I really would have thought more people would have called me or sent me cards, presents, or good wishes. Didn't happen. Of course, my kids, husband, sister Becky, mom, Chris, and Cid acknowledged Rachel- and me, but nobody else. Really surprised me. Oh yeah, my cousins Sharon and Patty both emailed me and my Uncle Edsel and Aunt Betty sent me a card, but they always do. So hell, yeah, I'm feeling sorry for myself.
I feel like crying all the time. ALL THE TIME, but I don't. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have decided that yelling and bitching at people at this festive holiday season is a much better idea. I've yelled at my mother, my husband, my cousin Chris. And I mean yelled where people were scared of me! I yelled at my husband because he gave my daughter 6 of the big potatoes from Costco, so there wasn't going to be enough for Christmas dinner (uh, there was lbs left over) I yelled at Chris, because I yelled at John and she said "Well, aren't you the happy one!" So I yelled, "Well, maybe you'd be happy too if you got a dead daughter for Christmas", I yelled at my mother because she was defending my brother for being a total and complete pig, slob is too mild. It was kinda cool, actually. Powerful. I am not a yeller. I hate it. But I think I preferred yelling and being a bitch, to throwing myself prostrate at the ground and screaming.
That's what I want to do. Yell. "It's not fair! It's not fair! Why is that fucker George Bush alive and well, and my daughter isn't!" That's the only person I think of who I wish could take Rachel's place. George Bush. I really can't hate him enough.
Ok. I am crying again, but my mother is in the room, and I can't cry too much. I just don't want to. If I ignore her and type, she will leave me alone.
I really did my best to create the "Happy Christmas" this year. Tons of food, karaoke christmas carols, family etc. But everybody kept screwing it up by not being perfect, by not being Rachel.
Let's see what this year has brought me. Minor-I suppose I am still fat. Fatter. My husband is fat. Fatter. I lost my job and so did John. Big deal. We have new jobs. The year started out with a bang with my stepson going to jail-where he is still rotting. He's schizophrenic. Got it. Let him out. Nobody was hurt. That's been LOADS of fun. And Rachel. She's dead, dead, dead. She's not coming back. Ever. There aren't enough butterflies, or Oz photos, or Bible verses of "First Christmas in Heaven poems" that will make it better or bring her back.
Damn it to hell.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Lost Blog
I lost the last blog I did, that's how disjointed I am. I want to tell Jacob everything and I can't remember anything. I was writing about how Rachel died and how I found out and how I felt. I guess none of that really matters. Maybe what Rachel was like is the most important thing.
Rachel started each day before work with a cigarette and a Pepsi. She was late all the time to her job at Penney's but she sold the most shoes of anyone in the store.
Rachel had no hair as a baby, then lots of curly red hair. Starting off at 5lb 9 oz, she was about 25 lbs at nine months old. The only other baby as fat as her was Jacob, her son. She was a skinny person all her life, except when pregnant or when she was a baby.
The day she turned 29, she called me and said "Mom, now we are both 29!" Dammit. Now we are both still 29.
She was such a smart kid, always inquisitive about everything. We used to say of her "she quietly goes about causing destruction". Quiet. Not for long, she spoke early and often. People called her "jabberjaws". She was the fastest talker ever. No one could talk as fast as Rachel.
Rachel was a great mimic. She could imitate anybody. She is famous for mimicking the little black girl next door when she was three, saying to me "Mama, yo booty too big" and for imitating her hearing impaired stepmother. Funny, but never mean.
She had a great laugh. She would throw her head back and laugh. She had a great snicker, she would snicker through the side of her mouth when smoking.
She was pretty. She was breathtakingly gorgeous at times, lit up from the inside. Sometimes, she dressed like such a bum her siblings called her "homeless", but there were times when she was the most beautiful woman in the room. Any room.
She took lousy photos. Go figure. Her photographs do not do her justice.
I miss her, I love her. She is gone.
Rachel started each day before work with a cigarette and a Pepsi. She was late all the time to her job at Penney's but she sold the most shoes of anyone in the store.
Rachel had no hair as a baby, then lots of curly red hair. Starting off at 5lb 9 oz, she was about 25 lbs at nine months old. The only other baby as fat as her was Jacob, her son. She was a skinny person all her life, except when pregnant or when she was a baby.
The day she turned 29, she called me and said "Mom, now we are both 29!" Dammit. Now we are both still 29.
She was such a smart kid, always inquisitive about everything. We used to say of her "she quietly goes about causing destruction". Quiet. Not for long, she spoke early and often. People called her "jabberjaws". She was the fastest talker ever. No one could talk as fast as Rachel.
Rachel was a great mimic. She could imitate anybody. She is famous for mimicking the little black girl next door when she was three, saying to me "Mama, yo booty too big" and for imitating her hearing impaired stepmother. Funny, but never mean.
She had a great laugh. She would throw her head back and laugh. She had a great snicker, she would snicker through the side of her mouth when smoking.
She was pretty. She was breathtakingly gorgeous at times, lit up from the inside. Sometimes, she dressed like such a bum her siblings called her "homeless", but there were times when she was the most beautiful woman in the room. Any room.
She took lousy photos. Go figure. Her photographs do not do her justice.
I miss her, I love her. She is gone.
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