Pop Evil: 100 in a 55

Amy Fusselman wrote that after her dad died, she just wanted to say it.  She wanted to hear it.  She wanted to see it in writing.  I was intrigued.  I thought, why?  But she’s right.  I want to say it.  Over and over and over again. I want to say, my mom is dead.

What would you like on your sandwich? Turkey, cheese and my mom is dead.  I want to see that expression on their face.  My mom is dead.

Officer: Do  you know why I pulled you over?
Me: Yes, sir, I didn’t realize I was going so fast.
Officer: Have you been drinking?
Me: No, sir. (but I am speeding so that I can try to make it to Rite Aid before nine so that I can get drunk.  No point in trying now.)
Officer: Drugs?
Me: No thanks.
Officer: No thanks?  (Who the hell says no thanks?)
Me: Sorry, Officer, my mother just died… because of drugs.  That’s why I’m home.  I don’t touch the stuff.
Officer: I’m sorry to hear about your loss.  Drugs are bad around here.  Are you from around here?
Me: Yeah, I know.  You’ll recognize my last name.  You probably know most of them.
Officer: Who?
Me: Joey Short… Lorrie McCourt… Randy Short—but I’m nothing like them.  I swear.  (I want to tell you everything.  I want to say everything, but I’m shaking and I can’t find the stupid insurance card.  This isn’t even my car. shit.)
Officer:  Yeah, I know them.  Just keep looking for that insurance card, I’ll be right back.

Blue lights flash.  I’m pretty sure he’s not going to give me a ticket.  At least my mother’s death was good for something.  At least it got me out of a speeding ticket.  I do slow down.  The car just runs so smooth.  But it’s not my car.  My car has a ‘heads up’.  It tells me how fast I’m driving on my windshield.  Not that it would have made a difference.  I need Malibu rum, to mix with my Tropicana orange juice and my Donald Duck pineapple juice. Mmm.

The next day I drive my car.  I drive my car because it’s familiar.  I know I’m not supposed to; it’s not safe—but I’m not supposed to speed in my uncle’s car.  And if I have a cocktail, I want to drive my car.  I don’t plan on drinking and driving—at least not drinking more than one and driving, but I don’t feel comfortable drinking even one and driving their car.  I don’t think they would care—but, besides my car needs gas.

I feel like my car is where I can think.  I can think about my mom dying.  I can think about my reaction when my aunt called after class.  I can remember asking, “Is she going to die?”   I can remember the eerie silence, then the melancholy answer, “Liz, they just don’t know.”
When my aunt called she prefaced the fact that my mom might die with the question,  Liz, I don’t have to tell you, but do you want to be updated about your mom?

I wasted time—I packed some clothes for a few days.  I found my fish a babysitter.  MY FISH A BABYSITTER.  I went back and forth over what the implications of me going would be.  If I go, and she lives, then is she going to think that we’re okay?  If I don’t go, and she dies, what kind of daughter does that make me?  Would I be sad that I didn’t get to see her.  My cousin Becky asks, if you go, will it be because you care, or because of guilt?

My response: What, involving my parents in the last 11 years, have I done that hasn’t involved guilt?   So, I go.

When I get there, she’s laying in the bed; the doctor says she’s heavily sedated.  My aunt puts on gloves, as she holds her hands that have the pink nail polish on them.  She rubs her feet, and wonders why they don’t have socks on her.  She tells me that her feel are so cold.  She says things like, Lorrie, Liz is here.  Liz came to see you.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  Be strong.  Lorrie, you have to be strong.  Liz, you can talk to her.  She can hear you. We love you, Lorrie.  

When the doctor comes in, she asks questions.  My aunt doesn’t live near her.  She gets cards in the mail from my mom every now and then.  My mom calls her every now and then.  I don’t talk to my mom.  I told her she couldn't come to my graduation. I haven't accepted her calls, or responded to her letters for a month.  I suspect she’s addicted to Valium.  I know she has heart problems.  I know she smokes cigarettes.  My aunt tells the doctor that she heard that Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, has been trying to wing herself off drugs.  I think to myself that it sounds to me like my aunt is living in the same fantasy world as my mom.  My mom has been doing heavy drugs since I was eight years old.  What, in the last two weeks, would have made her change?  I say, she’s a dope head.  I say, she’s a druggie.  I say that I doubt she’s changed.  I say that the last hospital she was at is an incompetent group of idiots, and that they’d better check for everything.   I say nothing to my mom.  I don’t touch her.  I leave and let another aunt come in, because there can only be two visitors at a time.

My mom codes.  My mom is temporarily dead.  They bring her back.  They, the doctors, the doctors that are trying to save Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, say they are going paralyze her.  They, the doctors, are going to let the machines run her for a few days, so she, my mom, my mom that is dead, can build her strength back up.  My dad comes, and my aunts say I can take him back.  He hugs me.  My Aunt Francine, the aunt that raised me, took care of me, bought me the things that I needed, went to court for me, loved me, loves me, and still maintained respect from my mother, told me to be careful.  You just don’t know, Liz.

She had IV medicine for the drug addiction; IV for the MRSA; IV for the Sepsis; IV for the pneumonia.  She had a tube down her throat to breath, a tube in her chest to reinflate her lung; a tube down her throat into her stomach to suction out the green and black vile that was in her stomach; a catheter for her urine.  She was helpless.  Her hair was in a high ponytail.  Her head looked bruised from when she passed out in the bathroom and busted her face.  Her face was peaceful, but her chest looked like she was still working so hard for every breath. My dad tells me that she doesn’t care if she lives or not.  She doesn’t care.  Her son is in jail; her daughter hates her.  She doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care. She’s shooting up again.

I leave.  If she’s going to be paralyzed for a couple days, what’s the point in staying?  My Aunt Francine and I go to Wal-Mart.  We get snacks for the hospital; Ritz crackers, cheese, and off-brand pop tarts because I like the crust.  We buy toothbrushes, Crest ProHealth, Dove powder and Secret deodorant.  We buy scrubs for my aunts to sleep in, and we look in the beer section for Bud Ice.  We decide we’re going to need to stop at Sheetz.

I stop by my best friend’s boyfriend’s to pick my best friend’s key to her apartment.  She’s letting us stay there.  I tell her what’s happened.  She tells me she’s there for me.  I leave her boyfriend’s house to go back to the hospital, and on the way, we get a call.

My mom is dead.

I’m in my car.  I feel the seat under me; my legs are attached to my ass that is attached to my seat.  My legs extend down and the ball of my foot connects to the floor of my car.  It never moves; it pivots.  It allows me to hit the gas, or move to the brake.  My arms are attached to my shoulders that is attached to my torso that is attached to my ass that is attached to my seat that extends to my legs to my feet to the accelerator and the brake.  My hands don’t shake when they’re on the steering wheel that is protected by a black fuzzy steering wheel cover.  My mind is thinking that my mom is dead; the roads are bad.  Not bad like icy.  No, it is a beautiful Spring night.  It’s the day after St. Patrick’s day.  Every year, from here on, I will have a hangover, and I can somberly remember, this is the day that my mom died.  But these roads are terrible.  It’s bad in that Morgantown doesn’t take care of their roads, and there are potholes the size of couches; couches that are burned in Morgantown; couches that my mom caught on fire with sparklers and cigarettes.

I go home to Webster the next day; a place I decided to avoid this semester because I wanted to enjoy my last semester.  A place I didn’t even stop at on my way South for spring break.  I knew the curves of the road.  I knew the speed in which I could safely slide through.  Though the 16 miles of Birch River, I cried, regained control of my emotions, sped, drove slow, listened to music, lost control again. I felt guilty, angry, sad, upset.  I kept saying, my mom is dead.

I wanted to send a mass text message.  I wanted to get on facebook and write, Ding Dong, my mom is dead.  The mom that put me in pageants.  The mom that fought to get the last Dear Diary for me at Wal Mart.  The mom that, even when I loathed her, loved me.  The mom I made cry.  The mom that made me cry.  The mom who always threw me a birthday party, and made sure my friends and family were there.  The mom who chose drugs over me.  The mom who took me to my first Billy Ray Cyrus concert.  My mom who made me pancakes that were crunchy and my brother French toast on Saturday mornings.  My mom who took us camping, swimming, four-wheeler riding.  My mom that got high, and told me that my brother was an accident.  My mom who warned us about telling the teachers that they smoked, sold and grew pot.  The mom who took me to the doctor.  The mom who embarrassed me at my high school football game.  The mom who took us to the fair.  The mom who believed in Jesus, as the savior.  The mom that wrote in 2006 that she wasn’t afraid to die.  The one that thought she had a full life at the age of 45.  That mom was dead.  My mom is dead.

My brain in my head that thinks all of this, all the time, is connected to my neck, that is connected to my shoulders that is also connected my arms that are connected to my hands that are connected to the steering wheel that allows me to pick my destination, when accompanied by the accelerator that my right foot controls that is connected to my leg that extends to my ass that rests on the seat where my upper body including my torso, shoulders, arms and head.  I am one with the road, as I battle with this.  I thought I wanted her to be dead; I don’t think I was prepared for her to die.

My mom is dead.


*I wrote this shortly after my mom died. April 2009

Turn back on the broken heartache
Some things are just meant to be
I still believe that we got a chance
Still believe that we got a chance to be
Too much is never enough and
Too little is never enough
Full speed got me looking out my rear view
I can’t go back

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

It's messed up but I got this mission
Drunk again wont remember anyway
She said it’s just a game boy
Don’t be gone don’t be gone for long
Ten years I’ve been doing this forever
Its all I know baby please don’t turn away
I know you don’t believe in me
But I do believe in you

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

I’m still falling
Away from here
Away from here
I’m still falling
The wings are falling off
I can’t go back
I’m in too deep

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be
 
I still believe
Some things are just meant to be

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/p/pop_evil/#share

One year today...

One year ago today, I woke up at 5 am, turned on my phone, checked my voicemail, and discovered I was officially an orphan. As I think about it today, I realize that it wasn't just the loss of my dad that devastated me, but the feeling that I suddenly lost both of my parents all over again. While the last several years of their life, I wasn't super close, and in fact, hadn't lived with them since I was 11, I still miss them--- and it's still really hard.

So, on the anniversary of their deaths (March 18 & October 5), I try to think about some of the more positive experiences that I had with my parents.

- When I was a small child, people would ask where I got my dark eyes, and I said that my dad bought them for me.

- My mom bought me and two friends matching outfits, and let us use her stereo and back porch to create a dance to "My Boyfriends Back." She encouraged us to practice our dance; we won 1st place in our age group in grade school; we won 3rd place in the older age group-- and then we practiced all summer and got 2nd place in the "big" talent show at the Cherry River Festival. We were in 2nd grade. And we were awesome.

- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."

- My dad would let me read to him all the time. I loved opening mail, and reading to him. He would tell me how proud he was of me, and encouraged me to do well in school.

- My dad bought my brother a gun once, and then got another just like it that he planned to trade. When I saw it, I was ecstatic, because he bought it for me (even though I NEVER played with guns). I was like 5 years old. He didn't have the heart to trade it, and instead kept it until I was older and asked me if it was okay for him to give away.

- When my dad's parental rights were terminated, my mom let him come visit my brother and I; I was really upset about this-- and she ended up losing her rights over it, but looking back, while I still don't agree with what she did, I understand that she really loved my dad and brother-- and really wanted to go back to the happy family that once was.

- I ask myself a lot of questions about things I could have done differently-- but none of it really matters now. I've learned just to always try to be as nice as you can to people; even those that drive you crazy... and cherish those who care for you, even if you think you don't care about them. Guilt is a terrible weight to carry-- and can be suffocating...

So, for today's song:

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 

speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, ...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

~~The Beatles

Why 2009 blows.

So, generally, I try to keep my online self a pretty upbeat person. I don't think the web is necessarily where I would like to air all my grievances. But sometimes, like now, when things build up-- and all the people that you usually turn to are probably sick and tired of hearing from you, I believe there is no other choice than to go where everyone can see (but no one probably cares to see) everything.

Tonight-- December 5, 2009, my car's (well, technically my uncle's car, since my piece of shit GM caught on fire in like Feb or March) brake lines busted while in the neighborhood of East Liberty of Pittsburgh. If you aren't familiar, google it-- I dare you. So, not only did my brakes go out-- but they are so bad that I'm going to have to be towed--LESS THAN A MILE to a garage to get them fixed. Awesome.

Now, granted, if this was the worst thing to happen to me all year, I would be like, "You know, this sucks... but shit happens..." BUT it's not. In fact, as my friend, Julie put it, "At least it's not the worst thing that's happened to you."

No, it's not. The year started awesomely enough. On January 1 last year- the year I was actually 22, and was old enough to be CRAZY for New Years, I was sick. I sat on a couch and watched the ball drop-- or maybe even went to bed early-- who knows...

And then, in February, I was worried about the economy-- so I took the GRE and the GMAT- and then only applied to like one or two grad schools-- that I didn't even go or really even finish applying... Also in February, I got into a huge argument with my Mom and told her I didn't want her to come to my graduation. I then gave her the silent treatment-- not calling or answering the phone. Ignoring the letters she wrote. You know-- generally being a bitch.

So, no surprize that in March she died w/ complication from pneumonia. FML.

My dad didn't take it very well. Instead of being there for him, I locked myself in a house and just felt sorry for myself for a while... Which was awesome, b/c in October, only six months after moving to Pittsburgh, and seeing him once between the two dates,, he died in a house fire....

With two huge tragic events, you would think that all of these little things wouldn't matter--- but they do... and it sucks. My Pontiac caught on fire in March.... My college roommate and I stopped speaking in April... I graduated and left the only town that's ever felt like home in May... I was rear ended in my uncle's car later in October... My fish died the first week in December... My family hates that I'm in Pittsburgh-- and aren't afraid to let me know it...

And the thing is, I know I'm really lucky. I have wonderful friends who are amazing. I have a wonderful job with wonderful people that I really enjoy. I have a family, that, while doesn't always agree with my decisions, are always willing to help in their special ways...

But I can't help but feel overwhelmed... 2009 has been a horrible year... and I can't wait until it's finally over....


On a side note-- does anyone know of any good garages/towing services in Pittsburgh?