The 2009 Diary of a Mad Woman

“If she doesn’t love me, who’s going to love me?” He asked.
Depleted. Wounded. Uncertain. Sad, sad, sad.
He had given $1500 anonymously for the funeral,
$1500 on an $8.50/hour salary.
“Everyone I love leaves me.”
He felt as though he pushed people away,
But he was magnetic.
“Life is shitty.”
He was thrilled Robby was doing classes in South Florida, but it wasn’t permanent.
Nothing was.
He was preparing himself for each person’s departure.
She told him once that if they break up, his mother would be very happy;
My mother would grieve.
On his 19th birthday, the card read:
“Through all the ups and downs and hard times,
You’ve been there for me.
I know I’m not the prettiest girl in the world.”
It was commonly believed that was an understatement.
Sure, looks aren’t everything we are taught, but she was shockingly,
Conventionally Unattractive.
In May 2005, they met in Orlando–
The worst attraction in the city of play.
By admission, his father said he was sad to leave because it is likely he got a piece.
His 20th birthday card was signed:
“Wifey to be”.
On Facebook it read “The future Mrs. D”
September 20 was the day I replayed August 24th in a new way,
Retraced the steps,
Felt his pain,
Saw him crying,
Witness the pouring of the gas,
Listened as he spoke to her,
Experienced her cruelty,
Became overwhelmed by hopelessness,
Heard the lighter,
Saw the car veer off the road–
It’s on repeat in my head.
Now, though, I more see it as the physical body which simply had to perish.
His mind, his essence, his beautiful soul was already gone.

I will miss him for the rest of my life.

There is a guilt about every new smile, every laugh, every success, even every sadness or moment of loneliness.
My destiny is to walk this earth alone.
My only sibling has departed.
Something must change within myself.
How might I become more independent?

How does one fake smiles and goofiness and suffer so much inside?
Or, are those moments merely distractions and once we return home
we feel as helpless as ever, as helpless as he did?
Maybe the pain we feel now is akin to his and
we are somehow gaining insight
into an aspect of him which was so private.

Was he ever here?
Was he real?

I wish that he were tangible one more time, one last hug.

What happens after this life?
Did he really visit that house at 3:!5 am on Saturday, 19th of September
to play with/press that toy thing she had on her door?
What about when Dad took his CDs out only to hear a few seconds of music,
playing as if from nowhere?
Dad yelled at me to find the pictures I lost, and magically,
they showed up in the oddest of places.
937 songs on his iPod:
I pressed next and “King of the Crown” came on just as we were trying to figure out what songs he like.

Are these signs?
Or, are these simple coincidences upon which we desperately
assign meaning?
Is it our imagination?
Is there such a thing as destiny?
Is there a hell?
I never could bring myself to believe in a God who could not forgive even the worst sinner,
And according to Catholic teachings, he was the worst.
How cruel. How cruel to punish him even more in his departure.
He was suffering.

How long did he have suicidal thoughts?
How does one choose his method?
Did his therapist know more about his plans?
What was the correct course of action
for people such as Chantel who said he was
“suicidal from the start”
and how he was drunk driving
and was so glad he almost hit a mail post?

Should I have expressed more concerns
about the negative things I heard from a family friend about her?
I kept it hush because Nata wanted me to but
also because he would end ties with those who spoke ill of her.
But being pushed away is better than his being gone.

Is it possible we all have a time to go?
If he had a dog or joined the army, perhaps on the 24th,
he would have still been hit by a car while taking the dog for a walk,
or deployed to Iraq only to be blown up.

What’s my fascination with discovering how other people heard about his death?
I realize it’s strange, so I try to curb my enthusiasm,
but really I want details:
Who told you?
What were you doing before you got the call?
What was said?
How did that person find out?
How did you react?
What did you do next?
How did you spend the rest of that day?
Did you learn more details as time progressed?

I broke a mirror not long ago. Is this related?

Are you born evil, or is it something which is learnt?

It’s odd, but I still can’t fully hate her.
She makes me angry.
Her mother makes me angry, but I can’t really say hate.
Definite repulsion, but not hate.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to put all your energies into a child,
only to have it result in an ending such as this.

Aunty C said Dad looks “lost”.
It’s true.

I with they would sell the house and we could move around or something.

Thank God, thank whoever is there if someone is there, for Aunty C.

I still feel bad I snapped a bit and said,
“It’s not just him!”
when they discussed the scandal.
Why did it bother me that they thought she was so innocent?
I should have let people have their own views.
It’s a fault of mine, a perverse take on justice.
In reality, some people can get away with anything,
while others are judged more harshly.
If we behaved the way she does, we would get a bad name.
But this has made us strong.
Never make excuses for them.

Why does Mom care so much about what people think?
I know it’s because she feels as a ‘have not’ she has something to prove,
but, I mean, even now?
Why care?
Alas, we cannot change over night. It’s a process.

How can I become a better person after this?
How can I hold on to the strength of character and
ballsiness I was slowly
learning & absorbing away from Mom?

I’m happy to be home.
Maybe that’s part of what he meant when he said,
“Take care of my parents”.
Perhaps this is what he wanted,
but I don’t want to become that weak person who went blindly,
without a fight to university just to fulfill
her parents’ lifelong plan for her.

Would he still be alive if I had the courage to stay? To say no?
Who would I have been otherwise?
Who am I now?

No longer a big sister, who am I?

It’s weird because it’s almost as if he is somehow now older than i–
he knows all.
I no longer strive to guide him.
I feel a slight loss of a sense of purpose.

Matt is dead.
Matt is gone.
Matt has passed.
Matt lives.

He was so loved.
How is it that he can put the love of this one girl,
not particularly good looking,
or smart,
or fun,
or successful,
or kind,
before all else?

None of us understand death. But how was he so affected?
It was because it was a child’s lifeless body that he found,
a child he adored with every fiber of his being.

“God gives us only so much as we can handle, but I find this is a bit much.”
It was the closest Dad came to a joke.

“I know you’re being strong for your parents,
but remember to take care of you,”
Indy said once.
Even people like this, for whom I genuinely care and to whom I am related
but with whom I never had an openly expressive relationship,
I now am finding more of a connection.

Much like the oaks planted in his name,
he will forever be remembered.
He has grown roots within all of us.

Perhaps no consolation but what parent wouldn’t be proud
of such a loving, honest, sensitive child who will
never be forgotten and who has brought so many together?

I remember a time long ago,
with one of our many bathroom fights–
he must have been about 10.
Mom and Dad were out and just the two of us remained.
He cried and cried that I didn’t love him.
I was shocked!
I tried to explain that I really did and I really do I really always will.
I don’t know.
He was so sensitive even from then. An empath.

He had anger management problems,
but perhaps this was related to his hyper-sensitivity.
I would often say he’s going to end up in jail.
And then the lying.
Mom didn’t believe me.
Then he started doing it to her and even then I believed him.
Funny how life works.

I’m happy Mom had fun with him the last short while he was here,
particularly scaring him–
I know he loved that.


Aunty Joan says you never forget but the pain eases.

The pain is getting more and more intense.

It’s often a physical pain.

At the funeral, the picture with Dad and him,
both in pink shirts,
Dad saw it as Josh Groban’s song was playing.
He had to look away.
I saw his pain.
It was physical.

No human being is perfect, but Dad was as close to perfect when it comes to parenting.
As a man and a father of excellence, he really doesn’t deserve this.
He knows this has nothing to do with him, though.
I wish it did have something more to do with all of us, but in the end, it was only one.

Still, I will always remember finding out about him.
It replays in my head.

Poor Grand-dad. He certainly did put on a brave and noble face today.
It only made me sadder.

We will all suffer endlessly.

I wish he would give me a sign as to if Uncle H was actually helping him.
It’s so annoying when Mom says how he was getting through there in the end.
Never mind he was absent so long from any meaningful
involvement in our lives, now he’s suddenly the savior?
The five just want to include him.
But just think he was talking to him in the end and then he killed himself.
That is not meant to have a cause and effect implication.
It’s just frustrating to hear about how much he was there for him all the time.
Dad agreed with me on that.
But having expressed it to him and on paper,
I now think I can just say
‘to each his own’ in my head and just be happy,
or at least accept that it’s Mom’s way of feeling she could have stopped what happened,
or her way of grieving–not sure which.

The Coroner’s Report:
Thermal Inhalation.

The cost of the funeral was about $7000.
The money from the car insurance was about $7000.

I believe he is completely at peace.
He would have otherwise been tortured his entire life.

Ducks are mating and quacking all night, protecting their eggs.

Mom really is doing better than I thought.
She is to be commended on that.
Matt is hugging her.

Poor little Mikey.
My heart broke to see him at the funeral.
Matt loved him so, so much.
It’s sad that both he and Dylly had to deal with so much death so young.

Grand-ma wouldn’t have been able to handle this.
I’m thankful she didn’t live to hear the news of her Grand-son’s demise.

How powerful are these rituals?
The plant at the house.
He shaved.
He was doing the wash for the other funeral.
The candle went out and the camphor went up in black smoke.

Would his computer have anything as random as what I’m writing now?

Is there any connection between World of Warcraft and suicide?
I must look this up.

It was mainly her cruelty and as Aunty I said,
he had an intense desire to feel needed.
She and her family needed him.

Was he really wanting to marry her after The Third?

How can we get his ring back?
Does he not want us to have it?

Why? Why? Why?
Remember the question mark at his memorial service.
In the sky.
Balloons turned punctuation.

He read people so well.
He felt things so deeply.
But why couldn’t he see them for what they were?
Why couldn’t he give himself to another?
Why couldn’t he stop himself from going back to her?

Visa once asked me if I thought he could be suicidal.
No, I said.
I thought it was an over-diagnosis, an impossibility.

He would have been a great father, but his downfall in life would always be feeling too much, too deeply.

I love him.

My heart aches.

Alfred makes me so happy, but what if things don’t work out?
I feel broken to think that I could ever be with someone who wouldn’t know Matt.

On the Thursday before he died, he did manage to faintly get out
“I love you, too”.

I know he loved me.
I know he missed me,
but I had not idea how deeply he yearned for human contact
and to truly feel loved.

Are we too socialized?
I wish it were acceptable for him to be angry, sad, whatever emotion, openly.

Sigh. His toe hair.
LOL – Laugh Out Loud


Seeing the little gold box filled with parts of that gorgeous, loving boy as it went into the incinerator was draining.

He is not what remains in that bronze box.

He is much more.

I heard once:
Life is not the opposite of death. Birth is the opposite of death.
Life is what happens, the memories,
the moments engraved forever in our minds.
He lives. He lives. He lives.

Sometimes I wish his physical self were here, too, though.
Alfred and I were talking about how we wished it were a joke,
that he could come back and say he was living out the fantasy of seeing
who would come to his own funeral.
Even a fantasy couldn’t have prepared him for reality.
400+ persons who didn’t just come that day,
but who are grieving,
truly grieving.

How do we balance never forgetting him, allowing his soul to fly freely,
and still move on in a productive way?

Sadly, Dad is not working now,
not that he or I would want him to,
but I think going back out to work helped Kish.
And I don’t know how Mom will cope.
This worries me.
I know she will get back into the TV,
but I don’t know in the interim, now,
when she’s not feeling for TV, how she will cope.
Matt and I always felt sad she wasn’t working.
We said if she worked at Walmart or selling hot dogs,
we would be so proud.
She needs to do something to be proud of herself,
something which speaks for itself.
Her kindness and generosity are there,
but validation comes from out of the house work.
I wonder if she would do it for Matt.
That’s her own path to take, though.
I must focus only on my own lonely journey.

Fight Club:
“The ability to let that which truly doesn’t matter slide”,
“You’re not your job, the money in your wallet, the car you drive, your khakis”
And about the girl who committed suicide:
“She made the smart move”.
“What’d you go psycho for?”
“I felt like destroying something beautiful.”

Uncle Russ lost his brother and his son.
I never knew about the latter until this tragedy.
Aunty Heather: hypertension because she didn’t want true feelings.
Scream, cry, whatever.
Try Saint Michael’s prayer for strength.

The putra didn’t show suicide because he exercised his last bit of free will possible.

I contributed to his death.

Aunty Heather remembered Cher and I locked in the room and Matt feeling excluded.
He always felt rejected.
What I thought of as leaving out an annoying little brother, he saw as rejection.
I wish there were less of an age difference between us.
Maybe I would have seen him more on the same level from then.
I am certain he knew I loved him.
I didn’t call everyday to tell him because for me that would be annoying,
but perhaps his personality needed it.
I did always get excited when I saw his name appear on the caller ID.
Later in life, he would want his own privacy when we went in his room.
I was longing for the time when we were both together fully.

He would have enjoyed living with adult me.
Instead of encouraging me to move back and live with him and go to school here,
he should have been encouraged to move away.
He was too babied.
But he was our baby, who we will miss terribly.

If I had known how dejected he was,
I likely would have considered moving back.
I expressed to him that I wasn’t keen on the idea
and he agreed because I thought it was just Mom trying to again control.

I have a serious aversion to my life being controlled.
The last time I didn’t fight for school,
my grades suffered
and I experienced the losses of my Grandmother,
of Daryl,
and of my only brother.

There is a knot in my stomach.
As though the anxiety, guilt, sadness and anger
have melded together to form
a tumor-like entity within me.

More and more I think Matt is truly gone.
I wanted to hold on to the idea of an afterlife
where I could picture and pray to him
but this is becoming a less and less plausible ending.

“We long for the memories…
I will remember you.
Will you remember be?”
Sarah McLachlan sang for famous dead people during the In Memoriam part of the Emmys.
There was a sense of frustration that Matt wasn’t included in that tribute.
He was a brilliant human being to us and yet he was not included there.
It’s a travesty.

Poor little Matty.
He hated when I called him that.

He started to stand up to everyone.
I admired his anger and his spunk and his fearlessness.
He said what was on his mind.
He seemed so strong.
Why, then, was he not strong enough in retaliation to his girlfriend?

One day, Matt stayed over at their house because she started crying.
Her father allegedly “beat her up like a man”.
His hands were bloodied.
She was fine.
It was quite possible that he hit a wall or something hard.
She may have used this as a reason to have Matt begging and falling over himself for her.
It’s great to be loved and admired, but she abused it.
On the Friday before his death, when he was chatting with Dad,
he mentioned that looking through old pics of the then ex-girlfriend’s
Dad with his daughters how he seemed so loving.
He also apparently spoke often to her father in the last week or so before he took his own life.
Could it be he recognized she may have been lying?
Or was he so shocked by the way someone could appear one way only to turn out to be completely different?

I’m starting to think less and less about his pain
and more and more about the fact
that he just had to go.

He rushed into the world
and he rushed out.

Aunty Heather dreamt her son Christian’s death before he was even born.
Cher’s aunt said he was just not meant to be in this world.
We walked them out and as I was getting ready to walk back into the house,
there was this strange light/energy I felt right by the front door.

We are all suffering.
Death is such an impossible concept to grasp.
That whole
If we didn’t accept death as an inevitability, would it actually occur?
We all believe death is inevitable,
even if one tried to convince himself it is not,
we are socialized to
understand it as an inevitability,
no matter how hard we try to remove ourselves from the belief.

Law & Order:
“In the End,
A Man’s Motives
are secondary to
His Accomplishments.”

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