No words.

Today was one of those days where you just don’t know what else would make it harder. The car getting broken into. The glass shop late to fix it, and then they lose your records. Driving 2 hours with no window in 92 degree heat to a funeral that you had to practically get on your knees and beg just to get off work to go to. Then, having to sit at the front desk of your office and deal with all the material bullshit when you just watched some of your best friends deal with so much pain.

Enough.

Today, as I sat through a funeral for a woman that knew she was going to die, I couldn’t help but think about this life. This amazing person had planned out her entire memorial service. From the psalms to be read to the songs to be sung. I’m sure one thing she was unsure of was what her sons would say in her rememberance. They certainly did her justice. We learned about her first (and last) time smoking, how her favorite Beatle was George, about her old hippie ways, about her love for flowers and gardening and her love for her family. Their voices barely broke, as I choked down tears. Thinking, “if they can hold back their pain, then why can’t I?” It’s so hard to see people that you’ve taken for granted, as they mourn something they can never get back.

It made me think of the people I’ve lost in my life. I couldn’t get my grandmother out of my head. How I remembered the day when the woman who raised me died. How I saw my uncle outside my window. My dad came in the bedroom and said, “Your grandmother died. Go give your mother a hug.” And then he closed the door. How I was more scared then sad. I was scared of how things would be, how I would be, without her. How I knew my mom would never be the same. How I was scared my mom would lose it and become something horrible.

I also remember it was the first time I really wanted to do something bad to myself. I wanted to escape being sad and make all the pain go away. I was only 12, but the feeling still makes me shake. I tried to hurt myself a half dozen times in the next few years. I would think about my funeral and how people would come and think, “Who knew? She seemed like such a happy person.” I wondered if anyone would come at all. If they did come, would they learn about all of the bad things I’d done in my lifetime. I never, in a zillion years, thought I’d live past 21. I remember telling my mom this once, and she told me I was a drama queen and a baby. I remember sitting on my bathroom floor with a razor in hand and her screaming at me through the locked door.

Today, when I think about how I was and what I felt, I know that I was sick. I’m very ashamed. I feel like a selfish brat. I know now what it would’ve cost the people I love if I would’ve done what I kept trying to do. I’m not sure when the turning point was, but I some point I realized I’m worth a lot, and I can give much to the world.

Today, at this funeral, I realized how I want my life to be. I want it to be a celebration. I want people to celebrate with me! I want there to be laughter, smiles, tears, sadness, happiness and always fun. I want, when I die, for people to celebrate me as a person who made the world a little bit better.

Hopefully, I won’t screw it up.