One Year Death Free

...And that year was 2022.

I didn't want to jinx it, so I didn't say anything as 2022 ended, and then it was 2023, and out of my mind. Actually, that's not entirely true, but whatever.

As of now, I am uncle-less. 

As a kid, I had four biological uncles (brothers of my parents) plus three in-law uncles (married to sisters of my parents). Yesterday - Friday, Nov. 3, US time - my mother's younger brother died. I don't know any details at this point, but he'd suffered from Parkinson's Disease and probably other heart/cholesterol issues due to weight. 

Grief is different each time. Of course, an uncle is not as close as a sibling or parent, so I haven't been teary yet. (It almost happened just before writing this.) I just ran away to the beach for a break in the morning.

It's about a 10 minute bike ride, and I usually swim for 7-10 minutes. Today I lay in the sand for a bit after that. It was later than I usually go, so the sun was super-warm and the waves were a soothing background. While I was there, I realized that's become my post-death go-to. After I got back from my nephew's traumatic funeral in 2019, I went to the beach for a bit. After my sister's funeral, took almost a whole morning just sitting and reading. Dad, too. It really helps to clear my head.

ANYWAY! Uncle ... let's call him Devin. I was thinking that we weren't that close, and we weren't. We didn't stay in touch or anything, and that whole family is scarce on social media. But suddenly I realized that, growing up, he was probably the uncle I saw the most. Uncle Devin lived in the neighboring town to my mom's mom. So every Christmas, every summer vacation, we would spend time at Uncle Devin's house. Especially as Grandma got older, he and his wife did more of the hosting. They had a cool, split-level house, and the town's water tower was right outside. It was very tempting to climb, although we couldn't get very high up before the ladder was locked down. 

Uncle Devin has two sons, so the whole family was very into scouting. It was a boy-haven house, even with a zip-line from one upstairs window to the tree-house... DECADES before zip-lining was mainstream. They had an extra garage where he taught his sons how to fix cars. With a sunken pit so they could just walk down some steps under the car to be worked on.

He was fun, and funny. When Brett and I were road-tripping across Iowa, we stayed with them for a night, and boy, they got along well. Brett and Uncle Devin had first met at my cousin's wedding a year before, and after talking together, Uncle D gave me the thumbs up. It felt like getting approval from the cool uncle. Because that's what it was. 

Uncle Devin's approval meant something. I remember, at Grandma's funeral - she died at 101, so had everything planned out - my sisters and I sang Beautiful Savior. Afterwards, Uncle Devin, an impressive tenor himself, told me "You've got some pipes!" It meant the world. I don't sing much outside of church choirs, and only to myself these days. Not that he was stingy with praise, just that he gave it when you weren't expecting it.

This is life. Death happens. He was a good man, who left a good legacy. He will be missed.

And life will go on.

One calendar year without a death.

p.s. Blogger is doing its thing where I can't reply to comments right now, and I can't remember how I fixed it. I'm reading them! I want to comment! I'll get around to it eventually!

Death Watch - #AtoZChallenge

This post may seem morbid to new readers. You might get a handle on where I'm coming from by checking out these posts: peace, numb, jinx.

DEATH WATCH 2022!!

There's been one burning question in my family since the new year.

• September 2019: nephew died, aged 18
• January 2020: sister died, aged 53
• September 2021: dad died, aged 81

So... WHO'S NEXT IN 2022? 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Our Contestants!↓↓

In this corner, coming in at a whopping 81 years of age, a church musician who goes to the gym three times a week and keeps her mind sharp with books and brain puzzles every morning: My mother!

Opposite our lovely church musician, with 53 years of life experience, a music teacher, and yes another church musician - who takes care of herself but refrains from visiting the doctor unless necessary: My sister!

Pairing off in the next ring are my two brothers. One, weighing in at 54 years, has a short fuse and seems likely to carry on the family history of heart trouble. The other, at just 46 years old, suffers from PTSD and memory loss, but with an active job is physically fit. Older brother vs. younger? Who will win?

And if I may throw my 49 years into the running, I lead a low-stress life, but have "high risk" of a heart issue.

{The younger generation are not invited into this game, even though their cousin (and brother) was the first to begin this trail of death. For those who care to bet on the long odds, they include: 26yo, two 24yos, 20yo, 13yo, 11yo, 9yo.}

Who would you bet on? What kind of odds would you give?

Of course, it is entirely possible that there will be no immediate family deaths this year. My sister went just 5 months after our nephew (approximately), while Dad waited 19 months to go. That's almost 4x the space between the first two. By that count, [19x4=76months/12=6.3years] our next death may not be until 2028! ...which would change the odds greatly, Mom at 87? Nope-nope! 

Or should I be even more precise and go by weeks, like a pregnancy? But then, what's the gestation period for death?

Or by Lunar year? My nephew and sister both died in Year of the Pig, no one died in Year of the Rat, and Dad died in Year of the Ox... maybe immediate family deaths will skip this Year of the Tiger and move on to Year of the Rabbit (or Cat, depending which method you follow). It would be nice to have a year off. 

...My husband just proofread this post, and he is highly offended that he didn't make it onto the list! Death is a competitive game and he just didn't make the cut. (No one in his immediate family has even died in the past five years, the slackers.)

Missed the Mark

I'm trying to get stuff done today, but I can't take it anymore and this is my safe space to vent.

We stayed up late last night to watch my Dad's memorial service (live-streamed, of course) and it was terrible. SO awful! Solemn, slow, dirge-y...

Not that funerals are meant to be fun, but I've been to enough of them that I feel like a connoisseur. And this one was way less than he deserved.

In a nutshell, the pastor - of the church they've attended faithfully for at least 15 years - sounded like he didn't know my dad at all. If I was a visitor I would have thought that. Pastor Nameless mentioned two things that showed he knew my dad: 1. The trees he planted when he moved in so long ago seem to need a trim (judgy, much?) and 2. My dad is stubborn. Okay, my whole family is stubborn. Dad's stubbornness is not judgy opinion, but fact. (I had to get it somewhere!)

Other than that, anything mentioned about my dad could have been pulled from the obit or Luther's Small Catechism. Seriously. He believed this, that, all the stuff we profess in our confirmation at 13, and then basic life facts: Lived in these places, surviving family includes these people, blah-blah. No celebration of his life, at all!

And no one got up to speak except the pastor. Which would be fine if he said anything warm or kind or with any sort of feeling!

The focus was on the resurrection, which I get. We are Christian, and the knowledge of being reunited in the hereafter is a cause for celebration, but so is my dad's life! It just seems like the bigger focus should have been on the life that had just ended.

No talk about the numbers of lives he touched ALL around the world; no mention of his passion for education or his dry wit. Possibly because the pastor didn't get Dad's humor. Or maybe because he was intimidated by him? My dad has a lot of letters after his name, and I recall friends telling me, after meeting him, "Well he's not scary at all!" as if I had somehow said he was.

But to the right crowd, Dad could be entertaining. Once he and Mom came out east to see me in a play, and happened to be there on the night the director was hosting a cast party. The next day when I got to the theatre, my director asked if my dad was still in town and looked crestfallen when I said they had left that morning. "That guy is like a party trick!" he said. I'll never forget that. 

But he wasn't all high-brow. I've seen him exchange dad jokes with the best of them. They are so groan-worthy I won't even quote them.

The main photo used - on the funeral home obit, on the table in the front of the church - was one of him wearing a granddad cap and a grin on his face, holding a big stein of beer (maybe in Turkey? Maybe in a local steak house?). That photo alone says more than the pastor did.

I left the virtual memorial service feeling let down. It should have been more. He deserved better.

But if my mom was happy with it, that's all that matters. Funerals are for the living. The dead don't care anymore.

Thanks for listening.

I Jinxed Myself

I missed Flash Fiction Friday last week. Oops!

Actually, there have been a few Fridays that got away from me, leaving me to play catch up and write on Saturday. I allow it (my blog, my rules) because Saturday here is still Friday in the US.

This time, Friday got away from me and it wasn't until going to bed on Saturday night that I realized I hadn't written a story. Well, I don't have a ton of readers who would notice, so... no big deal. 

It crossed my mind that I am good at keeping the fiction going unless there's a death in the family, so I thought, "Haha. People will think someone died." No one had died.

Until Monday.

Yup. My dad died in the wee hours of Monday morning. My family had almost made it through one calendar year without a death! Almost. But I jinxed it by not writing. (I don't really believe in jinxes, but all I can do is make jokes.)

I laughed. I laughed at the irony. I laughed at the fact that I had talked to my mom in the morning, and then she called me that night as I was settling in to watch TV to say everything had changed.

One of the reasons I can laugh, and not be sad and weepy and mourn-y is because we expected this and talked about it even before we moved away from the US in 2016. My dad was in renal failure then and refused dialysis. Doctors said he needed the dialysis to stay alive. He lived 5 more years, so suck it, Medicos! And it wasn't even kidney failure that got him.

Well, I don't think so. When I talked to Mom she'd only been awake an hour and a half and hadn't even had coffee yet. Between that and a bad connection, I'm a little vague. He'd been in a nursing home recovering from a broken shoulder, and something went wrong so they'd sent him to the ER in the night.

Anyway, Dad was living on borrowed time, and he wasn't happy with life anymore. He was ready to meet his maker and reunite with two brothers, a sister, a daughter and a grandson.

So there you have it. Last week's absence explained. I'll be back with more fiction on Friday. For sure!

Happy Birthday, Sis! (To the Dearly Departed)

Dear Sister of Mine,

Happy birthday! What a year it's been! Last year this time I declared that I was taking back my year after losing the first quarter of Year of the Rat to grief. Covid still did its schtick, so I don't know that I'd say I really "owned" my year after that, but I have a healthier outlook.

How's Heaven? You didn't miss much here on Earth. If you were still here, you'd be 55 today! The "double-nickel"! Do people still call it that? Why am I asking you? 

In Vietnam our borders stayed closed to all but repatriating Vietnamese, and the pandemic hasn't been as hard here as elsewhere, so we're lucky. Of course, now that the rich countries are done deciding whether or not to vaccinate (our brother is opting out, can you believe it? Covidiot.) they are sending their excess to poorer countries. Like us, yay! But... harder hit poor countries are in greater need. India, Cambodia, places with a higher resurgence will get the vaccines, and then, hopefully, they may trickle down to us.

Meanwhile, the borders are closed to international travel, and my American friends who are all vaccinated and like, "yea! I can do whatever I want now!" don't seem to grasp that the rest of the world doesn't WANT them coming in just yet. I'm so UNBELIEVABLY happy that you visited me before all this mess!

You really decided to leave Earth at a good time, if I'm honest. With your newly weakened lung, I don't know if you would have survived this, so I'm glad you left in time that I could be there for your send-off. Don't worry, I won't say that to your kids - who seem to be doing fine - but I know perfectly well that I'm cavalier in my opinions on death... Possibly to a socially unacceptable level. I keep a lot inside because I don't want to shock people. You wouldn't be shocked, though.

Oh, sweet sister... I still send you messages occasionally. You still have that one, little, social media account that we used to communicate, that no one else seems capable of getting into. And thank God for that! Since they can't get in, they can't get in to delete your account! 

I'm still writing. I think you'd like the final version of the book you were alpha-reader on. It's not "final" final yet, but nearly there. So sorry you'll miss it when it finally gets published.

Anyway, I miss you all the time. I've started using one of the ribbon bookmarks you made me. I had been using a card from Lucas' funeral, but realized I should be honoring your memory more. Does that make sense? Just because we were closer in life. Not that it matters.

I've done a lot of writing about grief. But I'm done with that. I say that, but my writing definitely has a darker tone than it used to. I guess that's okay. 

Dad is still defying the odds and doing "okay" in Mom's words. Needs a walker, slower memory, but when I called him for Father's Day he was in good spirits. So weird to think I had expected him to be the first major death after we moved overseas. Crazy old thing, life. And death. Crazy old thing, death. Crazy old thing, grief. 

I'm boring my readers by now, so I'll end this. I really can't wait to see you again. I'm so blessed to have called you "sister", Sister.

Death Blog

I give up. 

I'll embrace it.

I'll become a Death Blog. Or "Grief Blog" if you prefer.

Only because the times that I feel like writing, the times that the words start actually flowing, are the times that I am thinking about, dealing with, or remembering death or grief-related things.

Today, I received a message from my sister's closest friend from high school. They had not been in frequent contact of late, but regular contact nonetheless, and she only now heard about my sister's death last January. 

I'm actually touched that she reached out to me. There are two other siblings between myself and my dead sister, siblings whom she knew - probably better than she knew me. So the fact that she contacted me to say, "Wth? I had just talked to her January 1st. She was feeling better!" means something.

I guess ... I win? Maybe my sister talked more about me than the others? Or maybe mentioned that we had become close in recent years? Of course, this random message came during the day in Asia, so maybe she'd sent equivalent messages to my brother and sister and I was the first responder. Who knows?

It was a welcome chat. 

This friend had lost her uncle the day before my sister died, so she took time for her own grief and now has a fresh wound to assess.

But don't we all? I mean, you can't help when you find out about things that happened while you were looking in another direction. These days we are all dealing with our own stuff to the extent of blocking out the rest of the world. Necessarily, I believe.

There are too many deaths, too many issues, too many problems, too many isolated frustrations, for any one person to tackle them all. All we can do is whatever we have the strength and energy for in each given moment. No harm, no foul.

Be you. Take care of you. Take care of others when you can. That's the honesty of 2020.

More Foreboding - surprise!

I'm not saying this for sympathy.
I'm not saying this in ANY WAY relating to my opinion on current events.
I'm saying this because my head and heart are flooded and it's better out than in.

I keep waffling on whether to write or not write. Few people in any of my social platforms seem to be saying things not related to #BlackLivesMatter. Which they do. Black Lives DO Matter, and I've never understood the arguments against that. But this isn't that.

...I have seen one friend who regularly - weekly? maybe? - shares Covid statistics for her county.

So if something isn't Covid or racism related, it's not likely out there.

Oh... one high school friend is in limbo waiting for a liver transplant. There's that.

Everyone has their stuff and I am not in any way ignorant of that, but I have to put my words out into the ether because they are poisoning my life.

Yesterday was the 31st anniversary of the Tian-An-Men massacre. I was in Taiwan when that happened, and helped volunteers airlift Taiwanese news articles about it, to send information across the Taiwan Straits into China where there was a news blackout. The subject brings me to tears. The People's Republic of China still denies that it happened.

Yesterday was the annual peaceful protest / vigil in Hong Kong. PROC has taken over Hong Kong while the rest of the world is focused on Covid. They tried to stop it. It still happened. 

Violence and protest is everywhere.

Also, earlier this week was the birthday of my nephew who took his own life in September. (Did I mention that in an earlier post? Sorry if I'm repeating myself.) My brother's family is reliving his death daily.

Also! I had a message from my mom last night that my OTHER brother - not the father of the deceased nephew - has been called up into a riot area. He's National Guard now. We don't know where.

Oh, yeah, and my dad is 80, my mom turns 80 this year, and Dad's been in renal failure for a few years (he's stable). Recently their gym has reopened so they are going back to fitness classes. I mean, great for them, and I'm proud they are taking care of themselves - I honestly don't know how safe their state is or their town or their facilities. But through all this they are the primary guardians of my military brother's two young daughters. Dear God, Please keep them all safe!

It's a crap shoot guessing which of my family members will die next. I thought, after my sister's funeral just before the new Lunar Year, that I'd have a good year free from more death. I'm beginning to rethink that guess.

We all die. 
It doesn't truly matter. 
I couldn't go to the funeral anyway!
It just weighs on me.

Statistics #AtoZChallenge

When I was in college, I was surprised to find that the course called "Statistics" fell under the banner of the Psychology department. I remember thinking "Aren't Statistics numbers?"

I never took the class, but I learned a lot about Statistics in a graduate course on research methods. Statistics, when considered for research, are a scientific tool. However, the presentation of Statistics often appears to be psychologically driven. Accentuate the part you want to draw attention to. The perception can change depending on how you say it.

Statistics are purest without a spin doctor. Here is a pure Statistic: 
On April 21, the US had 25,985 new cases of Covid-19. (Vietnam had 0.)

<All Statistics herein come from THIS website.>

Some people will look at that Statistic and think how great it is that the number is going down. (The day before was 28,123.) YES! That is good. It's progress. In my opinion, it is small progress, but the Statistic is... progress.

The number of new cases per day seems to be leveling out around 20-30k. But each day's new cases are piled onto the those remaining from before. 

On April 21, the US had 690,503 total active cases, up from 677,856 the day before. The number of active cases is still on the rise. 

I check that website  daily, just a quick peek at the world, and my home in Vietnam. (We are 5 days with no new cases. Bars and restaurants can re-open tomorrow.)

I see Statistics being spun all over the news. I don't listen. I look at them myself. 

To look at a more personal Statistic and my personal views on it...

When my sister died - wow, 3 months ago already! - it was ruled a heart attack. She now joins the Statistic of female deaths from heart attack. Known to be the leading cause of death for women in the US.

Certainly her heart stopped beating. But there was no autopsy. Her cardiologist had given her a clean bill of health just a week prior to her death. Was he wrong? How did she really die? Was it, in fact, a freak heart attack? We will never know, but to the American Heart Association, the Red Cross, and everyone involved in fundraising for heart disease, she is now one of theirs.

It doesn't really matter. She's dead. And that's why there was no autopsy. Does it matter? 

Regardless, I guess my point is: Be careful what you pay attention to. Numbers can be painted in various colors. Don't believe a meme. Look it up. Or, if you can't be bothered to check it, at least don't spread it!
 

Not A Real Post

This isn't a real post. It's nothing.

It occurred to me as I poured my second vodka-tonic of the afternoon, that after my last six months - nephew's suicide, sister unexpectedly dropping dead, and... well, that's enough, I think! - I'm entitled to a little self-medication. Bring on the booze!

Aside from that (I wasn't exactly a teetotaler before), I'm emerging from the fog... exactly one month from the day my sister died. Dropped dead. I like that phrase, because it's true. And it conveys the surprise that accompanied her death.

After a month of numb, I feel like rejoining the blogosphere. 
I might revamp my blog though. Give it a focus. 
Personal bull-crap only takes me so far. 

Especially when the grim reaper takes over.
Two days ago, Brett was teaching and sent me a message from his office to check in with his brother. He'd received a message from someone who was an undertaker in the town they grew up in. My heart was in my throat. Dear God, NO! Brett's brother said nothing was up that he knew of, and that that guy who used to be an undertaker, was now a banker. Turns out, he just wanted to ask about the Coronavirus from someone in the region. (We're fine.)

The grim reaper is hovering over my life now, just laughing. 
I FLIP YOU THE VIRTUAL BIRD, YOU BASTARD!

Seriously though, I've finally reached out to my remaining family members, just checking in. I've decided to start writing letters. Not real letters, because I no longer trust international postal services, but through email. At least to my mom. So I reached out to her.

I reached out to my brother to see how he's doing as the eldest sibling.

I reached out to my living sister, who's not too chatty. I wonder how she's doing, because she's the one who has a son the same age as my nephew who took his own life last fall. Our sister's death weighed on her, as she took on the "big sister" mantle and rushed out to Michigan to help as soon as she heard.

I reached out to my niece, who just lost her mother, and is going bridal shopping this coming weekend. The heart just breaks. (My living sister was already going to help with dress-shopping. She has awesome fashion sense.)

Last week, I actually had quite a healing conversation unexpectedly. Brett and I were out and ran into another friend. I was able to simply talk about what happened and the events of our week in the US, and how it affected me and the others I saw. It was good. I need to write that stuff down.

In fact, I think I'll go find a spot to sit and write about it.
Told you this post was nothing.

Quick as a Wink

I'm not taking the whole month I had allotted for this trip. I'm glad I made that month available, but my brother's family are trying to return to life as of Wednesday, and my presence is no longer needed.

I am keeping an open line to God during this whole trip and it's amazing, when you learn to listen. As it turns out, this Friday I will be in transit again, so there will again not be any Fiction Friday, but I'm hoping next week to resume a schedule.

This trip has been illuminating. My nephew was well-loved, and there were about 800 people at visitation, and a very crowded church for the funeral. A few things were cute and unifying:

The high school soccer team he'd just graduated out of all showed up wearing their jerseys. They all sat together, too. 

His pall bearers all wore aviator sunglasses, as he used to do. 

When I had packed for this trip, I had tossed two pink dress shirts into my suitcase, and thought I'd wear one to the funeral. The morning of the funeral, I was considering a darker colored shirt and - silly and insignificant a detail as a shirt might be - I said a quick prayer. I wore the pink. When I arrived, my brother asked, "Who told you about the pink thing?" What pink thing? Turns out pink was his favorite color. He felt that color described him. He was wearing his favorite pink bow-tie in the casket. The whole family was going to wear at least a touch of pink. And that was the only color of dress shirt I had brought! 

It's a weird detail, but I think they appreciated it.

I'm so glad I made the trip. Looking at him lying there, it was clear he was gone. The color was wrong, his freckles were covered and without his perpetual grin, his cheeks had fallen. It was important to see that, and recognize that his soul is no longer here.

Yesterday, my sister-in-law and niece took me to Walmart. In the hair-care aisle, SIL suddenly was overcome at the normalcy of it. Things are not normal anymore. The new normal will never be right. They are holding it together, but grief strikes in the most random of moments. For me too, and for each of us.

I have a sister with a son the same age. Our brother had to take her by the hand to look in the casket. I think this is harder on her than she's been letting on.

Quick as a wink, people were leaving town, and decisions are being made about flowers, and photos, and memorials. Tomorrow is the last day, graveside, and then I will head up to Chicago with some of our mutual friends. 

Here ends a life. A life well-lived, as short as it was.

An Ounce of Peace is All I Want For You

Today's title is taken from the lyrics of "Hate Me" by Blue October.  This is inspired by the September Song Project (check it out here) that I found out about on JZ's blog (A Reluctant Bitch). However, I will not link up to the party today, because this post is deeply personal.
I have no words.
I am writing this to try to accumulate some words that make sense of a senseless situation.

I snatched maybe an hour of sleep last night, sometime after 4:30 a.m., so this may not even be coherent.

At around 9:40 last night I turned off my phone to go to sleep.  That's about 10:40 Sunday morning in the US EDT, where my parents live.

I couldn't sleep. I tried my essential oils. I tried a sleep meditation. I tossed and turned, never really reaching that required REM.

Finally at 12:24, I saw a blinking light on my phone. It was a message from my eldest sister alluding to bad news from our brother. So I messaged back that I wasn't sleeping, so if she wanted, we could chat. She called.

My nephew, home from college for the long weekend, hung himself in his bedroom. My brother and his wife returned home from running errands on Saturday and found him. I cannot imagine. A parent's worst nightmare. He was 18. He'd only been at college for about two weeks.

He was well-liked, the life of the party, energetic, tortured his sister regularly like a normal brother, soccer-star at his school, good looking, ambitious; nobody saw this. And there was no note. I have a weird inkling to hope that, since there was no note, maybe it was an accident? Maybe during those first two weeks of his freshman year, the guys were talking about auto-erotic asphyxiation and he wanted to try it? I don't know why that would be preferable in my mind, and maybe I should talk to a counselor about that. But then I remember, when I was suicidal, decades ago, I had no intention to leave a note. I didn't go through with it, so it doesn't matter, but as much as TV and the movies want us to believe there's usually a note, that's not necessarily so. Was he depressed? Who knows. 

My brother is still going through locked accounts to see if there's any hint online. My darling husband suggested that, with no note, no clearly defined reason, there may be some ugly discoveries cropping up in the next few days.

I cannot imagine having to go through that. My head is a whirl of questions. It seems like the only question is "why?", but that's a HUGE question! What circumstances led to this? Was it an ongoing situation in his brain? Were we all blind? Had he gotten into trouble at school and couldn't face the music? Is there some dark secret he's hiding?

My writer's mind wants to be able to describe the situation. I want to know details of what my brother and sister-in-law went through, but that is HORRIBLE! I think I thirst for detail in every situation because my family is severely deficient in the communication department regarding even normal things people talk about. It's not my business anyway.

Oh, incidentally, the family line ended with him. In the traditional sense. This nephew was the only male descendant of my father's family in that generation. My dad was one of six, including four boys, three of whom had sons who might have passed on the family name. Of the four boys born to my generation, only my brother had a biological son. (One has a step-son, who will pass on the name, but not the genes.) It's a tiny, insignificant detail, but my brother was one of those people who cares about things like that.

The suicide was on Saturday (from the secondhand information I have received). Sunday morning, my brother called Mom. She was just finishing up Bible study at church and her phone, which almost never rings, rang. By the time she left the room, it stopped, but Dad's phone was ringing. They joined their pastor in a private room and my brother made sure that Dad (with a weak heart) was seated, before explaining what happened.

The time that phone call took place? Sometime between 10:30 and 11:00 a.m. EDT Sunday morning. Exactly when I was finding myself unable to sleep. And for the rest of the night, I talked to my sister, talked to my mom, messaged my brother, talked to my husband, messaged my other sister, my niece and my sister-in-law, then had a chat conversation with the first sister again, since I was still awake after 3:00 a.m.

I finally drifted off, and woke up crying. 

It's so surreal. The nearest grief I've experienced was my grandmother's death. I thought my next grief would surely be my dad. Today, I can do things - like write this - but I can't stop and think. That's when the tears come again. So the trick is to stay active. I did a great workout this morning, walked to the market and back, then out for breakfast, then out to the shops, then put away laundry... 

As I said, I'm only writing this to try to form words. I really hoped it would help. I can't talk to anyone, because it's not public knowledge yet and anyone I would talk to about it knows my brother and might spill it before they are ready to share. This blog is my safe haven that no one IRL knows about. 

Sorry if it's jarring to you. It's jarring to me.

In Memoriam #FictionFriday

For this week's Fiction Friday tale, I deviated from the list of prompts I have leftover from AtoZ. Yesterday I learned that an old friend had died 19 months ago. We'd been out of touch, but I had sent a message a year ago, never knowing he was already dead. This story is my memorial to him. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” I was standing in a very formal, stuffy room in the funeral home, looking around at a bunch of strangers. I hadn’t seen Marcus in about three years, so his death was surreal to me. Aubrey was the first person here that I recognized, and we drew together like magnets. 

“No, I know. He’s so young. Just 43.” We were both within a few years of that. 

“Really smacks you in the face, huh?” 

A man with slicked-back hair who was standing nearby heard my comment and turned. “It really does. So, how did you know Marcus?” I guessed they had worked together. 

“Theatre.” Aubrey and I said in unison. We had both been in plays with Marcus. I first saw him when he and I were in two different plays at the same theatre. He was rehearsing on one stage, and I caught part of his “Hamlet” as I passed through to the green room to prepare for Forum. He was really good. I’d stopped to watch him rehearse for as long as I dared. Super-talented. Thinking of the loss of his talent made me sad. 

“Ah, theatre. I hear that a lot about him,” said Slick-hair guy. “I saw him on stage once or twice. Guess I missed a big part of his life by not knowing more about that.” 

Another woman stepped over. She looked like I should know her. “He was a lot more than just theatre, though.” She shook the guy’s hand. “Good to see you Tom.” They hugged briefly as I tried to place her face. I gave up.

“Hi, you look really familiar to me…” I offered her my hand. 

“Danielle. Yeah, we met once, at one of his –"

“Oscar parties!” I suddenly placed her. Danielle and Marcus had dated for at least two years while I knew him. They seemed the perfect couple. I’d always wondered what happened that broke them up, but it wasn’t the place to ask. 

“Oh, man, Marcus’ Oscar parties. Those were the best,” Aubrey was grinning. 

I thought a moment, then realized, “I don’t think I’ve been to any other kind of party at his place.” 

Danielle smiled weakly. His death must have hit her hard. “Well, Oscar night was his favorite. He did it to the Nines.” 

Smiling, Tom asked, “How do you do that? What was the party like?” Everyone tried to answer first. For a moment we had a pretty animated conversation, for a funeral. 

“Themed foods – one dish for each ‘Best Picture’ nominee.” 

“He always had a costume contest – based on characters from movies of that year.” 

“Everyone got a printed ballot to fill out. I think there were prizes for most correct guesses.” 

“He loved prizes.” 

“Prizes for everyone!” We all fell silent and looked over at the coffin. No more prizes for Marcus. 

There was a detail nagging my brain for some reason. “Didn’t he always wear a tux for his Oscar party? I haven’t been to the last few.” 

“He did.” Danielle paused. “I’m really glad they’re burying him in his tux. It’s how he would want to be remembered.” 

“You know,” Aubrey looked around at the quiet room, muted voices, muted flowers, muted tears. “We should throw an ‘Oscar party’ for Marcus’ life. This –“ She waved her hand around. “This isn’t him.” 

“Good idea, but when? I’m in town for the day, and head home in the morning.” 

“Tonight then.” 

Tom was curious. “How would it be an ‘Oscar party’?” 

Danielle got into the game. She was smart, and I could see her mind working it out. “He was about movies and live theatre. We could easily do foods related to that –"

“Popcorn, soda –" 

“Wine and cocktails say ‘live theatre’. Oh! And pastries!” I could stop by my favorite bakery. 

Danielle thought of all the things we had listed earlier. “Costumes?” She looked around at us. I grimaced. 

“It’s an idea, but I mean, I know I wouldn’t be able to pull anything together from what I brought along for overnight.” 

Tom snapped his fingers. “Instead of actual costumes, I’ve got a ton of masks from an office Mardi Gras party. We could use those. To make it about Marcus, maybe we could all wear a nametag that says what our costume would be if we were some aspect of his life. Like one of you guys could be a play or some stage thing, I might say I’m his laptop, from work. Like that.” 

We all nodded at this compromise, as the party took shape. 

Marcus was laid to rest in St. Peter’s Cemetery that afternoon. 

That night we poured one out on his behalf at an Oscar-style party he would have enjoyed. Word spread fast and his spirit was surrounded by old and new friends from work and the theatre. 

Today is #FictionFriday at Doesn't Speak Klingon. Every Friday I will post a new story. You are invited to join me! I still have some un-used prompts given during the AtoZ Challenge, which I will offer here in case you choose to join in. If you choose to, for next week, I offer the prompt "Maple Syrup". Please come back next Friday and share a link to your story in the comments here. (Even if you don't use the prompt.) 

If you don't want to try writing flash fiction, I still welcome prompts in the comments!

The Alphabet Soup of Life

Caution: This is extremely random and disjointed. Not my proudest writing moment. But I needed it.

I know, I know. I just posted... literally today. But that one links up to the Five Minute Friday Challenge, and this is just me.

I actually have a question for the few of you who may see this.

It dawned on me last night that the A to Z Challenge is coming soon. Last year I participated and SURVIVED to the END! (I guess that's an achievement, since I get to wear the badge on my blog.) Last year I was prepared. Last year I knew my theme and had selected most of the daily topics in advance, even dropped in some writing prompts to make it easy on me.

While doing last year's challenge, I found out I have a heart problem.
Well, not precisely. But I will.
Specifically, I'm "high risk for a cardiovascular event." 

It freaked me out because I am one of the healthiest people I know. So I started researching heart health. I found so much material - good and bad - that with A to Z fresh in my mind, I thought I could do 2017 A to Z on all these crazy findings. Debunk some myths.

Now, that seems kinda tame and lame.
Shortly after 2016 A to Z we decided to move to Beijing. I've learned a lot through that process and our few months here, too. I'm still learning. So now I'm thinking that China might be a more interesting topic. 

But I'm no travel blog. I'm just me, being me in a new location. 
Besides, I did travel-type stuff last year.

Maybe I should just take my ESL 3rd-graders answers in the "I'm Going to Grandma's House" game. That's A to Z, but pretty basic.

So my question to you, you fortunate few, is actually a challenge to help me resolve my internal debate!

During the A to Z challenge, would you rather read about heart health or China or ESL answers? That is, which would be better on this blog (there's already a lot of China here, but I guess repetition is okay)? Or should I be a non-themed theme? I don't know if I could do that... I could create a theme that changes daily: "Mondays are XYZ, Tuesdays are #qT, Wedne..." That could be fun...


SO MANY IDEAS!
I don't know why I'm concerned about this. I guess I'm just used to being prepared.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I actually intended to do a short post about death today, but got distracted. So here it is:

My godfather died recently. 

My godparents divorced decades ago, and my godmother is the blood relative, so I hadn't seen my godfather since Jr. High. Until a couple years ago, on a trip out west, we were visiting the right town and he came to dinner. I'm glad I have that. I'm glad I got to see he hadn't changed much, was still getting around, still had all his faculties, his sense of humor, good relationships with my cousins, etc.

So I have no real sense of grief. He's been gone from my life for years, came back for an hour or so, and that's it. Only now he's gone for good. So I feel I ought to throw some words out to the cosmos, but I don't want to clutter up horrible facebook and glean so many condolences when my cousins really should be the condoled ones. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

No condolences needed, but I am curious if anyone has an opinion about A to Z. Or a completely different suggestion.

In Which I Survive a Brush With Death

CRUNCH!...SSSKKRKRKREEEee...YAHHHHH!
Drat. There's just no successful onomatopoeic word for the noise of a van running into the side of a mountain. (Any suggestions are welcome.) Suffice to say, in the game of "rock, paper, scissors, van" the van loses to rock, I don't care how tough you may think "van" is.

and ROCK destroys VAN.

You know that joke: "When I die, I want to go peacefully in my sleep like Grandpa, and not screaming in terror like everyone in his car." Yep. I lived that. Only "Grandpa" was a young native driver, and he didn't die.

Let me back up.

Shortly after my tenth birthday, my family moved from a small town in Iowa to the small island nation of Sri Lanka. Being cold-blooded Iowans, ill-prepared for life in the tropics, our home would be up in the mountains where it was cooler.
The other missionary who had arrived first with his family were already settled into Colombo, the capital. They were from Texas and could take the heat. Our partners in Sri Lanka,  we'd been corresponding for about 6-8 months before leaving the U.S. (Yes, actual letters. It's how we did things in the dark ages pre-internet!) They had two daughters about the same age as my sister and I, and we'd become friends as pen-pals.

So the day after we landed, my parents and three of my siblings headed off up the mountain to our new home in one van (and a native driver) with a bunch of luggage.
~~~The vans were not American-style vans. I wonder if Americans are aware how big and fluffy our vehicles are? Only two rows of seating (driver bench-seat and one behind) and then open cargo space. (Fortunate, because of the amount of luggage.)

"Diana" and I were permitted an extra day with our new buddies, and headed up the following morning under the careful chaperonage of their father, my dad's partner.
And so the next day we were off. New "Dad", Diana, me, and the local driver. Plus all the remaining luggage.

We interrupt this post for a quick GEOGRAPHY LESSON:

Colombo, Sri Lanka's capitol, is in the lowland, at the coast. Nuwara Eliya, the hill-town we were moving to, was inland, about 6,000 feet up, via winding, pot-holey, narrow roads. It was about a 4-5 hour drive. Sri Lanka is about 10* North of the equator. The lowlands are Hot and Humid.

As we rose in elevation, the temperature mellowed out a bit until we were above clouds, winding around the tea estates in the foggy dusk (sun sets earlier close to the equator) and it was cool enough we pulled on our jackets, closed the windows, and turned on the heat.

Windy road.
...Toasty van.
...Filmy, misty air surrounding us.

Drowsy girls in the backseat.

...CRUNCH! "YAAAAaaa!" We all awoke screaming as the left-side (passenger side) of the van crumpled up against the side of the mountain.

You read that correctly: "All awoke". The driver had dozed off, as the warmth from the van's engine, housed underneath his seat, drifted up to surround him like a blanket.

I don't know if you've seen pictures of the hills of Sri Lanka...


...and this doesn't really do it justice, pretty as it is.


...had the driver drifted the other direction we would have sailed out over the side and had a steep tumble down through the beautiful, lush, green, tea bushes. ...not tall enough to break a fall. Thankfully, our guardian angels did not allow that to happen.

When we finally arrived at our new home, Diana and I had to climb over the front bench seat and we all exited by the driver's door, because the left was crunched beyond the capacity to open the doors on that side. My parents were beside themselves. Remember, this was *ahem* years ago, and there was no such monster as a cell phone, so they were not prepared to see the mess that was the van.

*****
At the mature age of TEN, I thought I was a big kid. I was embarking on an adventurous life, and I thought I knew it all. I didn't understand my parents' stress, because I was fine! I have nephews about that age now, and they are SO YOUNG! On this end of the age spectrum, I can understand a parent's disturbance at their children's jeopardy a little better.

Of course, nowadays when I remember that trip I just think of the fact that, if I had died young in a crash down the side of a mountain, I would have missed out on the best part of my life - meeting and falling in love with Brett, the Transformed Non-Conformist! (Of course he's the one who invited me into Dude Write - who else?) It sounds sappy, and it is. I'm not usually that way, but Brett has brought out a whole different side of me that would have never come to light otherwise.

The end of the story? The driver lost his job, clearly, and I continued to avoid noticing if I was in an obvious "you could die" scenario, although I don't think I ever was quite that close again.

One Hundred! 100! ...or "The other Big C"

(ha. Get it? "C" like as in Roman Numerals? 100? I'm such a dork.)
Some people would have us believe that on your 100th blog post you are supposed to list 100 things about yourself. What is that supposed to do? A. That's a very long list. B. Yes, I suppose I could list 100 things...but it would be incredibly dull. What 100 things?

What 100 things would I want to list for readers who don't know me? I'm not sure if there's a rule that the list of 100 should be things not divulged elsewhere in my blog. However, I know some people just recently started popping in here, and not everyone feels drawn to read every archived post by every blogger they follow. 

To make this Herculean labor easier for myself, and to make better sense for you, I'm breaking the 100 into 10 sets of 10.

Let's give it a whirl...
(upon re-reading, I think the boring stuff is first. Keep reading.)

I'm the little one with the crazy grin.

A. GENERAL, GROWING UP

1. I'm the 4th of 5 kids.
2. I was born in Iowa.
3. I started piano lessons at age 5. (For the story about my 5th birthday, see this post.)
4. I know all the words to a lot of old songs because of giant piano books we'd play from as kids: Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, Blue Moon, Beer Barrel Polka, Heart and Soul, Downtown...the list goes on.
5. I grew up in Asia.
6. I don't know where I'd live if I had my choice, but I'd like to get back to the Indian subcontinent someday.
7. I'm obsessed with Stonehenge.
8. Yes, I've been there.
9. I'm obsessed with the Taj Mahal.
10. No, I've never been there. (Ironic, huh?)

B. THOUGHTS ABOUT SCI-FI

1. I don't really read sci-fi.
2. I do not speak Klingon.

3. I do enjoy Star Trek.
4. In college, we played the Star Trek drinking game while watching The Next Generation. I no longer have the rules.
5. I do not speak Wookiee.
6. I know more about Star Wars than anyone I know (unless you count the videogames).
7. Yoda does NOT always speak with reverse sentence structure: the script-writers of the prequel trilogy were lazy.
8. My secret weight loss goal is to be able to successfully wear the Princess Leia slave-girl costume from Return of the Jedi.
9. I've watched Dr. Who, but not enough to be caught up with current plot-lines and casting.
10. I prefer Red Dwarf, when it comes to Brit-Sci-Fi.

C. A FEW THOUGHTS ABOUT BOOKS

1. I was reading and writing in sentences at age 3.
2. My favorite book is Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker Guide trilogy. (yes, the 5 book trilogy)
3. I own everything he's written.
4. My most consistent author to read on a whim is Agatha Christie.
5. I do not own everything she's written... I only have 40-some of hers.
6. I started reading her mysteries at age 11.
7. My favorite living author is Christopher Moore.
8. His book "Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal" is HILARIOUS ... if you can separate fiction from your faith.
9. Another whacky-fiction author? Jasper Fforde. Grandly twisted. Check him out.
10. In the past, I have organized my books alphabetically, by color, or by Dewey.

D. ABOUT WORK

1. I don't really know what I want to be when I grow up.
2. My ideal job would ultimately be overseas.
3. My former boss used to say I only ate popcorn, peanuts and pizza. He was pretty close. Add peanut butter.
4. My last job was at a marina. I could smell the ocean from my office when the windows were open.
5. I've worked in housekeeping.
6. I was on a paint crew for a summer job once.
7. I worked in a TV studio during college.
8. From there I worked captioning videos.
9. Captioning was probably the most fascinating job I've had... too bad my boss was insane!
10. I am about to go insane if I don't get a job soon!

E. RESPONSIBILITY AND IRRESPONSIBILITY

1. No kids: don't have any, don't want any.

2. Eight nieces and nephews.
3. Once when I was babysitting my niece and nephew for a weekend, there was a thunderstorm. My niece was 5, and terrified. I had no idea how to calm her: fear of thunder & lightning was absolutely foreign to me. She survived.
4. Four godchildren. (In the church sense, not in the sense that I am responsible for them if their parents die.)
5. I taught middle-school Sunday School at my church in Delaware. (grades 5-7)
6. They were unbelievably fun.
7. One of the 10yo's admonished me before I moved here to Indiana "Don't tell your new friends out there that you live with your parents!" She was embarrassed for me. Cute.
8. No pets, mostly because I hate being a burden on someone else if I go out of town and they need to be cared for.
9. I had a Dragon Amigus named Spartacus.
10. Plants die in my care. I am fortunate to still have two that have lived for more than 2 years: a spider plant and a jade.

F. DEATH

1. My grandmother died 2 1/2 years ago, at age 101.

2. Her funeral was all planned out...by her.
3. At her 100th birthday, I asked her what the secret was to long life. She said, "love everybody."
4. DUDE! That's really hard! 
5. I don't want a funeral when I die. I want a "celebration of life".
6. My family knows I prefer to be cremated.
7. I want my sister to read Psalm 19 at my Celebration of Life, if she's still alive.
8. She hasn't said definitively yes.
9. There should be an open bar at the Celebration of Life.
10. You're all invited.

G. ABOUT THE PANTHEON OF MY LIFE

1. I do not use real names of anyone I write about from my personal life: I've swapped their names for a pantheon which can be found in this post.
2. I use (usually) the names of Greek gods and goddesses for pseudonyms in this blog.
3. That is because in our family, we are steeped in that knowledge, due to Dad's college education. Yeah. Weird.
4. ...Seriously. It was dinner table conversation. At age 4, I was hooked!
5. When we lived overseas, my sister Diana and I, and the two daughters of the other missionary, would take Poseidon into the ladies' cloakroom, put his hair in pigtails, and exit into the public calling him Persephone.
6. His hair wasn't really that long.
7. I took "Greek and Roman Mythology" as an elective in college. It was awesome.
8. Because of the whole boarding school situation, I really only got to know my oldest siblings when I was in college.
9. I think I broke my mom's heart when I told her that. (and I don't know why)
10. Not yet in the pantheon officially, my eldest niece will be Calliope for her artistic talent, and my youngest nephew will be Icarus for consistently going too far.

H. COLLEGE DAYS

1. I went to the same college with my older brother.
2. Unfortunately, this meant that I dated very little. His temper was well-known. I was gold.
3. I had tried to start going by my full name instead of the age-old shortened version, but having a sibling there ruined that.
4. I got my first apartment during my Junior year of college.
5. I kept a double minor all through college because I couldn't decied what my "practical" minor should be. I graduated with one minor and a TON of elective credits!
6. Like Old Testament Theology, from when my 2nd minor was theology.
7. Or Adolescent Psychology, from when my 2nd minor was psychology.
8. Or Music Theory, from when my 2nd minor was music.
9. The minor I graduated with was Geography/Earth Science.
10. This should have been my major.

I. A MOVIE WHORE IS BORN
...a.k.a. 10 movies I watch regularly if there's nothing on TV.
(Please note, these are not my Top 10 faves, just easy to have on and ignore because I know them well.)

1. The Star Wars trilogies (obviously)
2. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (obviously)
3. Star Trek - 2010 version (obviously ...and because I don't own any others. If anyone feels like supplying me with Wrath of Kahn, I will be eternally grateful.)
4. Casablanca (obviously)
5. Clue
6. Ghostbusters
7. Young Frankenstein
8. Kelly's Heroes (possibly the stupidest WWII movie, ever. But so funny.)
9. Bridget Jones' Diary
10. Muppets From Space (Best. Soundtrack. EVER.)

 J. The one you've all been waiting for:
The Red & Brett Story in 10 Key Posts.
(you're welcome)
p.s. There are others, but these are key.

Remember these? If not, read 5 & 6, below.

1. Your Bloody Valentines Day We'd been reading each other's blogs and commenting, but this is The Key Post. (If you don't read any others, read this and the comments.)
2. Evidence That I Am Harmless (posted at The Transformed Non-Conformist)
3. Of Axe Murderers and Other Creepy Folks This is my response to no. 2.
4. The Secret's Out and the Plot Thickens Because I'm an anonymous blogger, all of this was only in the blogosphere of my world until now.
5. Chaos Butterfly Powers (posted at The Transformed Non-Conformist)Red & Brett's Secret Squirrel Squad 
7. Red Arrived in the "Brett Zone" and Was Never Heard From Again Documenting our first meeting. There's a corresonding post at The Transformed Non-Conformist.
8. Allow Me to Explain (or What Really Happened at The Avengers) This one is kind of left-field, unless you'd been following some of the Twitter convos out there.
9. The Kids of Indianapolis Have a New Hero
10. Brett's Plans Fall Apart Again (posted at The Transformed Non-Conformist)

That wasn't too painful, was it? 100 things you never cared to know about me, in 10 quick sessions. ...and all the pictures came from elsewhere in this blog.

Whew.
Time for a beer.