Writing To Find Myself

It’s funny that today’s writing prompt is Relate.

You see I started this blog back in May as a way for me to express myself and well because I’ve always loved to write. But some how it’s turned into so much more.

Eight months ago when I joined the blogging community I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Seriously! Some of you have suuuuuuper professional pages. (But that’s okay because at the moment this is one of my hobbies.)

I began writing a blog as a personal project. As I started exploring the blogging community I began to get extremely overwhelmed. “What the hell did I just get myself into?” There are so many blogs and different types of blogs. When I first started I often though “Do I even belong on here?” or “You have like no followers why bother?”

Then I realized the real reason I continued. I don’t have this blog to have thousands of followers or as a way to make money. (I’m still trying to figure out how that actually works . . ) Don’t get it wrong having a few more followers who actively read my stuff would be amazing. But this is my personal project. A safe place where I can write my thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I stopped comparing myself to other people and it’s made all the difference.

This has become a tool for me to cope with my Dad’s passing and well life over all. Four months ago when he died I felt alone, lost, angry, guilty, and a slew of other emotions. Writing it all out and having people respond to me was amazing. Here complete strangers from the depths of the internet were offering condolences, advice, or just saying “Hey, everything you’re feeling is okay!” For some reason hearing it from people I’ve never met made me feel a lot better than hearing it from the people who know me best. I’m still trying to figure that out.

I keep writing and posting because relating with so many of you has helped me these last few months. I’ve been soul-searching and writing for me has made it a little easier. I’ve in a strange place. I finished school and started building my career one brick at a time. I’ve fallen in love with a great guy unexpectedly and I’m slowly finding who I am as an adult. For some reason having the support of people I’ve never met has helped to build my confidence.

I love the blogging community! Thank you all for being supportive of my ideas. I write to relate to other people. I’m telling my story in hopes that my story helps someone else or that they’re able to relate to it. I believe that everyone has a story to tell. So if you feel so inclined to tell me yours I’d love to hear it. I’m a pretty great listener.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/relate/”>Relate</a&gt;



“I’m So Sorry For Your Loss”

This weekend we laid my Father to rest.

It was rushed. I kept asking myself why are we rushing?! It actually made me angry with how fast we were moving. I mean the man died Wednesday, Friday there was two wakes and Saturday we had the funeral. What was the reasoning for a rushed service? We’re not Jewish. . .

We left at 11:00pm Thursday night to begin driving 12 hours to New York. Packed in my Mom’s gold mini van. My Step Dad driving the whole way because he refuses to let anyone else drive and my Mother his copilot. My brothers in the 2nd row with the seats laid back. Practically in my lap. I had the back row to myself. I tried laying down to sleep, but with my brothers all the way back lets just say we’re lucky I’m not claustrophobic. Although, I might have developed it, because at every stop I practically jumped over the seats to esacape even if it was only for 10 minutes.

We arrived on Long Island, New York at about 11:00am. We made it to my Step Grandparents house in time to change and make it look like we didn’t just spend 12 hours in a car. I manged to drink a cup of coffee and choke down half a bagel even though I wasn’t hungry.

At 2:00pm there was wake number one, but before that at 1:30pm it was a private veiwing for just family. We were the first at the funeral home. As my family showed up one by one I gave them each a hug. I haven’t seen a lot of my family in a hot second so it was good to be with them for just for a moment. Then we all went in together.

My brothers and I walked up together to see my Dad. He didn’t look like my Dad. He was so thin and they had completely shaven him. He was bald and no facial hair. Never in my life have I ever seen this man look like this. The sight of him laying there was too much for me. I broke down and continued to cry for awhile.

On a TV monitor beside him was a slide show. Almost all of the pictures were of my Dad with me and my brothers, or of me and my siblings when we were little. Which made me think back on a lot of my childhood. This made me cry more. When I was little I remeber looking up at my Dad and thinking he was so tall and strong. (The man was 6’4..)

As the first Wake closed we took a few hours to break and have dinner with the family. It was good to catch up with them. There’s also something super comforting about my Grandmother’s house. I’ve always loved this house and the older I get the smaller it seems. It just blows my mind that this house was built for my Grandparents forever ago, that 5 kids grew up there, and it’s housed so many memories over the years. Not to mentioned it’s barely changed. It for me is a safe place.

As 7:00pm gathered closer we were at the funeral home once again for the 2nd wake. This one was a little easier. My Uncle had given me a photo albulm and in it was pictures from when we had last gone to Disney World and my Dad surprised us by showing up. He looked so healthy and full of life. I ended up putting these on a board along with other pictures other people had shown me. I found comfort in these. I ended up sswiping as many pictures as I could.

The room was full of people that I have never met in my life. For a full room I’ve never felt so alone. The worst part is complete strangers coming up to me to give me a hug and then saying the words “I’m so sorry for your loss.” How do you respond to that? All I could say is “Thank you” or “Yeah, me too.” It’s just so awkward and uncomfortable. Why is it customary that you have to hug me or touch me in some form. . .Half way through I realized I smelled like a combonation of people’s perfumes which just nauseated me. .

The Deacon ended up leading the entire room in a prayer after saying some words about my Father. Which was awkward for me to hear, because I’m not Catholic and I don’t believe in heaven or hell. (I have my own beliefs that I’ll go into more another time.) After all the praying my Uncle then gave a speech about my Dad. Which broke my heart because that was his best friend. I managed to keep it all together until my Uncle mentioned that my Dad’s greatest accomplishment was me and my brothers, and how much he loved us. That he was the proudest of me, because I followed my dreams and got my BFA this year. I completely lost it. (I’m tearing up now thinking about it.)

It was really awesome to meet and hear from frineds of my Dad’s. I met his life long friends. As in he’d been friends with these people since he was a child. They told me stories and showed be old pictures. I didn’t realize hoe much I didn’t know about my Dad which just makes things hurt a little more. . .

The next day was the funeral. Like I said I’m not relgious so this was already hard for me. I knew that I had been asked to do a reading, but I had no idea that I was the first reading. After the lady was done singing a really beautiful song I was called to the podium and was kind of caught of guard. The entire time I made my way up there all I could think about was my voice training from the previous year. I took a moment and made eye contact with everyone in the church staring at me. Then I took a deep breathe and began to read the words that were in front of me. The entire time I held the podium tight to keep myself from shaking and thought to myself speak slow!! ( I tend to speak really fast when I’m nervous.) It was only fitting that I do the first reading. The first few cues in a show are the hardest and this was the same in my head. Except the nerves I felt were heighten times 10.

I made it through the rest of the service. It was like my brain went blank. As I walked out of the church behing the casket I could hear the bagpipes going I began to cry and I couldn’t stop it. I felt my chest heaving and my Mom try to comfort in which I pushed her off of me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and having someone touch me only makes it worse. The funeral director handed us eacah a rose to place on his casket as a last good bye. I walked up, kissed my rose, placed it on top, and whispered the words “I love you Dad.” with tears still streaming down my face. I stood there on the curb watching them close up the herse. Still not able to breathe and focusing on the bagpipes. As the herse pulled away I felt the wind pick up which was strange to me considering it was a clear sunny day in early September. I smiled because I know it was sign that my Dad was at peace and everything was going to be alright.

I’m not religious and I don’t know if there is a god or a heaven. But I do believe that every living thing has a soul. Where that soul is now who knows. . .

I did sit in my car when I got home yesterday. . .You’d think after a 12 hour car ride the last thing I’d want to do is sit in a car. I sat there, took a deep breath, and smiled because my car still smells like my Dad. There’s something comforting about that. I then placed the card from the funeral in the Saint Michael’s clip that’s on my passenger visor. Now where ever I’ll go my Dad will be with me physically no matter what. It’s only fitting that it’s in my car considering his life was devoted to cars.


Sympathy is a funny thing. It kind of pisses me off to be honest. I know it should be comforting or it’s suppose to be. But for the most part everyone who’s said they’re sorry and such just makes me mad, because they have no idea how I feel. I barely know what I’m feeling. And maybe sympathy just pisses me off because I’m angry about losing my my Dad. But like what does that even mean? Losing someone..Why do we say that when someone dies? He’s not lost. I know exactly where he is and it’s not like if I find him he’s ever coming back.

I apperciate everyone trying to comfort me. I really do. I think my heart is just going to be broken for awhile.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sympathy/”>Sympathy</a&gt;

Life is Finite

Yesterday at 5:00pm my Father passed away.

It’s weird to type those words. As of right now I still think I’m in shock. I knew it was coming. He’s been sick all summer and most of the past two years it was only a matter of time. But to think about the fact that he’s no longer here is a hard thing to process.

I spent most of the day yesterday in bed. I didn’t even change into fresh pjs. My body had uncontrollable shakes and waves of goosebumps. I’ve never experienced physical shock before. My chest was tight most the day and I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.

I had my favorite pair of fuzzy socks on and was wrapped in my blanket. What I call a sad burrito when I’m in this state. It’s usually the only thing I don’t want to be touched and I don’t want to talk. I will eventually, but right now it’s not the time for me.

I’m still struggling with processing everything as are my brothers. We’re sad and we’re all responding in different ways. Which is to be expected. My heart was broken yesterday and I know there’s going to be a long road to make it whole again. Honestly, it’ll never be whole again, because a small part of me died yesterday.

I still have a lot of unresolved feelings when it comes to my Dad that I’m holding on to. I know I need to get them out so that I can move on. But at this moment in time I’m not ready.

Last night in one of my crying fits I was looking through all the cards and post cards I have held on to the last few years. I was hoping to find one with a message from my Dad in his handwritting. I unfortunately have yet to find one. I think I might have threw them all away in an angry rage. I know I haven’t checked every possible place yet so I’m holding on to that. I don’t know why I’m grasping on to this or why this specific thing is what I want right now, but I’m desperately trying to hold onto something.

Life is finite. When you’re young you think that nothing bad can happen to you and that you’re unbreakable. Then something like this happens to remind you that you’re not untouchable.

Do me a favor, hug your Dad today and tell him you love him. Those moments fade fast and time changes in the blink of an eye. It’s proven that to me this year.



<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/finite/”>Finite</a&gt;

The Things We Burry In Our Minds


I haven’t participated in the daily prompt in a long time, but today’s word bury resonated with me. THe first thing that jumps into my mind dwhen I see this word is it makes me think about burying my feelings. . .

The human mind is amazing when you really think about. It has the capacity to do so much. In fact it does things for us with out us ever consciously thinking about it. Such as breathing or making our heart beat. We don’t think oh hey I need to breathe or yo heart, beat I need more oxygenated blood. . . Thank goodness we don’t control these functions because I’d probably be dead. I forget to breathe as it is. . .

I mentioned something like this before. When my emotions get to be too much or I don’t feel like I’m in a space where I can be emotional I bury them deep inside my brain. It may not be the healthiest way to cope with my emotions, but I almost always unbury them when I’m in a space alone or with someone I can trust. It’s just what I’ve always done.

I’m also really good and big fan of burying the past. There’s a lot that has happened to me over the years. People and friends I thought I knew, but ended up becoming or doing something I never thought they would be capable of. I’ve learned that life is a lot better when you acknowledge these feelings then move on. Harboring whatever feelings doesn’t help the situation or make you feel better. I’m not a big fan of forgive and forget. I think you should forgive in order for you to heal, but you should never forget. I believe that by forgetting you’re bound to make the same mistake.

The way I tend to bury the hatchet with people is I write about them in my journal. It’s been my safe place the past 11 years. I actually just finished a journal last night. Which is always a conflicting feeling for me, because I’m excited a notebook is full, but then I have to go and select another new journal. Which is a process. There’s certain criteria for a notebook to be selected as my new journal. . .Now I’ve gone on a tangent. But having a safe place to write everything my brain is thinking without the chance of hurting someones feeling is actually really thearputic for me.

Actually a guy who I casually dated in Novemeber (We’re actually really good friends now.) I had written how he was a good kisser, but a cocky asshole. I thought this was hilarious. Mostly because it’s true and he knows it. So I snapped a picture and sent it to him, because I knew he’d also get a kick out of it! (The journal isn’t just my petty thoughts on people by the way. It’s also where I hash out life things!)

Back to what I was saying. The human mind is capable of so many things. I don’t associate the word bury with just burying my negative emotions. It also makes me think about the way friendship are made for me. I make friends very easily, however, it takes some time for me to really get to know certain people. Different friends are on different levels of friendship. Some I only hang out and do things with (I guess the basic level), others we talk about deep things and sometimes do things (the moderate level), and then my closest friends are the people who know everything and we always have a good time together. These are the people that I can sit in a room and be comfortable with the silence between us. (The advanced level)

Recently I just started hanging out with a friend that I’ve known for about 3 years now. We met working for the same event company when I was the intern. Our friendship has always been that we work well together, laugh and joke around with each other, and when I’d go away to school we’d stay in contact. These simple conversations were the start of our friendship. Little seeds that were buried and used continued to grow. Through these conversations we learned that we actually have a lot in common. It use to be I’d only hang out with him at work or at one of his band’s shows to show super. Now we go see movies and get drinks together. He use to be this dude who kind of annoyed me at work, but now he’s turned into a close friend and kind of like an older brother figure to me. It’s been great seeing this develop over the last few years. There’s been  lots of changes in who I call a friend. So it’s nice to have some consentincy.

I could go on and on, but I think we get the gist.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bury/”>Bury</a&gt;

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