Smell of Gasoline: Chapter 2 of a Story About Timing, Trauma, and Tenderness

If you’ve been around here for a while, you know I’m (slowly but surely) in the process of writing a novella.

If you have no clue what I’m talking about, or if you’d like a refresher, here’s the related previous posts :

**Writing My Way Through Memory: The Novella That Found Me** (Intro)

Bad Reputation (2007–2009): The First Chapter of My Novella In Progress

I felt like it was as good a time as any to share chapter 2, so here goes… Happy Holidays!! 💚🎄

Chapter 2 : 2012 : Smell of Gasoline

Days before my 26th birthday, an interesting post popped up on my Facebook feed : “We, as people, need to be who we are, not what we have been made into. We need to open our eyes and realize where we are and where we should be. Destructive behaviors lead to self destruction and not enlightenment. Life is about the choices we make…good, bad or indifferent. We have the power to change anything”

“How strikingly articulate. And contemplative,” I thought to myself. “Looks like he made it home safe!”

I gave it a “thumbs up”.

I’d almost forgot he existed. Occasionally I’d see coverage of the war on TV at the hospital, & quietly send out some loving & protective vibes to the universe for him. But that was about it.

Then I got pissed off over changes in management at the hospital & found myself back at The Apple. My zen.

As I organized the cash in my register one afternoon, I heard a, “Hey! Long time no see!”

I looked up & did a quadruple take. “Holy shit, how are you?!?”

“Umm..I had another kid!” he laughed as he held up the toddler in his arms. “Yeah, that’s a whole story…” he trailed off with a tone of regret.

I chuckled. “I’m sure it is! Well, it’s good to see you!!”

“It’s good to see you too,” he said with a breath of relief. “I’m in a rush. 20 on pump 5. Do you think I could get your number yet?”

A surprised pause and a flattered smirk, before I wrote my number down on a piece of receipt paper.

“Cool! I’ll talk to you soon, ok?!” he said as he put it in his pocket.

“Looking forward to it. Take care sweetie.”

We texted back & forth quite a bit, just getting to know each other.

I told him my favorite band was Green Day, though American Idiot was too “emo” for me (undeniably well written & orchestrated, however).

He said his favorite band was Reverend Horton Heat; he goes to see them every time they come to town. I thought I’d never heard of them until I looked them up on YouTube & came across a performance of “Big Red Rocket of Love” that I saw on Late Night With Conan O’Brien when I was a kid. How funny. I liked them enough then to remember the performance, & I found that I liked them even more now! “Maybe we’ll go to a show together sometime,” I told him. “That’d be fun!”

I told him I used to be fairly well known among the local ska scene when I was a teenager. My first love, my high school sweetheart…he seemed to be the only trombone player in the area who liked ska, so he was in probably five different bands at any given time. And he would always pull me up on stage to help him get the crowd dancing. Everybody knew us because they had no choice.

He said he was a punk kid from Detroit who liked to skateboard and flirt with all the cute girls.

I wasn’t surprised.

His toddler was an “oopsie”, but we’ll call her a surprise. He was lonely one night, went to a bar & hooked up with a chick who probably looked halfway decent in the bar lighting after a couple shots. Nine months later, she started doing everything she could to make his life a living hell. Paternity test be damned, it was his.

He said he liked chicken Caesar salads. And baseball.

I didn’t know what a chicken Caesar salad was. And I hate baseball.

I was standing outside the store one sunny afternoon, taking a cigarette break. Along came Jack, walking toward me from his car which was parked at a gas pump. He kept wiping his face off.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, half laughing.

“Well, I ran out of gas. So I had to siphon it out of my lawn mower so I could come here. And get gas.” He then explained how siphoning worked because I didn’t know you could do such a thing. “I can’t get the taste of gasoline out of my mouth now! Can you taste it? Just…”

I laughed out loud as I took a couple steps back from him. “I’m smoking a cigarette – I probably shouldn’t get too close to any gasoline fumes.”

“Just… Just see if you can smell it. I don’t wanna walk around smelling like gas all day!”

I leaned in, and…we kissed for a split second, I’m not gonna lie. That sneaky bastard. His lips were soft, and more kissable than I ever realized. I guess I felt like we’d both been patient for long enough, and so I didn’t really think too hard before taking him up on his offer. His very strange offer.

For the record, he did not smell or taste like gas. I almost thought he was full of shit about the whole siphoning thing, but I know he wasn’t. Cuz…that’s Jack.

“Nope, you’re good.”

With the slight smile of a kid who just surprised himself by winning a prize at a carnival & was all proud, he said “Oh good… Thanks!” And then he went in to pay for his gas.

Meanwhile, guilt set in. Hard, like a sharp stab in my chest. I was still in a relationship, after all, and I wasn’t trying to mess with anyone’s heart or mind. Why did I just do that?!?

Because I wanted to. Obviously. I’m not one to let an opportunity pass me by.

“I gotta run. I’m sorry. I’ll text you later?” he said as he rushed back to his car.

“Ok…” And I went back to work.

A couple hours later, I got a text message.

“I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have encouraged that. I know you’re in a relationship. And I’m not trying to complicate things between us, or fuck anything up for you. Honestly. Forgive me?”

“Yeah, I forgive you.” But I’ll never forget.

A couple months passed. Autumn was setting in, and the air had a slight chill.

I hadn’t seen him much since the “kiss”, so I sent him a text message – “Miss you, stranger.”

Moments later, I got a reply – “Miss you too 😦 Sorry I’m a shitty friend. I haven’t had the best couple months and really have become quite the hermit. I’m surprised I still have ANYTHING. Are you at work?”

“Unfortunately. Everyone’s an asshole today LOL”

“I’m sorry. Can I stop by & hang out for a bit?”

“Of course, anytime!”

“Ok, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Nighttime blanketed the sky by the time he made his way to the store.

“Mind if I go take a break?” I asked my coworker. He told me to take my time. So I did.

We went out beside the store where we could chat without being interrupted by regular customers excited to see me or old people looking to complain to a shirt that matches the store.

“How’s it going??” I asked. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” he said with a bit of sadness in his voice. “Just ruminating a lot. A lot of shit hit the fan for me. No motivation. Sad? Depressed? I don’t fucking know anymore. Just trying to survive.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. I even think he started shaking a little. Looking down at the ground, he started venting like I’d never experienced in my life (and lots of people like venting to gas station attendants for some reason).

His ex wife was trying to turn their kids on him. Doubling down in court with the new baby’s mama, for custody and for child support; she was obsessed with turning everyone on the planet against him (no surprise she buddied up with the ex wife). There was an incident at work with an inmate falsely accusing him of something, so he was arrested in front of one of his kids and now he had to go to criminal court for that too. His kids were acting out – stealing, lying, all the stuff kids do when they’re overwhelmed. And understandably so.

“Jesus christ…” I gasped. My problems seemed petty as fuck in comparison. I couldn’t imagine all this drama – it seemed like everyone was out to get him. No wonder he felt so drained. “I’m sorry you’ve got all that weight on your soul. I wish there was something I could do… I could go to court with you if you want, for moral support? We could go out to lunch after!”

“No, that’s ok.” A slight smile of relief. “It’s early in the morning. I’m sure you’re fast asleep.”

“I can wake up early if I really want to, you know!” I laughed.

What else could I do besides be there to listen to him when it gets to be too much? Nothing, unfortunately.

With hesitation, he went on.

“I had a cold a few days ago, and I took a little too much cough medicine, and…I wondered how much I would have to take to end all this. You know?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “No amount of cold medicine is likely to end anything. You’ll just trip balls if you’re lucky. Not that I know or anything.” (My trombone wielding ex was a self proclaimed addict, & he was pretty fond of “Robo Trippin’” on cold meds right before we met – I knew quite a bit about the effects of various street & OTC drugs, though mostly not from personal experience.)

“I’m sorry to drop all this on you… really. I have no one else.”

I just wanted to wrap my arms around him & let him hide for a little while. I also didn’t want to fuck with his heart, especially when he seemed to be feeling so vulnerable. “You’ll get through this. It’s the yin & yang of life, right? Ebb & flow? This is a pretty strong ebb, but it’s not quite a tsunami. Close, yeah, but not quite. It’ll settle in time. And I’m here, no matter what, for whatever that’s worth. I wish I could fix things for you though, I really really do.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend. I’m sorry I’m really not myself right now.”

“We all have versions of ourselves. I’m here for it all, ok?” I said.

I could see the line growing in the store, which meant my break time had to come to an end.

“I really don’t wanna go back in there right now, but I kinda have to. I’m sorry. Can I give you a hug?”

“Of course. Anytime.”

We wrapped our arms around each other. Tight. I didn’t think he’d ever let go. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t. Once I settled into it, everything melted away. I couldn’t hear any customers; I didn’t care if the line went out the door & down the block to the next gas station. It was like time stopped for a few moments, fully engulfed in his…everything – body, mind, heart, & soul. I’d loved and been loved a lot in my life, but I’d never experienced anything quite like that. I felt safe, warm, genuinely loved. More than ever before.

I could feel his breathing start to slow, and his heartbeat. I could feel his tension melting away. I think he felt the same as I did.

“I don’t want to let go, but I probably should,” I muttered.

“Just one more second,” he replied. “Y’know, they say that if a hug lasts long enough, the oxytocin will leave you bonded for life.”

“Sounds like witchcraft to me,” I laughed. I would know- I’d studied witchcraft most of my life.

“It’s psychology,” he said.

“Same thing!” I’d studied both pretty extensively.

He squeezed me tight before slowly letting go, and quietly he said, “I love you, Sally. Thanks for being a good friend. Sorry I’m such a shitty one.”

“I love you too. Just, please, try to take care of yourself. You matter too much to let anything dim those sparklers in your eyes.” I gave him a hopeful grin as I stepped back toward the store.

“Go on, before you get fired. I’ll text you later.”

As I cashed out the 436 customers that magically appeared over the past few minutes, my mind was trying to process everything that had just happened – it was a lot to take in. “Holy shit, did he just tell me he’d thought about killing himself? Or was he just saying he wanted to get fucked up enough to escape the shit on his mind?”, hit me pretty hard all of sudden. Either way, I realized I wasn’t just the cute gas station attendant anymore – I was someone he trusted with a depth of emotions that most people aren’t invited to see.

But what could I do, really?!? I can be here; I can always be here as long as he’ll let me. That’s about it.

Then some shit hit the fan for me.

I stopped by to visit my father as I did every Sunday, and he was sitting in the kitchen with a walker.

I said hi, and kept looking down at the walker, thinking he’d indulge me on why he dragged it out.

Stubborn old Marine he was, he did not clue me in until I asked.

“Oh, I think I had a stroke.”

“WHAT?!? Why aren’t you in a hospital?!?”

He chuckled and said, “yeah, I probably should, huh? Let me finish this beer, & then I’ll call for an ambulance.”

“Oh what the fuck…” I called the ambulance. While he finished his beer.

Long story short, he’d had a relatively mild stroke, and tests showed a small, cancerous tumor in his left lung. The stroke left him needing physical therapy for a couple months; the only long lasting effects were numbness in some of his left fingers and enough trouble walking to need a walker. Once that was situated well enough, he was miraculously approved for surgery to remove the tumor, and it went without a hitch!

His stroke ended up being a blessing in disguise for him because it led him to better health & self care than he’d bothered with since before my mom died. Because it led to me taking over his health care, home care, and, well, everything care. Because he just wouldn’t anymore.

It was the beginning of the biggest sacrifice of my life.

Yet I still felt my problems were minor in comparison to Jack’s.

It was a bright sunny day at the store. He stopped in, and I went out for a break with him.

“I love you,” he said sweetly.

“I love you too,” I smiled.

“No, like, I really love you. I think I’m in love with you.” He looked shyly at the ground.

“Oh!” I could feel my cheeks getting red and the vein in my forehead starting to throb. “Uh, I don’t think you’re in love with me…”

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” He seemed a bit perturbed.

“You’ve never lived with me,” I laughed. “There’s a big difference between loving someone and being in love with them. And, in my opinion, you can’t know until you’ve lived with someone. Whether or not you’d end up resenting them and all that crap. Y’know?”

“Hm.” He seemed even more perturbed. “Well, I still think I’m in love with you, but whatever.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be mean or anything,” I said quickly. “I love you a lot, and I know you feel the same. I just don’t think you’d be able to stand me if we were actually together, y’know? I don’t know.”

“Ok.”

And that was that.

“How’s you?” I texted him a few days later.

“Hanging in there. You?”

“Just had one of my molars pulled. I don’t know why my teeth are so fucked up,” I shrugged to myself.

“Maybe you just have soft enamel,” he said. “I do. Unfortunately.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, though I can see how that could be possible,” I replied. “No, they’re not fucked up like that. I don’t know. What have you been up to?”

“Well, I started trying to eat better. Lots of salads. And spinach. And I started running again!”

“Running from what?” I laughed. I sent him that meme that says “if you ever see me running, please kill whatever is chasing me “.

“Ha ha. (Not amused.) I started doing tai chi, too. I know you do yoga- have you ever tried tai chi?”

“No, not yet. I’ll have to look into that!” (It’s too slow for me. I’m too used to the more grandiose movements of hatha. Though it does have its appropriate situations.)

“Oh, I got a girlfriend!”

“Oh cool! Where’d you meet her?!?” I was genuinely excited for him! He needed a positive distraction from the chaos. Besides me.

“We dated a while ago. I saw her at the grocery store with her kiddo and decided to see how she was doing. One thing led to another, and we’re back together! You’ll like her, she’s really cool. Her name’s Desiree.”

“Awesome, I can’t wait to meet her!!”

Another couple weeks passed. I didn’t hear from him much. I assumed he was busy with his new girlfriend, which is totally understandable.

A girl came into the store, smiling at me. She seemed…cute. Friendly. A little odd.

She stopped after looking at me for a moment.

“Are you Sally?!” She seemed a little hesitant.

“Yup! You must be Desiree? Nice to meet you!”

“Yup! Nice to meet you too! Jack’s sick, and I thought I’d just come pick up some comfort stuff for him, y’know?”

“Aww!” I smiled. “I’m glad he has someone so sweet in his life, he really deserves it.” I was trying to be nice, but I just had a weird feeling about her. Not because of her, or him; I just worried it wouldn’t last as long as it should, for whatever reason. I tend to have pretty good intuition.

So, while I was trying to be nice because I genuinely thought she seemed like a sweet girl, I was also trying to give the vibe that I’ll kick her ass if she doesn’t treat him right.

She bought him some snacks and drinks.

“Tell him I hope he feels better!” I mentioned as she left.

Weeks passed. And then a couple months.

I didn’t hear from him, or see him for that matter, hardly at all.

We’d text briefly, occasionally. Tell each other we missed each other. He’d stop in for a couple minutes to get gas. But that’s about it.

After a very abrupt visit to the store, I finally texted him, “I miss you. I don’t feel like we’re friends anymore…cuz I never hear from you anymore.”

“Oh. Ok.”

And then I didn’t hear from him at all…

He’d once posted about “being who we really are, not what we’ve been made into”. But now, with the silence between us, I wasn’t sure we even knew who we were in the first place.

“Life is about the choices we make…good, bad or indifferent.” Seems he chose to leave me behind.

I guess he didn’t love me as much as he said he did.

If this chapter resonated with you — especially if you’ve loved someone at the wrong time — you’re not alone.

Have you ever loved someone you couldn’t keep?

You don’t have to answer out loud — but you’re welcome to.

Rock on! 🤘💚

Always Tell Your Story: Why Sharing Your Truth Can Change Lives

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Why Your Story Matters

Everyone has a story worth telling. Even if you think yours is boring, messy, or not original – it is yours, and that makes it powerful.

The world’s drowning in noise, but human honesty still cuts through like feedback at a punk show – AI can’t create real emotion or lived experience, try as it might.

Nothing Is New — But You Are

Literally everything that can be said & done, has been. Nothing’s truly “original” anymore. And that’s ok!

What is unique is your lens — your collection of scars, triumphs, and weird little details. Nobody has ever experienced all the details put together that make up your story, which is a beautiful thing.

And every time you share one of your many truths, someone else out in the world feels a little less alone.

The Healing Power of Sharing

On my second day working the floor as a patient care assistant in an ER, I came across a patient who had ALS & his wife. He was nearing the end, and my job for the moment was to hold his hand & try to keep him calm while he was intubated. It was heartbreaking, knowing a little bit about what he’d been though, & was about to go through, and the same for his wife, because of my own experiences in a caregiver’s role with the disease.

His wife was devastated; she knew what was coming in the days ahead. So, I sat beside her and talked – I introduced myself, mentioned a little bit about my family history with ALS & the caregiver role I’d found myself in, and offered a friendly soul to help her with whatever she needed while in my department (”a warm blanket? Coffee? A hug? I’m not far; I’ve got you!”)

I was asked to help escort him to the ICU when he was deemed stable enough for transport. At the entrance, I was told I could go back to the ER & his wife was told to stay at the door until he was successfully transferred. Overwhelming grief consumed her, and understandably so. So I held her while she cried, gave her a compassionate little pep talk based on what I’d gone through, and stayed until she was invited in with her husband.

Point is, telling your stories can heal you and someone else. That day I saw that stories aren’t just meant to be told — they’re meant to be handed off like torches, sharing some light in moments of darkness.

Finding Your People

The ones who don’t get it will judge — they always have, always will. But honesty attracts the right people, the ones who’ve been waiting for someone like you to speak up.

“Your people” aren’t found through perfection — they’re found through realness. And the more you share your stories, the more your people will find you.

Boundaries and Bravery

All that said, here’s a quick note on discernment — not everything needs to be public, and oversharing can sometimes hurt more than help. It’s always best practice to keep your private information away from the internet altogether as much as possible, and you should never say anything that would hurt yourself or anyone else in any way. Of course, there are exceptions to these “rules”. Thus, discernment.

But don’t let the simple fear of judgment silence you. Everything you say could go either way — and that’s okay.

Bravery isn’t about ignoring fear; it’s about telling the truth anyway. If someone doesn’t like it & decides to troll? – FUCK ‘EM! They’re not you, and oftentimes those who lash out do so out of fear or the inability to understand. And that’s fine – you do you.

The Punk Rock of Humanity & Humility

In a world that’s increasingly artificial (AI, social media perfection, etc.), your realness is your rebellion.

Every time you tell your story honestly, you’re flipping off the illusion of perfection. (And all perfection is illusion!)

Celebrate your chaos, your cringe, your truth by sharing it with the world — it’s what makes you irreplaceable.

Write it, paint it, sing it, whisper it into the void. Someone out there needs to hear it — maybe even you.

If this spoke to you, share it with someone who’s been holding their story back – The world needs more real voices!

And if you want more unapologetic inspiration like this, hit “like,” subscribe, and keep telling your truth.

Stay real. Stay loud. And rock the fuck on. 💚🤘🏻

Writing My Way Through Memory: The Novella That Found Me

Novella

Some stories don’t ask permission — they just show up, unpack their bags, and move into your head. This one’s been living rent-free in mine for months, and I finally gave in and started writing.

So I started writing a novella a couple months ago. I’ve mentioned it here briefly, but my current lack of motivation to work on blog posts is making me think it might be worth sharing chapters of this very alive story from time to time, and I thought I’d prepare you all for that! 😆

It’s not fully planned out, and it’s still very much in progress. It’s very raw & personal. It’s about the friend I’ve mentioned that I’ve been missing a lot lately. (Well, the first part of it is about him, & things that actually happened.) – I just appreciate giving a little more life to our relationship, and honoring what we had. Cuz it was pretty epic.

So I hope you’ll enjoy the ride as I work on it occasionally. (Don’t worry, my “regular” content will still be the primary focus on my blog. – This is just a “side quest”, if you will.)

The Spark That Wouldn’t STFU

About a year ago now, someone said something that reminded me of an old friend, and all kinds of memories came flooding back about him. Relentlessly, because I was starting to feel some burnout from a situation I’d been dealing with for a couple years prior.

He was always a source of love, comfort, & valuable perspective, even when he was dealing with his own struggles. He was someone I respected, admired, & adored immensely. His resilience & strength fed into my own and helped shape the woman I grew to be, even while he wasn’t around.

We never dated; our love was always platonic (though we probably would’ve jumped on each other if given the opportunity!!) I never felt that I was capable of loving him the way he needed & deserved, and I think he felt the same way. I always felt that friendship was definitely better than nothing, and I still would have his back forever if he’d let me.

He ghosted me after a misunderstanding that he apparently didn’t want to work out. Which was the worst heartbreak of my life, if I’m being completely honest.

With all those memories flooding back, along came the same unresolved grief I’d experienced over ten years ago but with a more mature perspective.

So I decided to try to turn it into something as beautifully chaotic as it is. Maybe it’ll help me find more peace with the situation, maybe not. But it deserves it’s tiny place in literary history, cuz it was a hell of a ride!

A Glimpse at the Story

Fair warning – the characters are ACCIDENTALLY named Jack & Sally. I say accidentally because he’s a fan of Nightmare Before Christmas, and that’s not at all what the names are in reference to lol! When trying to think of names, I decided the girl’s name would be Sally because that was my “pen name” online back then (because of the Foxboro Hot Tubs’ song by that name). Jack struck me as an “edgy guy name”. And then I realized what I had done…and decided not to care!

Ultimately, the story will follow Jack & Sally from when they met, and throughout decades. Obviously, a fair amount of the beginning is based on real memories, while the latter parts will drift into fiction based on experiences with other people in my life, including a little tragedy (which I wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially “Jack”). For the most part though, it’s somewhere between a fun, lighthearted love story, and a reckoning.

Coffee, Chaos, and Chapter Two (And a Half)

So far, writing it has been a treat! I’ve really enjoyed reminiscing about how sweet & fun that relationship was. It’s really been filling my heart with the same love I felt back then.

I’m only about 2½ chapters in at this point. A couple spots were tough to figure out how to put together, but I think I managed. Everything that’s in there is in there for a reason.

I’m learning just how emotionally stoic I tend to be. And how passionate he tended to be. Which could balance us at times, and throw us extremely off balance at other times.

I’ve also realized just how much we genuinely loved each other. Which makes the heartache suck even more now than it did back then.

When do I find time to write? Mostly in the mornings, after I finish my essential focus work, and only if I don’t have a blog post to work on. In other words, rarely. But once I get started, I never wanna stop – I wish I could work on it all day every day! ❤️

The Heart Behind the Words

This story isn’t just a recall of events, but more of an extension of my life philosophy & heart. Lots of emotional territory will get explored, from love to loss, to healing & rebellion & a sense of identity (even when that gets shaken).

I’ll be sharing bits and pieces here as I go — maybe some full chapters, maybe just thoughts from the process. So if you like watching a story come alive in real time, stick around. This one’s going to be interesting.

What would you like to see — more “behind the scenes” posts or the chapters themselves?

And tell me this: what kind of stories haunt your mind until you write them down?

Let’s chat in the comments.

If this post resonated, give it a like, share it with a friend, and subscribe for more messy, heartfelt creative chaos.

Rock on. 🤘

ALS, Grief, and Growing Up Too Fast: What October Means to Me

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Technically, May is ALS Awareness Month — but for me, the awareness never ends. I live with it every October.

Which super sucks because my allergy season starts at the end of August & lasts throughout September. Couple that with always catching the same cold everyone gets at the end of September, and my body & mind is just shot by the time October rolls around.

October is my birth month. But it’s also the anniversary of my mom passing away. So…everything sucks.

Brace yourself for some “heavy shit”. I’d like to share why I am the way I am, what shaped my perspectives as I grew up, and how I’m doing right now.

When My Mom Got Sick

I actually started writing a post explaining my family’s history with ALS, but it’s still sitting unfinished in my drafts because it depresses the fuck out of me. I’ll probably share it sometime though.

My mom got sick when I was 14, right around Thanksgiving. She started having trouble swallowing & speaking because she had “bulbar onset ALS”, which means her tongue was becoming paralyzed.

In the months that followed, I became a major caregiver for her. I found myself helping her on the phone & in person with debt collectors, doctors, everyone. It got to the point where I was the only one who could still understand what she was saying without her having to write anything down.

Then she couldn’t swallow at all anymore. So, she had a GI tube placed in her stomach so she could still get some nutrition. I helped “feed” her, and with cleaning the tube.

Nobody bothered to tell me that ALS progresses aggressively in our family – until recently, no one’s survived longer than 18 months from the onset of symptoms. I thought I had time.

By the time the school year started, she was in pretty rough shape. But I was still more than happy to continue my duties as a caregiver. However, my mom’s sister had other plans. She stepped in to help, ultimately pushing me out of the way so I could “focus on school”. (How the fuck was I supposed to focus on school with my mom wasting away at home? I digress…)

October rolled around, and she was rapidly getting weak in her limbs. Hospice was welcomed in. A hospital bed was placed in the living room for her. One of the aides stole money from my parents. Her diaphragm had become paralyzed & she refused to be intubated (because at that point, the stark reality of the situation is “why bother?”) Everything sucked.

Four days after my 15th birthday, she passed away.

The Night Everything Broke

I was in my room listening to Rancid after dinner. Between songs, I heard a terrible noise from out in the living room. So I stopped & listened at the door. I knew I didn’t want to face the situation; I knew what was happening. So I spent a moment trying to find the courage to face the reality.

I walked out & stopped in the doorway to the living room. My mom’s spit sucker was full of blood, and she was laying there lifeless with my dad, aunt, & uncle crying around her. She’d died of respiratory failure – in other words, she’d just choked to death on her own blood. The terrible noise was my aunt’s despair. The whole thing was horrific. Happy fuckin’ birthday.

My dad walked up & gave me a hug; that’s literally the only time I’d ever seen that man cry. When he let go, I walked over & held my aunt as she repeatedly screamed “I’m sorry, I did everything I could”. I didn’t shed a tear. Because that’s how I am – deal with the situation, & get emotional about it later.

As a side note… There were a couple things I’d found out about much later that I wish I’d known sooner. For example, my mom had sleeping pills that she wanted to use before things got too bad for her to use them, and my aunt told her “she couldn’t do that to (me)”. Had I known, I would’ve not only given them to her to shorten her horrific suffering, I would’ve been able to say good bye.

Well…

What Comes After Death

I sat on the couch in front of her. My dad & uncle went outside to smoke cigarettes & drink for a little bit, while my aunt went in the kitchen to call the coroner & family members. They were understandably traumatized.

I got to thinking about how a body is just a shell. That this corpse in front of me was not my mom; my mom was with me in spirit. I could feel it.

Eventually, our vessels will fail us all. It doesn’t necessarily mean the end of our existence, though none of us truly know what happens in the next phase.

Then I realized I was sitting alone with my mother’s still twitching corpse. I got it in my head that this is how it is – I’m alone in dealing with everything for the rest of my life; I’m expected to be there for everyone else, and I don’t deserve anyone being there for me. After all, I was barely 15, sitting alone with my mother’s still twitching corpse.

And I screamed in devastated rage. I can still feel it, I can still hear myself. No one should have to feel like that.

My aunt came running & wrapped her arms around me. She told me “I know”. No, you have no idea. Everyone had already abandoned me & my grief. You can’t really come back from that.

Fast forward to the funeral a few days later…

Everyone met at my grandma’s house. When it was time to leave for the church, I was forced toward the front of the line out the door.

She had a doorway from the kitchen to the stairs where the basement was, and then another doorway to the sun room, and then a doorway out of the house.

It was pouring all day. Quiet thunder rumbled in the distance.

The very second I stepped foot in the doorway to the sun room, it was like lightning struck in the yard – the loudest boom I’ve ever heard in my life & everything went completely white for a moment. I stopped dead in my tracks & was immediately hit with the idea that “this is the dawning of the rest of my life”. My aunt gently pushed me out the doorway.

And that’s the attitude I felt the need to develop from there on – You don’t get to stop, you don’t get to feel. You just keep going, pushing forward, else you’ll get sucked into a pit of despair.

I know better. I even knew better then. It inevitably always catches up to you eventually. But I had no choice; I was pushed out the door without acknowledgement.

At her funeral, I stood away from everyone. I wore a beautiful black velvet dress and held a red rose that someone had given me. I looked stunning.

But everyone seemed scared of me. Most of them didn’t even know who I was, nor did I know them. Why were they even there?!? They weren’t around my whole life, they weren’t around when she was sick… Why bother being there at her funeral, “honoring” her & “expressing” condolences? I was infuriated. But at least I looked good… Ugh.

How I Buried It All (and Dug It Back Up)

I’d forgotten about all of these things for years after.

About 10 years later, I got it in my head that I’d like to advocate for ALS awareness & research. So I decided to start by participating in the local “Walk to Defeat ALS” fundraiser.

Even my family members didn’t donate. (Well, I think one forked over 20 bucks.)

During that time, I found myself researching my family’s history with the disease online. Much to my surprise (& horror), there’s a lot more articles about us than I ever imagined. (And many many more now.)

That’s when I learned that we have one of the most aggressive SOD1 mutations in recorded medical history. Unlike everyone else who gets ALS, hereditary or sporadic, it wipes us out incredibly quick. And if we want to bother getting tested to find out whether or not we’ve been cursed with the gene, a positive result for the mutation means there’s a 96% chance that that’s our death sentence.

The genetic time bomb ticks louder in my ear every year. Even though I’ve never been tested.

It was at this time that all these memories came flooding back to me. I’d apparently repressed them, and they came back like a raging wildfire, tearing me the fuck apart in the process.

All those memories came back about a year after my father had his first stroke & cancer, and I was his only caregiver (for 12 years after, until he passed away).

And that was also when I lost my friend that I’ve mentioned briefly in previous posts…. Because I was too overwhelmed to know how to express all this to him properly.

Still Healing

Here we are.

I’m mentally & emotionally burned out from staying strong for the sake of taking care of my family during some chaos that lasted much too long.

So give me some grace as I work through all this mess – I’ll keep up with my weekly posts as best I can (& they should be more uplifting than this one!)

And thank you for giving me the space to vent – I hope I didn’t ruin your day LOL ❤️

If you’ve ever carried a loss that never fully leaves, know you’re not alone. Writing about it helps — even if it takes decades to find the words.

Rock on, and take care of your heart. ❤️