situations better. But then I remember what you taught me. You taught me to have courage; to be strong. You did that! You gave me the confidence in myself and the fiery stubbornness that makes me muster up all the courage I have to face obstacles as fearlessly as I can.

I hope I continue to grow into the person you would've proudly introduced as your little girl (no matter how old I am). Everyone says that I've grown up to be just like grandma -- your own mom! Okay, so I'm like 8 inches taller than she was and I didn't inherit her blue-grey eyes but still! I bet you would've loved to have seen me become more like her because you loved her so much.

I hope I become the kind of mother that reflects the kind of love she experienced from her father; the kind that, when she's gone, her children will have nothing but beautiful memories of.

I hope and pray that you're in Heaven, forever in the presence of our Heavenly Father, because I cannot imagine a better eternity for anyone especially a wonderful, loving father like you.

What else is there to say?

Thank you.

I miss you.

I love you.

I hope we're one day reunited in Heaven.

Sincerely,
Meli

Mass Adventures and Mournful Tears

Well, it finally happened. I made it Mass! Can you hear the angelic choir singing? I can. Oh wait, that was the choir at the High Mass I attended Sunday night. lol. I must admit that I so desperately wanted my first Mass back (from illness) to be a Latin Mass, specifically on All Saints' Day since it's one of my favorite feast days. For reasons I've already sort-of explained, it didn't happen on All Saints' Day but I did go Sunday. That itself was an adventure.

My poor mama got food poisoning earlier in the day and I wanted to cancel our scheduled trips to and from the local Latin Mass but she wouldn't let me. Even an hour before we had to leave, she was still feeling poorly. I was prepared to attend Mass closer to home (anything to get her to Mass; she won't go if I don't take her with me) but she said that she knew how much I wanted to attend a Latin Mass so she sacrificed her comfort for me.

We arrived at the church a few minutes before the Mass began and I got to meet a Twitter friend in person, which was lovely. I made it through the Mass despite the use of incense. Sure, I got a bit lightheaded towards the end but nothing I can't handle in small doses. The only thing I wasn't happy with was that I still can't kneel for long periods of time because I'm still in recovery mode. Still, that is something that I'll be working on and God knows what I can and can't do with where I am, physically.

We left the parish almost immediately after the Mass was over since the taxi had arrived early and they won't wait more than 5 minutes after your assigned time. On the way back home, we had a close encounter with a driver who decided they wanted to merge into our lane... while we were occupying it. I'm so grateful to our guardian angels and our fast thinking/acting taxi driver. Before we got home, a high-speed chase flew by us with about a good half dozen (if not more) police cars following the car. That was a first for this L.A. native; I'd only seen them on TV before Sunday. Needless to say, my poor mother arrived home shaking and very anxious. I think she was still nervous yesterday morning when I drove her to work. I'm pretty sure she won't go to the Sunday night Latin Mass with me until we have Daylight Saving Time again. lol. See? I told you it was an adventure.

I was still on a Mass high (first time receiving the Eucharist in almost two months!) on Monday when I received the terrible news that one of the kindest people I've ever met had passed away. As I mentioned a few weeks ago,, I was able to secure free exam proctoring at my CINO college alma mater. Being a distance education student at a university out of state, we have to get our exams proctored. Most proctors charge $20+ (average is about $40) per exam (or per hour) so I reached out to Ms. Michele Lewis (that was her name) to ask if either my alma mater had proctoring for former students or if she knew of someone who didn't charge an arm and a leg. She was "taking the semester off" for the Fall semester but she arranged it so that I could take my exams on campus free of charge (instead of charging $30 per exam), not only for the Fall semester but the entire school year, until my tentative graduation date in early May.

I went through my usual routine yesterday morning. I made breakfast, praying the Little Office before leaving, battled morning rush hour traffic, and went through my flashcards before taking my exam. Since I was to take my exam in Ms. Lewis' office, I decided to ask how she was doing. Immediately, I knew I was in for some surprising news but I wasn't expecting the worst. I was told "take your exam first and then we'll talk." After taking the exam, I was getting ready to leave when my current proctor asked me to follow her back into Ms. Lewis' office. She told me to sit down and then she dropped the bomb on me -- Ms. Lewis had passed away. I was shocked. I was expecting to hear that she'd left the school for another job but wasn't expecting this news. I tried to keep myself from tearing up but I couldn't hold it in. I left the office in a sort of daze and walked up the steep hill to the center of the campus where I found a bunch and try to catch my breath.

I had a few minutes to reflect on the news I'd been given before I had to come back home. I sat on the familiar bench I've used since my time as an undergrad and I teared up. I looked at the chapel on campus and at the beautiful statue of Mama Mary in front of the chapel, in the middle of the campus center. I remembered the Ms. Lewis' kindness. As an undergrad, she'd helped secure me extra time (which I never needed) and a quiet room to do my exams in when my anxiety was so bad that I couldn't concentrate in classrooms. When I had issues with the music professor who made me cry in her classroom (some of you may remember how poorly I was treated at my alma mater), she helped me sort things out. Before I graduated, she sat down with me and gave me post-graduation advice about what careers options that I still remember and keep in mind 4.5 years later. At graduation, she arranged it so that I could sit close to my family and to an exit in case I wanted to leave early (again, when my anxiety was so bad that feeling trapped in crowded places set off panic attacks). Her last act of kindness was getting me these exams proctored for free.

I'm still tear up when I think that she's gone but I'm grateful for everything she did. She was beloved by student, staff, and alumni for a good reason. I remember her being a kind, generous, and gentle soul who went above and beyond to help students succeed. Not just with me; fellow alumni friends have remarked about what a lovely woman she was. I remember what Fr. M said about the souls in purgatory at Sunday's Mass, about how important it is to pray for them. I will be sure to have a Mass said for her as well as pray for her whenever she comes to mind. Rest in peace, Ms. Michele Lewis. Thank you for being a rose in a bramble of thorns.

I didn't mean for this post to end on such a downer so I'll say this: while it's sad that she has passed, at least she's not suffering. It's the same consolation I have about my father's death -- it hurts that they're no longer here but they left behind beautiful memories that I'll always cherish; that have made me a better person. :)

Anyway, I need to go pick up my mom from work and then we're going to go vote so that's it for now. :)

I hope y'all are having a lovely week thus far... or, as sane as possible. ;)

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

Cars and Death

Hey everyone! Sorry for the absence in blogging. I took a couple of days off for myself and then life got super hectic and I just didn't have time to write until today. However, I'm back. I'm going to break what I want to share into two separate posts because I have a lot that's been going on and it would be overkill for one single post. First the good and the bad which are both sort of connected.

First, to quote Missy Elliott: ♪ beep beep, who's got the keys to the Jeep? Vrooooom... ♪ I got my car back on Friday evening. Hooray! I want to thank everyone who donated to the GoFundMe fundraiser Alli set up for me in October. It (and donations we got offline) helped pay for almost all of the expenses to get my car running again. It's not 100%, obviously. We had some major communication issues with the mechanic and the car looks good for how bad it was after the accident. There are a few things that can be overlooked. First. he didn't paint it as we assumed he would so some of the paint is peeling in the back. Also, the car is making a noise, the alarm and the electrical stuff isn't working properly (which my next-door neighbor offered to try to fix for me; the alarm at least) nor is the driver's side signal light working (which I'm going to fix by myself). It's a new type of headache but a lot of it is stuff won't make a huge impact on the driving so we're okay.

I think having a car with peeling paint and not working 100% is good for me because I'm a bit of a perfectionist and I need to let go of not having things be "perfect" as well as learning to not stress over things that aren't really important. The sound the car is making is apparently nothing to be worried about, it's just annoying as heck. I'm going to see if someone can help with that because the sound bugs me. I don't like calling attention to myself and that noise is certainly loud enough that people notice. I already reached out to the mechanic about getting it properly fixed but that's apparently not going to happen. He's ignoring my calls again and so we're going to look elsewhere.

The important thing is that I have my car back, it works, and I only had about 15 seconds of anxiety when I first started driving. I think a lot of people will be surprised to hear that I'm driving as if I didn't have an accident. Yes, I was a little jumpy yesterday because I'm not used to the craziness of L.A. drivers after nearly 5 months of not driving but I'll get used to that so it's all good. :D

On Friday, before we got our car back, we (Mom and I) went to the optometrist to get new glasses for both of us. What we weren't prepared for was the news that awaited us. We were expecting to see our optometrist / family friend but we found out she was killed in a car accident by someone who ran the red light in July of last year. It sounded a lot like my accident except I was lucky to escape with a couple of bumps and bruises.

Dr. Julie Kang-Kim (that was her name) was one of those salt of the earth kind of people. She was so lovely and supportive after my dad died. She was there for both Mom and I. One of her employees even went to the burial the day of his funeral; it's like a family. They've watched me literally grow up over the years since I've been going there since I was like 7 years old. It was a beautiful friendship with her, not just business. We went to lunch with her and we caught up on our lives when we saw each other. She was such a lovely, gentle, and caring person so hearing about her death was a huge blow for us. Mom cried but I held it in because of my eye exam. I know I sent out an Instagram post about it but if you could please say a prayer for her soul and her loved ones, I'd be so grateful.

I think the news of her accident before I received my car back as well as what I went through has made Mom (and big bro) a little nervous about me driving. It's understandable. Last year was a bit crazy in terms of accidents and bad things happening but I think we have to look at those things as lessons. As I told my mom, I think it was good for me because the accident made me slow down and learn to take better care of myself. It also made us more grateful for what we have. We also grew closer to God, which is always a blessing.

It seems oddly appropriate that we're going through this now, during Lent, because it reminds us about how death is a part of life. It's not a topic that one loves to think about (and, to be honest, death does scare me) but it's a chance to remind ourselves about how death is not the end. If one wants to spend eternity in Heaven, one must strive to live a holy life. It's not easy and we all slip from time to time but Lent reminds us of God's infinite mercy. Yesterday's Gospel reminded us of that: we may fail and come back repentant but God will always welcome back with open arms. Going to confession and receiving the Eucharist frequently can help us get a little closer to our goal of getting into Heaven. We never know when our time on this earth is up for it's important to keep working towards a holy life.

Anyway, sorry to end this on such a downer (with hope!) but we've been getting thunderstorms today and they're supposed to start again in a couple of minutes (according to the Weather Channel app) so I'm going to end this blog here. Also, the other topic I want to write about is longer than this update and I don't want to write a book just yet. ;)

I hope y'all have been doing well and are having a great start of week!

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

What Three Deaths Have Taught Me

Earlier this week I found out someone from my past had died at the young age of 31. While I was never romantically involved with him (though I did have a crush on him for a while in my early-mid teens) nor were we ever really friend, I still have great memories of the couple of times I interacted with him. I don't like talking about that part of my life because of all the drama associated with it (read: ex-boyfriend from heck was involved; they knew each other) so I'll leave it at that: a genuinely nice guy from my past whom I have fond memories of. Though the last time I spoke to him was when I was maybe 17 years old, his death hit me harder than I would've ever imagined... and it gave me a jolt back to life, in a way.

Prior to my father's death in 2009, the only death that affected me in a profound way was my paternal grandmother's death in March 2005. My grandmother's death was the first I dealt with loss of a close person. I didn't know how to mourn. I was 19, about to turn 20. I hadn't seen her since my early teens but I still loved her nonetheless. When I found out that she had been asking for me on her deathbed (for both my father and I... and only my father and I), it hit me harder. She wanted me by her side in her final moments and I couldn't be there because she was in Mexico and I was in the middle of Spring semester at Santa Monica College here in Southern California. Dad left as soon as he found out she had little time left and he didn't even get to say "goodbye" in time because she passed away quite quickly. From her death, I was taught the importance of friends  and family during hard times.

The next death that hit me hard was my father's. Those of you who have read this blog long enough may remember the blog posts I've written about it, including one I wrote two weeks after he passed. Some of you might've even read the article that I wrote for Envoy Magazine which I wrote a few months after I had gotten over some of the numbness that followed his death. No death has hit me as hard since his. I'll be honest, having to deal with my father dying has also meant that I've had to learn to deal with anger. A few weeks before he passed and to this day, I have moments in which I can't control my temper. I will physically walk away and let myself cool down because I know how sharp my tongue can be when I'm angry. Those moments may not last long (I can calm down nearly as quickly as I get fired up) nor as they frequent as they used to be, but it's something I'm still working on. I honestly didn't know I was capable of getting that angry until I had to deal with his death. As the time passes (the 7th anniversary of his death is coming up in July), I find it easier to deal with my temper when it flares up. I think I'm averaging about 3-5 minutes in which it's best to leave me alone until I cool off. Again, doesn't happen very often but it's something that I made a goal to work on this year. I even bought the book Overcoming Sinful Anger by Fr. T Morrow to help me out. From my father's death, I learned so many things including the power of forgiveness and of moderating my temper (he had a strong choleric temper and I seem to have inherited a bit of it when I see someone I love being hurt).

The death of this young man from my past reminded me of how fragile life is and how important it is to take care of yourself. I won't go into details about who he was or even his death for obvious reasons (read: privacy issues and not wanting to think about painful memories) but let's just say that his death was sad and possibly preventable. It was a sad ending for someone I thought highly of. It wasn't only me; I don't seem to recall hearing a bad thing about him from any mutual friends. I lost touch with all those people from my past shortly before my reversion (I learned to remove toxic friendships early on) so I don't know much about what was going on with him other than what has been made known to everyone. He had been ill for a while -- something another friend has been dealing with for years as well -- but wasn't doing what was necessary to keep himself healthy. If I needed anything to help me kick into high gear on my own self-care, it was this. I've already been making good progress but I can definitely do more. After hearing about his death, I definitely felt the push to do those things instead of putting it off due to lack of energy and whatever else SAD has been weighing me down with lately. Again, I'm really surprised at how much his death has affected me, especially since I hadn't seen him since I was like 16 and I hadn't talked to him since I was 17, but I think it was hearing about it and remembering how much healthier I was during that time of my life (despite the ex-boyfriend drama), that kicked me back into this "alright, let's do this!" mentality. Also, friendly reminder to myself to not forget to have a Mass said for him since, if memory serves me right, he was also Catholic.

I've experienced the loss of aunts, uncles, and even the death of my niece's daughter (my second eldest brother's first grandchild) but these have been the three deaths that have taught me more. All three have happened at significant times in my life which I think may be why they've all affected me profoundly.

Anyway, I have a couple of things to do today (and my laptop battery is almost at 42% with no plans to charge it until after 8 p.m. in 7.5 hours) so I should go do them. If you could please say a prayer for the soul of this young man (his name was Michael) and his family, please do so.

I hope y'all are having a good week thus far.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!

Death Anniversaries and the Crucifix

As I type this I am sad, weepy mess. Tomorrow will be 4 years since my father passed away and it still sucks. While I am not a soul-sucking killjoy (or at least I hope I'm not), I am in a funk and the only way to get some of it out is to write so... here I am.

My spiritual director picked up (after one meeting) that I was not done mourning my father's death. He's right; I'm not. It's been a slow process. I don't know where he is (still in purgatory or already in Heaven) but I hope he will either soon be in Paradise or already is. That provides some comfort. I am so incredibly grateful that he came back right before he died and embraced the Church and God fully. I still tear up when I think of how he returned (received the Sacrament of Reconciliation and the Eucharist for the first time in over 40 years) the day before my 24th birthday... and how he had told my mom that it was because he knew how much it would mean to me. My father forgot my birthday every year (without fail) but he gave me the greatest gift for the last one he would be alive for. That is a wonderful memory that I like to think of instead of remembering about how he died.

I saw my father died. I saw him take his last breath. I heard the monitors that were hooked on him flat line. I felt how cold he was hours after he had died (I was the last person to leave him before he was taken to the morgue). All of that triggers my PTSD and makes me feel physical ill; I even feeling a bit faint as I type it out. Yeah, not fun. Don't worry, I am having sugary cereal and making myself a cup of tea so I'll be fine. Anyway, thinking about him and his death reminded me of something: I've always been scared of death but have never had the guts to admit it.

I don't know why but I've always been afraid of it. My earliest memory is of me when I was around 4-5 years-old, sick in bed, asking my parents if I was going to die. I was terrified that being sick meant I was going to die. How I got the idea in that little mind of mine, I don't know. I also remember being utterly terrified of a statue of Jesus, lying in a glass coffin, at the beautiful church where part of my family still attends Mass in Mexico. I visited that small town from ages 7-12 (so, not in over 16 years) and that statue still leaves an impression on me when I think about it.

I wonder, why are we all so afraid of death? Is it because we've all done really dumb (read: still, very human) mistakes that we don't want to be held accountable for? Is it because we don't know where we will end up? Is it because we fear that it's too late to seek total forgiveness and amend our lives? Because it totally isn't and we can.

I think that, for me personally, it's a combination of all of those. I've done a lot of really cringe-worthy things. In fact, I still do. I'm getting better at staying out of the confessional for longer periods of time but I still have to go. I'm not perfect. Do I occasionally think that I will die with some mortal sin without having a chance to confess it? Yes. That worries me. Why do you think I try to lead a holy life (though I often fail) and why I insist on going to confession regularly? I'm not taking any chances.

I think about how Jesus died on the cross for our sins. God loves us to much that His only son (who did not sin) died in the most cruel manner for us. He loves us to much that we have this beautiful sacrament that absolves us from our human mistakes (if one is truly sorry for having committed them) so that we may join him in Heaven one day. There's still hope for us all. It's that hope that keeps me going... and keeps me from going into full depression mode when I think about my father. Every time I look at a crucifix, I am reminded of both the sacrifice and the hope. That is also the reason why I am saving up to get myself a crucifix to wear around my chain (along with my St. Jude pendant; St. Jude's intercession got me to revert to the Faith). I know many non-Catholic Christians will be unhappy with my choice (crucifix instead of a cross) but it's something I am going to do for myself, not for them.

Yes, today and tomorrow are going to suck (pardon the language). I am (and will undoubtedly be) a weepy mess for at least the next two days but whenever I look at the crucifix, which is hung right in front of my bed, I will think about what it means to me. I will give thanks to God for allowing me to have my earthly father for 24 years, for sending His son for our sins, and for His unending love for us.

Believe it or not, I am no longer crying and I am feeling more at peace. Huh. Writing really does help. :)

Anyway, I need to go eat before my next tutoring session begins. Sorry if this post was kind of a downer but I needed to get it out of my chest. :)

As always, thanks for reading and God bless.