Monthly Archives: April 2009

may 1 will be a brand new day

Posted by lorie on 04/30/2009 6 comments

Let me tell you something about April. April is an absolutely pathetic crackwhore of a month smeared in dog poo and covered in parasites. If April were a person, I would kick April in the face repeatedly until every single one of its nasty, rotten teeth fell out, and then I’d pull April’s arms off and beat April to death with them. I hate April. April has most certainly been the worst month in what, prior to April, had been looking like a pretty terrific year, and at the rate we’re going, April 2009 may very well be a frontrunner in the contest for Worst Month of Lorie’s Life, Ever, No Matter What. April sucks and I hate it and I won’t miss its ugly-ass face one teeny tiny little bit. In case I haven’t been clear here, I fucking detest April.

With that said, there’s one major reason I’m alive and sane enough to witness April’s inevitable demise, and that reason is a 6’3″ software engineering, video game playing, insane philosophizing, adorable, wonderful, superboyfriendy package of awesomeness named Seth.

Even the most good-natured, generous, patient, supportive person on earth would probably struggle to be a consistently excellent friend to someone who’s had a month like I have had. I would not wish this month or the fallout of this month on anyone. But it has to be especially trying when you’re asked to drop everything and be there nearly constantly for your girlfriend of only a few months, who is mourning a man she loved before you and recovering from surgery on her dominant hand all at once. That’s a test no relationship should ever have to face, much less one in its relative infancy. All of a sudden, I found myself both physically and emotionally incapable of the independence I cherish, and to my great and pleasant surprise, Seth planted his feet and has been absolutely, unwaveringly here for me.

It wasn’t a surprise because of anything his behavior up till now had led me to believe. It was a surprise because I truly had no idea what to expect, and because I’m used to trying to drag myself through everything on my own. My family and friends have been great, too, but it’s been Seth who has literally been right by my side all month. He has helped me get dressed and make food and clean myself when I couldn’t do it on my own, and he’s helped me work through the first loss I’ve experienced of someone very close to me. He’s been incredibly patient and kind and has been able to anticipate everything I need and give it to me without giving me any indication that it’s a strain on him.

If you know me well, or have been reading for a while, you know I try to find lessons in all the crummy things that happen. This has been pretty damn crummy indeed, and I’m still figuring it out. But one tiny bright spot in this hellish month has been the increased closeness I’m feeling with Seth. I’m not sure we would have gotten so much closer this month if all had been smooth sailing. My hand is much better now, but my heart and soul are still in need of a lot of healing. Luckily for me, I know he’s not going anywhere.

i will do these things to remember you

Posted by lorie on 04/25/2009 2 comments
  1. I will give every year to the educational fund for your niece.
  2. I will go out to a nice dinner on what would have been your 40th birthday. You can pay me back later.
  3. I will write my book, and get it published.
  4. I will begin giving blood again.
  5. I will do my very best to look at the world with the wonder you always loved in me.

a phone call

Posted by lorie on 04/22/2009 3 comments

Frank dropped me a note just a couple of weeks ago, right before my surgery. He wished me luck, told me not to be nervous, and to call if I needed to. I did need to call him, and I meant to, and I didn’t.

I would sign away a year of my life right now for that phone call, and when I got it, I would make it last as long as I could. We would talk for hours upon hours. We would talk until our voices literally gave out, until even our hoarse whispers faded away, and then we’d just listen to each other breathe until our phones lost their battery power.

Over the last few days, my friends and family have been wonderful. They’ve been checking in and offering support of all kinds, particularly to listen if I need to talk. And I do need to talk. But I can’t, not the way I really need to. I can tell them that the service was incredible, that it lasted for nearly seven hours, that it was very helpful for me to be there to see how many people were touched by his life and to hear their stories and share some of my own. I can tell them that I’m doing a little better, that I think I’ll probably eat and sleep a little tonight.

But the one I really want to talk to about it all will never pick up a phone again. I have had countless conversations with him in my head this week. I want to talk to him about how I’m feeling and get his reassurances that it’ll get better. I want to gossip about his wake. I want to ask him a thousand questions. I want to tell him that the days are getting better, but nights are the worst, when it’s quiet and I’m alone and no one else is around. I want to talk about things I can’t even bring myself to write about now, and my writing is usually so much better and more fluid than my talking.

Even criminals get a phone call. I want mine.

Frank was always better at titles.

Posted by lorie on 04/18/2009 8 comments

One of my best friends on Earth, Frank Lauro, died suddenly this week. I wrote the following for a forum where we were both active, and I’m sharing a version of it here too.

—
Frank was the first online friend I ever met in real life, in the fall of 1998 when I was a sophomore in college. We had communicated casually for months in a chat room devoted to movies on AOL, and on the day I got kicked out of the room for cursing, he IMed me and offered to pass my messages to the room until my timeout had expired. I had no idea that making profane comments about the Ohio State Buckeyes would lead to the most enduring, most important friendship of my life.

One of his favorite stories was about our first in-person meeting. We’d spent dozens of nights on the phone from sundown to sunrise, and finally decided to meet near campus for lunch. I realized when I met him that he could be a psycho killer and spent our entire meal in a state of fear so profound I could barely swallow my food. But my sense of self-preservation is such that when he offered me a ride to my dorm, I said yes, and got into the psycho killer’s car all alone.

I soon learned that he’d kick a dozen puppies, skin them, and cook them into some cayenne-heavy spicy-as-hell dinner before he’d ever hurt me.

Frank was into Batman because Batman had no superpowers. Batman just fucking did the right thing. Frank lived his life that way. He would hate me for saying this, he would try to argue me down, he would swear I was wrong and insist I had no basis for saying this, but his ass isn’t here to correct me and I’m going to tell you: he would step in front of a bus for the people he loved. He would sacrifice his comfort and safety to stand up for people who could not stand up for themselves. He would end a conversation, a relationship, or a job if his own ethics were compromised – and his ethics, I promise you, were stronger than any of ours.

He introduced me to Pulp Fiction, Glengarry Glen Ross, The Usual Suspects, This is Spinal Tap, and tons of other movies. He introduced me to Thai food and Aimee Mann. He was with me when I first visited Sears Tower and the Brookfield Zoo. When I suffered from clinical depression so severe that I nearly did not survive, much less finish my degree, he was there. When my sister nearly died in a car accident that claimed three other teenagers, he was there that night and through the long months ahead. He was always there.

We dated for a long time, and then we stopped. And then we dated again, and then I moved away. And then we dated again, long-distance, and then we stopped again. The distance seemed too great. Our obstacles seemed insurmountable. But I loved him from beside him, and I loved him from faraway. I always loved him. I love him still. The web that holds my soul is woven through and through with hundreds of his threads. There’s only one problem. The strongest thread of all, the one that tied me to him over the distance and the years and the obstacles, the one I thought would never break? That one snapped yesterday, and I’m having trouble staying tethered to anything right now.

He and I were equally sensitive, I think, but I mystified him because he had developed a nearly impenetrable skin and I had none at all. He told me often that if the world was a fight, I kept going in with both hands tied behind my back. He pushed me often to be stronger, to stand up for myself more, and I did it because of him. Everything about him was stronger than I will ever be, but I have the courage and the strength to write this because I loved him and he taught me to be just a little tougher.

I didn’t know how I was going to write this, but I knew I had to do it. I knew that he would want me to. He read my website and my prose and my shitty screenplays, and he always encouraged me to keep doing it. He swore I would be a published author one day, and he’d be pretty disappointed if I didn’t write about him for you here. I could keep writing this for paragraphs, for years. I could write until your eyes burn out from the strain of the reading. But he’d want me to stop here.

I will miss him for as long as I live.

excision

Posted by lorie on 04/07/2009 2 comments

So, hi.

I’m having surgery tomorrow to remove a cyst I’ve had on my left wrist for many years. In the last several months, it had become troublesome to the point that it was severely limiting my range of motion and interfering with my daily activities, so I went to my doctor about it and then to a hand specialist and now tomorrow I’m having surgery.

It’s not a big deal, but it kind of is a big deal. In the grand scheme of things, it’s pretty minor. I won’t be undergoing general anesthesia because I had an adverse reaction to it once in the past, so instead I will be heavily sedated with a regional anesthetic to numb my arm. The incision will be just an inch or two long, across the top of my left hand, and the surgeon says it will be a simple, quick surgery. It’s outpatient, so I’ll be home tomorrow and out of work for the rest of the week, and hopefully back Monday.

But I’m nervous. I’ve never been cut before. I had laser surgery three times in high school on my feet, but that seemed different somehow, and it was a really long time ago so I’ve trauma-blocked most of it. So I have this whole feeling like I have to get everything in order before I go in tomorrow, just in case. All my work needs to be done and all my errands need to be run and my house needs to be clean and the cats need extra food and litter and blah blah blah.

And it’s my hand. My left hand – my dominant one. And I’m not going to be able to use it for a while, but I don’t know how long, and it’s going to hurt, but I don’t know how much, but on the other hand it hurts now which is the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place. So maybe it hurts more for a while and then not at all. Or maybe it doesn’t even hurt that much after surgery. I don’t know. But I use my hands every day, and I like my hands, and I want them both intact and fully functioning and I need to quit freaking out but it’s MY LEFT HAND and what am I going to do without my left hand? How am I going to hook my bra and tie my shoes and eat and brush my teeth and stuff?

Oy. So as you see, I’m in a bit of a state. Wish me luck. I won’t be able to type with my left hand, but I’ll try to give you an update somehow.