Tuesday, February 20, 2001


Though I was still sick this weekend, I seemed to do a lot. Friday night was a bust, zonked out on the couch by 10:30, didn't make it to the Bug Jar for Tony's rave, bummer, heard it was great.

Saturday finally had Thai food at The King and I. Quite yummy. Will be going back. Took my little brother to lunch there, he turned 21 on Saturday. Seems like just yesterday I was keeping him from peeing on himself and plucking freckles off of his face. He was one of the cutest little kids ever - curly red hair, freckles, a sweet innocence about him. Now he has an evil clown tattooed on his back (he's a huge ICP fan), tattoos on his arms, a pierced tongue and pierced nipples - how's that for a change! The weirdest part about it though is that he dresses normal and works as a salesman at a carpet store. I guess he's a closet freak, either that or he's already grown out of it. He didn't go out Friday night because he said he had to work at 10am. I said, "you're only 21 - you should be out until 9am, go home, shower, and stumble into work at 10am!" I'm such a good influence, aren't I?

So Saturday night I popped in a tape my Mom let me borrow - it had four episodes of a new series on Showtime called "Queer as Folk". My sister and my Mom had been raving about how great it was, but I didn't have Showtime and wasn't about to fork over more money to the cable company. My cable bill is already more expensive than a car payment!. It's like Sex in the City only with gay and lesbians. I was up until 3:30am watching one after another - I couldn't get enough. Sunday night I gave in and signed up for Showtime so I could watch Queer as Folk. I actually got a good deal, 8 more channels for $6. I should just quit my job and watch TV all day. Of course then I couldn’t afford my cable bill. Oh well.


This post is really from April, 2001, after finding out that Noel's Dad had died, but I just couldn't bring myself to put all of this out there, so I'm hiding it back here, on Dad's birthday.

I could relate to Noel on one level, losing a Dad so young (my Dad was 46), but on another level, things were very, very different. I lost my Dad very slowly and while I had time to accept the fact he was going to leave us, my last memories are of him suffering, changing, leaving. My Dad died almost 10 years ago, on Mother's Day in 1991... three weeks before my wedding. Sometimes I can barely stand to think about it, it sounds like such a painful set of circumstances, yet somehow I got through my wedding without shedding a tear. I know how I did it... two things... my Dad had lived in Las Vegas up until a month before he died, so I went into a pretty strong subconscious denial that he was actually gone... I kind of believed he was just still in Vegas. I also told myself over and over that Dad wouldn't want me to be sad on my wedding day, he wouldn't want me to cry, he'd want me to be happy. So I made it through. My brother Eddie was a wreck, he had lived with Dad in Vegas for many years. He couldn't do the "still in Vegas" denial. I don't think anyone realized how deeply he was hurting. I regret not realizing Eddie's pain. I regret having my Stepdad walk me down the aisle. I regret not making more mention of my Dad (though I knew I couldn't or I would have lost it). I regret that we didn't get to dance to "Daddy's Little Girl". I have regrets, but I also have alot of joy and happy memories.

Looking back I am amazed at the strength I found in myself when my Dad was sick. We found out in January that he had lung cancer and I kept insisting that he come back to NY for treatment. He procrastinated, mainly because he was sicker than he let on and he didn't have the energy to travel. Finally, in April, he said he would come home, but when he went to the doctor the next day, they admitted him to the hospital. When I found out, I immediately bought a ticket to Vegas, spent four days with him in the hospital, got his doctors to clear him for travel, then bought him a ticket to come home with me, and we came back to NY together. My Grandma took care of him for about a week, then he went into the hospital for 3 weeks before he passed away. I remember going to work, then going to aerobics (to get in shape for my wedding), then going to the hospital... almost evry day. One day, I got off the elevator and heard this terrible moaning. It sounded like Dad, so I rushed to his room. It was him, moaning away, and just as I was about to get very upset at his suffering, he stopped, looked up and said, "why am I moaning so much?". Turned out the morphine was making him moan, not any pain. I laugh about it now.

I remember that the day of his memorial service, the weather was unbelievably beautiful. It seemed like a sign that everything was all right, he was happy and no longer suffering. Ten years later it's still hard to accept, it still hurts, it's easier in some ways yet more difficult in others. My Dad was a unique individual and I hope I never forget the qualities that made him special.

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