IF HEAVEN WAS A MILE AWAY..

WOULD I FILL UP THE TANK WITH GAS AND BE OUT THE FRONT DOOR IN A FLASH BEFORE RECONSIDERING THIS HELL WITH YOU..
i try not to complain a lot. i try really hard.. but some days, you get slapped in the face.. and on those days, i'll take the time to ask, "what the fuck?".
there are some things that i don't tell people. i'm a very open person, when you have a blog, you become one.. and i have no problem sharing experiences. i think it helps myself and people who have had the same experiences, to grow.. but some things, some things i keep to myself. some secrets are because i fear reactions (i shouldn't), some are because i don't want experiences to become excuses, and some are because they're meant to stay secrets.
my mom has taught me many things. the top three are never cry, everything happens for a reason, and "you're a fighter, we're survivors". when my dad passed, my mom spent her nights crying.. talking to my dad. i would spend nights beside her bedroom door, listening. when her crying became too hard to bare, i'd come in, and i'd hug her. i'd lay on her chest, listening to her heart beat, feeling her tears against my head. i was seven, and at the time, i got it. i got that my dad wasn't coming back, i got that it hurt her, i got that i had to be there for her, the only thing i didn't get was why. each night was the same, i'd tell her it'd be okay, even though i wasn't sure if it would, and she'd wrap her arms around me. & no matter how weak she seemed, her grip was so tight. to this day, i can pinpoint every second of every night, and exactly how each moment felt. i rarely cried. how could i. how could i cry in front of her, she needed me. when my mom regained enough in her to go back to work, that's when i cried. i would lay in her bed, on her side, never my dad's, and i'd stare at his. it was then, that i cried.. it was years before i actually talked to her about him.. and when that happened, we switched roles.. and she was the one telling me not to cry. i remember the first day she told me not to cry.. she told me the reasoning, but right after she said "don't cry. never cry", that was all i needed. i knew i believed her, and i knew she was right. not to say we don't do it, the words are almost there just to keep our heads above water.
everything happens for a reason. truthfully no matter how bad things ever got, things really do always happen for a reason. i fully believe in this and i'm fully grateful she taught me such. sometimes i don't agree with the reason, and sometimes i wanna spit in the universe's fucking face, but it's gonna do what it does regardless.
"you're a fighter, we're survivors", because no matter what, we're in it together. my mom is my rock.. and she is the strongest woman on this earth, and i know that. she has been through so much, and if you think i got this potty mouth on me all on my own you're mistaken. my mom may never swear, but she definitely taught me not to take shit from anybody. & the experiences that we've been through have always been things we've tackled together. we're a team.. and if we've overcome all these times we've been shit on, we can definitely keep going. & i know that, thanks to her. if i had a PENNY for every time she told me, "you're a fighter, we're survivors", i'd be a fucking billionaire.
i'm not really sure how i feel about death anymore. i've been through so much of it but i'm still not sure i understand it. i'm almost, numb to it now. not good at it, just numb to it. i'm not good at goodbyes either.. so you can imagine the numbness that chilled my body today when i found out i had to say goodbye to my grandpa. he's still here, just not for long. i'm struggling to find a way to set up a phone call to the hospital from ontario, and struggling to put on my best, "never cry", and struggling to carry my mom, my family, through this.
my grandpa and i always struggled to get along. as much as he loves me, and i know that, he's really old-fashioned, and REALLY french. our opinions differed, and our words clashed. we often found ourselves fighting with words, and it wasn't until a family dinner we finally reconciled. he apologized to me, in front of everybody.. i accepted. no matter what happens, or how many wrongs have occured, it didn't change the fact that he was my grandpa, and i LOVED him. i love him.
i am spending the weekend at the hospital. i am working on my french, and most importantly, i'll be spending it with my grandpa. papa, je vous aime. reste fort, nous pouvons le faire a noel si nous essayons.