In my latest video, I wanted to discuss my previous and most recent losses due to miscarriages. I wanted to start a conversation around this topic and keep it open and honest. I don't want anyone else going through this to feel as lost as I did.
I'm just a girl with a lot to say. I've got a ton of stories to share and minds to open. Here I show to you my poetry, stories, and other topics that fill my mind.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: I Am He and He is Me
It's that time of year again. That time that I dread. Every June 17th since 2016 I'm forced to relive the day that changed my life forever. The day I lost my dad. I'll never get over the universe's sick joke of taking him two days before Father's Day. Every year I get gut punched twice. "Hello, Asia here's the day your father died. Oh, and here's the day set aside to celebrate him." Thanks, universe! Thank you so much for that precious memory.
This year it feels slightly heightened with everything that's happening in the world. Thinking of George Floyd's daughter spending her first father's day without one. Knowing that Rayshard Brooks' daughters are about to feel the same as I do. I wonder if they were daddy's girls like me. That's the hardest. I crumbled at the age of 33 losing mine. I couldn't imagine him being ripped from me before even reaching high school age. That's why this year it hits different.
My dad was the one who tried to educate me about the injustices we face. I heard, but never listened. I was a kid. None of that had to do with me. That was all in the past, right? That's what naive innocent me thought. My dad knew better and he made sure I knew better. Like him I use my voice. I speak out and I stand up. In that he lives in me. He stood up for what he believed in. He said it with heart and he said it with force. I try to channel that in when I speak. The strength to fight for what's right.
My father taught me about my ancestors. That started my love for autobiographies and history books. While every other kid wanted to read ghost stories or fiction I was in the library every week picking out books of black icons from Ida B. Wells to Marian Anderson to Jackie Robinson. I was forever learning. That thirst for knowledge didn't come from school. That came from William Anderson.
He is the first black man I have ever loved and he was a great example of a caring, creative, knowledgeable, strong individual. I happy to be a part of him. I am more than happy to carry on his voice. I will be elated the day that I can have a child and pass on everything he ever was and everything that I am to the next generation of Andersons'. That would be my greatest honor.
Still every June 17th I hurt and shut down. I still find myself trying to make sense of something that is and will always be a part of life. Still... Still I can't help but ask why. Four year later I still grieve. Time does heal some wounds but never all. I wish he could've made it this year to see me graduate. I wish he had made it to 2018 to know that there was a possibility that he'd be a grandfather. All of these milestones and the ones to come have an empty spot there. I know he's there for all those moments. I know that the grandchild that almost was is there with him now. The could've, should've, would'ves are all empty because that's not how life was supposed to go, unfortunately. No matter the hurt this is what the universe had planned. It's awful and it sucks, but this is what it is. That's the way life is. I'm thankful to have had him as long as I did.
My father is gone, but never ever forgotten. I am he.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020(c)
This year it feels slightly heightened with everything that's happening in the world. Thinking of George Floyd's daughter spending her first father's day without one. Knowing that Rayshard Brooks' daughters are about to feel the same as I do. I wonder if they were daddy's girls like me. That's the hardest. I crumbled at the age of 33 losing mine. I couldn't imagine him being ripped from me before even reaching high school age. That's why this year it hits different.
My dad was the one who tried to educate me about the injustices we face. I heard, but never listened. I was a kid. None of that had to do with me. That was all in the past, right? That's what naive innocent me thought. My dad knew better and he made sure I knew better. Like him I use my voice. I speak out and I stand up. In that he lives in me. He stood up for what he believed in. He said it with heart and he said it with force. I try to channel that in when I speak. The strength to fight for what's right.
My father taught me about my ancestors. That started my love for autobiographies and history books. While every other kid wanted to read ghost stories or fiction I was in the library every week picking out books of black icons from Ida B. Wells to Marian Anderson to Jackie Robinson. I was forever learning. That thirst for knowledge didn't come from school. That came from William Anderson.
He is the first black man I have ever loved and he was a great example of a caring, creative, knowledgeable, strong individual. I happy to be a part of him. I am more than happy to carry on his voice. I will be elated the day that I can have a child and pass on everything he ever was and everything that I am to the next generation of Andersons'. That would be my greatest honor.
Still every June 17th I hurt and shut down. I still find myself trying to make sense of something that is and will always be a part of life. Still... Still I can't help but ask why. Four year later I still grieve. Time does heal some wounds but never all. I wish he could've made it this year to see me graduate. I wish he had made it to 2018 to know that there was a possibility that he'd be a grandfather. All of these milestones and the ones to come have an empty spot there. I know he's there for all those moments. I know that the grandchild that almost was is there with him now. The could've, should've, would'ves are all empty because that's not how life was supposed to go, unfortunately. No matter the hurt this is what the universe had planned. It's awful and it sucks, but this is what it is. That's the way life is. I'm thankful to have had him as long as I did.
My father is gone, but never ever forgotten. I am he.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020(c)
A Look Inside My Creative Mind: Grieving the Unknown
**LATE POST** I uploaded my latest video to my channel a week ago, or more. It took me a while because with the new layout of blogger it would never populate my video even if I searched it with the link. I had to go back to the old style of Blogger to do so (That would've been helpful if I had known that a week ago).
In my latest video (which I've labeled with a **trigger warning**) I'm discussing a loss that I've written about several times before. I recorded this video the day after what would've been my baby's first birthday. I'm discussing my grieve process from that moment of miscarriage to even now as I still try to navigate my way through life after expecting it to change in such a great monumental way.
The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: In Wounded Womb
It’s been a while. I’ve been busy graduating with my creative writing degree and starting a new job. It’s been draining to say the least and it’s been overwhelming. Still all of this in the very best way possible, but still very draining. I haven’t had the energy to write, workout, update my new YouTube channel, or create. Nothing. But here I am with a topic that I need to express and there’s no other place I would other than here.
On a recent visit to my therapist we spoke about how things were looking up for me. I’m a college grad finally, my job situation just got 10x better, and I can finally FINALLY see a clear path up ahead on where I want to go. Then she stopped and asked me how I was coping with my miscarriage. This was the initial reason for me seeking treatment this go round. I told her that I was okay, but honestly it still sticks with me, over a year later. It’s more in the background like a low hum that I can ignore. Then there are the triggers where that low hum becomes a screeching siren. There’s the holidays where I think about how I’d be opening presents with my kid for the very first time or decking them out in their “My first ____” outfit. There’s the due date and miscarry date that is lovely placed four days after my birthday. Then there’s the baby announcements. Those are the absolute fucking worst. I truly want to hate the people posting their good news, but I can’t hate something that is a big moment for someone else and some I know the stories of their own heartbreak. I can’t hate on that other than that’s what I want.
I want my happy ending too and my brain cannot process why it was taken from me. So I keep going. I live with it everyday. Alone. I carry the weight of that. Alone. I have done so since day one and I will continue to. A man, no matter how in touch he is with his feelings, will never understand that kind of heartbreak, but God I wish they could. Now, I could stray from the topic at hand and scream “Men ain’t shit”, but I won’t. That’s a different topic for a different day when my heart does not ache like it does in this moment. That way I can speak truth and not hurt. Because even though it’s a popular go to saying I would like to believe that we know that statement isn’t true.
I bring up my miscarriage because something my therapist said stuck with me. She told me that there have been studies that link the trauma that women go through after a miscarriage is similar to PTSD and I can see that. I felt that. The pain I felt when that happened somehow surpassed the grief that I had when my father passed two years prior. I was confused how I could be more devastated from losing someone I’d never met over the man who primarily raised me. There was the guilt that I had done something wrong or that something was wrong with my body. There was the feeling that maybe it was some harsh karma coming back to bite me or the fact that I’ve said, even since I was a kid, that I didn’t want kids. That one in particular has made my grief more difficult. I often ask myself “Do I have the right to grieve something that I swore I never wanted?” Either way it felt like my fault. You take that and add the fact that I find out two months later that my partner didn’t want kids it feels like getting hit with a bus. Then I realized why that weight felt heavy on my shoulders alone.
I think about this miscarriage today because I found out something troubling. There was something my partner did not even 6 months after this event that has crushed me. I won’t go into detail, I’m sorry. I’m so shocked and it’s a lot for me to process at the moment. With that being said, I look back on that time in my life of losing a baby, to finding that there may not be a baby with the man I was in love with, to a rift in our relationship shortly after, then us getting back good again, a surgical procedure to have my cervix shortened to prevent cervical cancer (and also would cause problems in me getting pregnant), and then all of this within 5 months and he does something to betray my trust. Something that I have still yet to hear sorry for and only excuses. It all makes me wonder what goes through a person’s mind when they hurt someone, especially after something life altering as this. I carry all of the burden of these things yet I was betrayed in a way no one deserves. My heart hurts.
So, in all honesty when my therapist asked “How are you handling the miscarriage?” I’m not fine. These are the little lies we tell ourselves to get by. “I’m okay”. “I’m fine.” “It’s no big deal”. It helps us not to focus on this, but at the same time it makes those feelings linger longer. So I am not fine. I am not okay. But I’ll carry this alone. Day by day. That’s all anyone can do. For now I’ll sit in this hurt. I’ll process and heal. I’ll learn from it and grow from it. I’ll build better with it. I’ll always wonder what I would’ve had, the mom I would’ve been, and the family that would’ve been created. My heart will always yearn for that.
By: Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020 ©
The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Dark but Not Spooky
I am an October baby. A Libra through and through. Halloween is my Christmas and I love everything spooky. This year was much much different and it unfortunately altered my whole season and spirit.
My birthday fell on a Wednesday. I had everything all planned out. I was going to go to the amusement park the Saturday before, dinner with my mom that Sunday, and the Thursday after I was going to get into my car to go travel my second home, Chicago, for a comic con that weekend. I was, of course, looking forward to all of this. The Friday before my birthday I woke up with the feeling that my throat was on fire. Great. A cold. So no roller coasters. Instead I went to see Joker where I could barely keep my eyes open. That Sunday, even after feeling like death, I still wanted to go to dinner with my mom, but she couldn't be bothered to drive (which honestly hurt) and I didn't feel up to getting behind a wheel, so I crawled back in bed. On my actual birthday my mother managed to get under my skin about me driving on my own to Chicago... which, mind you, I'd done a ton of times when I used to live there. That Thursday morning I woke up nauseous and nervous. She had gotten to me, but I put too much money into this trip to let nerves get the best of me. Once I got on the highway everything was fine. Music was high, I felt free, and the sniffles didn't matter.... Then I get into Chicago. Once I got into the loop it was just bumper to bumper no moving. Good ol rush hour. Every time we would go an inch my car would jerk. We'd move a little more and then she'd start to jerk and chug some more. With only less than an hour until I reached my hotel I decided to hop off the highway and just take the city streets. I reached a tunnel and at a point and, just like the movies, I see steam rise thinking it was coming from the manholes. I go several blocks and it happened again. Oh, that wasn't the street that was my car smoking. Great. By the time I got to the hotel everything seemed to spiral from there, at least in my mind. I was scared to drive my car the entire time I was there. I checked under the hood several times a day as if I knew what I was looking for. Even if I wasn't scared I was too sick to leave my hotel room anyways. I had developed a cold sore right before the trip so I became incredibly self conscious knowing that that weekend I was supposed to take photo ops with Tessa Thompson, Brie Larson, and Jake Gyllenhall. I was convinced that everyone could see it underneath the makeup and that I just looked gross. You take the flu, feeling inadequate, and my car damn near exploding then top that with a comic con that was poorly ran and overpriced you get a pretty crappy birthday. I mean I did get to hug Jake Gyllenhall, so there is that.
I can't pinpoint where my happiness, I usually have for October, faded. Not sure if it's because that cold kept me from fully enjoying myself or, I forgot to mention, that the one year anniversary of my miscarriage was also that weekend. I was already feeling the effects of that weeks in advance. Pictures of babies making me cry, seeing kids out and about making my heart break and overall emotional. It's as is that feeling never really subsided a year later. It took me out as if I was just told that my baby was gone. A year later and it still hits me more than I can evern imagine. So sickness or dead baby. Which is causing me to feel like I'm drowning this time? Could be a witch's brew of it all.
Halloween was a bust. I was too sick to even think about a costume let alone put one together. Also where to even go. My own personal Christmas was ruined. Therefore any following holiday is ruined. Not looking forward to Thanksgiving. My family is dwindling and for sure show no signs of growing (because who knows if that can even happen, my complicated relationship, my age, and my mental health). I don't even want to think about Christmas. No motivation to even hum a carol or decorate a tree. This isn't my "bah-humbug". This is my "I just want to not exist for a little while". It's my "this is getting to be a little too much". Tis the season.
I'm not sure what it is about this year. I've had a few hard hits but definitely not like the past few years. I feel like 2019 has been nothing but the past three years breathing down my neck like evil spirits that refuse to leave me. They live to remind me of all I've lost and failed. Just so much death and unhappiness. Even with my hopes wavering there are few rays of sunshine. I graduate next month and no matter how I'm feeling I've come to far to fail this. But still I feel my future looks pointless and unfulfilled. I look ahead and I can't tell which direction I'm going and no matter which road I take looks like a dead end. It's very confusing because I've spent a lot of time this year trying to be a better person and I feel worse off. I suppose I still move forward. Find little joys, if possible, but I'm just so very tired. I feel defeat over anything else. Maybe it's Mercury in retrograde again or just my life being stuck. All I know is that this is more than birthday blues.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019 ©️
The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Happy Father's Day Sounds Bittersweet
This is my third fatherless father’s day and tomorrow will mark three years since he’s been gone. The continuous rain outside represents my mood perfectly. You assume after three years that grief subsides, but on days like today it’s as almost it happened yesterday. The sound of my wailing when my mom said “He’s gone” echoes in my head. I want to go back and hold that girl, past me, tell her that’ll it’ll be ok, but three years later I’m not sure if I’m ok.
To hear people say to one another “Happy Father’s Day” is depressing. It causes jealousy. How come I don’t have my dad? It’s not fair, but it never is. While everyone celebrates I curl up in the bed and weep. That’s been my father’s day for three years. To lose him on father’s day weekend adds an extra sting. Last year his death date fell on father’s day and I hurt to my bones. It’s not fair.
My saving grace is my uncle who checks in from time to time, especially around this time. Although he missed me at work the other day my coworker, who actually grew up with my dad, relayed the message and he told her that my dad raised me. I was with him all the time. I told her it was true. He got hurt at work when I was very young and had to retire do he was stay at home dad. He was a damn good job and he made sure I grew up to be the caring, creative, outspoken, self respecting woman that I am today. Things I hope to pass down to my kids given the chance I have any. The baby I lost last year I know is getting the same guidance I did up there.
So today as I hear the rain that has no ending my tears do the same. Eventually the clouds will separate for the sun, but for now it’s ok to live in the rain. I have to allow myself that. Although three years the hurt is still fresh. You wonder what life would be like today if he was still here. The selfishness of wanting them here while admitting that with them being gone they are no longer in pain. My dad had been ill for years. Not being able to drive, walk long distances without losing breath because of COPD, couldn’t do the things he loved to do. No one wants to live like that nor would I want them too, but I do wish he was still here. So, I say to the heavens “Happy Father’s Day” ❤
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019©️
My Nugget
I started writing this a few days after I found out I was pregnant.
Now I’m writing this after spending hours in the ER to find out you’re
gone. I spent my whole life saying I never wanted kids, then the moment I
found out I was I was so excited. By the end of the night I knew you’d
be either a miss Lennon Amira (or Lennon Sarai) or William Dearron. Now
my heart feels crushed. Who knew a person I had never met before could
make me feel so many emotions at once. I know this is the story of many
women and I’m not alone, but at the same time I’d imagine things would
be different for me. I looked forward to my belly. I looked forward to
holding you for the first time, watching you bond with your dad and
sister. I looked forward to first steps, first words, and first days of
school. I don’t know how many losses in my life I can take. I know it
was only two months, but I feel like I lost a child. I’m just
devastated. I feel like it’s my fault. I know it’s not, but that doesn’t
make it any easier. I keep wondering how I could’ve prevented this. No
one tells you how soul crushing a miscarriage is, but it is. I know that
everything happens for a reason, but in this moment the universe sucks,
in my eyes.
I do find some peace that when I entered the ER a dragonfly flew by me to the entrance. Maybe it was my dad telling me it would be OK. I don’t feel OK, but I know it will be. I hope I get another chance one day. A chance to be a mom, but you will always be my first. The one that filled me with so much joy, in two months, that I could be a mommy.
My original post:
Since I’ve now shared my biggest news with my mom I can now share with you. May 2019 I’ll have a little one joining this crazy planet. Although I’m sharing this sometime in November I am now writing this in late September exactly a week after finding out I was already five weeks. My initial reaction was just content. We had our discussion about our next moves, but everything positive. Content.
A week later I’ve freaked out about what I’ve been eating, have I stressed too much, can my body wash/facial cleansers affect my Nugget?, and all other things I’m sure new moms freak out about. As the days go on I’m starting to freak out about things much deeper. Things like: Will I suffocate his or her dreams like I felt like mine were? Will I keep them from growing? It’s not about cuts, and scrapes, and bruises. Those heal. I’m worried about any possible unintentional emotional pain. If Nugget comes to me and says they’re trans or gay am I really an ally the way I feel I am? How do I shield them from the people out there who cause harm to lgbtq kids? Then the big elephant in the room. I’m going to give birth to either a little black boy or little black girl. How do I keep them safe from the people who will hate them for the color of their skin? How young is too young to have the talk about how we have to be extra careful around police? That we have to work twice as hard to get half as much? How late is too late to have that talk? What if Nugget is a girl? How do I prepare her for the creeps she may run into? How to be on high alert, because unfortunately in this society a woman’s body is not her own. How do I shield him or her from bullies? I can teach them all day everyday how to keep their heads high and stand up for themselves, but that still doesn’t mean bullying doesn’t bruise self esteem and confidence.
Nugget won’t know what it feels like to walk into a Toys R Us and be blown away. Kids today don’t get to hold on to their innocence for long like we did. They know too much too soon. How do I keep stressors away from you and let you remain an innocent child throughout your childhood years and not take on adult problems?
I had to think about how this would change me and your dad. One piece of advice that has always stuck with me was from an old friend who had a child and married pretty early. She told me that once her daughter was born her relationship took a nosedive because she became more focused on her daughter. She said she had to find the perfect balance between her daughter and her marriage. That it couldn’t be just about your kid. You have to make time for your partner as well. I hope that for us because I love your dad very much. You’re both my world. Without your dad there would be no you. I hope to give you an example of loving parents. I want you to grow up with the vision of nothing but love and teamwork. I think that’s crucial for you. It’s crucial for any little Nugget out there.
…. I never finished this. Goodbye, our Nugget
I do find some peace that when I entered the ER a dragonfly flew by me to the entrance. Maybe it was my dad telling me it would be OK. I don’t feel OK, but I know it will be. I hope I get another chance one day. A chance to be a mom, but you will always be my first. The one that filled me with so much joy, in two months, that I could be a mommy.
My original post:
Since I’ve now shared my biggest news with my mom I can now share with you. May 2019 I’ll have a little one joining this crazy planet. Although I’m sharing this sometime in November I am now writing this in late September exactly a week after finding out I was already five weeks. My initial reaction was just content. We had our discussion about our next moves, but everything positive. Content.
A week later I’ve freaked out about what I’ve been eating, have I stressed too much, can my body wash/facial cleansers affect my Nugget?, and all other things I’m sure new moms freak out about. As the days go on I’m starting to freak out about things much deeper. Things like: Will I suffocate his or her dreams like I felt like mine were? Will I keep them from growing? It’s not about cuts, and scrapes, and bruises. Those heal. I’m worried about any possible unintentional emotional pain. If Nugget comes to me and says they’re trans or gay am I really an ally the way I feel I am? How do I shield them from the people out there who cause harm to lgbtq kids? Then the big elephant in the room. I’m going to give birth to either a little black boy or little black girl. How do I keep them safe from the people who will hate them for the color of their skin? How young is too young to have the talk about how we have to be extra careful around police? That we have to work twice as hard to get half as much? How late is too late to have that talk? What if Nugget is a girl? How do I prepare her for the creeps she may run into? How to be on high alert, because unfortunately in this society a woman’s body is not her own. How do I shield him or her from bullies? I can teach them all day everyday how to keep their heads high and stand up for themselves, but that still doesn’t mean bullying doesn’t bruise self esteem and confidence.
Nugget won’t know what it feels like to walk into a Toys R Us and be blown away. Kids today don’t get to hold on to their innocence for long like we did. They know too much too soon. How do I keep stressors away from you and let you remain an innocent child throughout your childhood years and not take on adult problems?
I had to think about how this would change me and your dad. One piece of advice that has always stuck with me was from an old friend who had a child and married pretty early. She told me that once her daughter was born her relationship took a nosedive because she became more focused on her daughter. She said she had to find the perfect balance between her daughter and her marriage. That it couldn’t be just about your kid. You have to make time for your partner as well. I hope that for us because I love your dad very much. You’re both my world. Without your dad there would be no you. I hope to give you an example of loving parents. I want you to grow up with the vision of nothing but love and teamwork. I think that’s crucial for you. It’s crucial for any little Nugget out there.
…. I never finished this. Goodbye, our Nugget
I Wish You A Merry Christmas And A Better New Year
Christmas is here and 2016 is almost over. My family and I don’t do
much for the holidays. We really haven’t for several years now. I don’t
remember the last time we set up a tree or hung up a single light.
There’s only a medium sized feast and a few gifts if our budgets allow.
Although our Christmases are not Christmassy this year is the most
uncheerful I’ve ever felt. Last year I lost an aunt and this year my
dad. Time is chipping away at my family and grief is leaving little to
celebrate. Over time wounds will heal but it will be long in my future
for everything is still raw. With that being said trust me that everyone
I love has not been overlooked or forgotten.
I’m not in any sort of Christmas spirit, but I am in the spirit to try and spread my love and understanding. Over the past year I’ve seen grief has not only hit me, but many people I’ve crossed paths with. Many of us will be spending this holiday as a first without a loved one whether it be a parent, grandparent, child, etc. I’ve seen many of these people on my social media timelines, whether they be old friends, best friends I’ve never met, or family, battle cancer, lose jobs, lose homes, etc. These past few years have been really trying for a lot of us. One thing I can say is that we made it through. 2016 was my own personal hell, but I made it through. I struggled through, but made it out on the other end ready to take 2017 head on.
This season I want to take the time to tell people that I love them. The latter part of the year I’ve been difficult to deal with. I know this. I also no that for some time to come I will continue to be difficult to deal with at time. One moment I’m cheery, the next I’m short, the next I’m silent and don’t want to be bothered, and the next I’m loud. For now this is my new normal. For those of us who have dealt with a lot these past few years we all have a new normal. It may not be pleasant. It may not be ideal, but it is what it shall be. That does not alter my love for my family, my friends, and those who have had my back.
Merry Christmas to you all. May 2017 be something only dreams are made of. Let it be full of hope and promise and more laughs than tears. Much love to all of you.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
I’m not in any sort of Christmas spirit, but I am in the spirit to try and spread my love and understanding. Over the past year I’ve seen grief has not only hit me, but many people I’ve crossed paths with. Many of us will be spending this holiday as a first without a loved one whether it be a parent, grandparent, child, etc. I’ve seen many of these people on my social media timelines, whether they be old friends, best friends I’ve never met, or family, battle cancer, lose jobs, lose homes, etc. These past few years have been really trying for a lot of us. One thing I can say is that we made it through. 2016 was my own personal hell, but I made it through. I struggled through, but made it out on the other end ready to take 2017 head on.
This season I want to take the time to tell people that I love them. The latter part of the year I’ve been difficult to deal with. I know this. I also no that for some time to come I will continue to be difficult to deal with at time. One moment I’m cheery, the next I’m short, the next I’m silent and don’t want to be bothered, and the next I’m loud. For now this is my new normal. For those of us who have dealt with a lot these past few years we all have a new normal. It may not be pleasant. It may not be ideal, but it is what it shall be. That does not alter my love for my family, my friends, and those who have had my back.
Merry Christmas to you all. May 2017 be something only dreams are made of. Let it be full of hope and promise and more laughs than tears. Much love to all of you.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
How Do I Cope?
I don’t know how to handle the death of someone that you weren’t really
that close to. Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have the right to be
sad about it. My aunt and I were never super close. From the time I was a
child I always felt that her and my grandmother favored my older and
younger cousin more. It made me understand the “middle child syndrome”
all too well even though I’m an only child. I was/am often the one that
was left out or forgotten about, but that’s all I’ve ever known. Even
with all that said she never got a chance to have children and we were
the next best thing. I will admit that being treated as the black sheep I
harbored some resentment towards this side of my family. I didn’t feel
the need to care about a group of people who I thought cared very little
about me.
During the last few months of her life we still never became too close, but I felt like I got a chance to understand her more than I had my entire life. I was shocked to find that underneath it all we had a lot more in common than I realized. The last few months of her life was spent in and out of hospitals until the week after Thanksgiving where she never got to go back home. All that time I was at the hospital almost everyday along with my mother. I saw how much our lives paralleled while being complete opposites. We both had meddling mothers who meant well, but will drive the most patient person fucking insane. Most days would be laughs because at some point my grandmother would say something completely redundant or simple and my aunt would look at me and say “You see what I deal with everyday?” All I would do is laugh, point to my mother and say “Same thing.” In between these days of laughter would come the occasion days where she’d be completely silent. For months doctors told her there wasn’t anything more they could do and some days I could tell those words probably swirled around in her head repeatedly. I’m never the optimistic person, but I always hoped something would turn for the better. Because of my mindset I never fully understood why other family members wore long faces. I reminded them that they were the ones who were religious. They should be the ones with the hope yet I felt like I was on that hope cloud alone.
Everyday I went to the hospital I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Even if I didn’t say much, which I never do, I couldn’t imagine not being there as some sort of support. For the last week or more that she was in the hospital her health as well as her spirit declined. She was diagnosed March of 2013 and the whole time she fought hard, but those last weeks she kept saying that she was just tired. I can only imagine. I watched as the lower half of her body swelled to almost twice her usual size. I still stayed hopeful. Soon representatives spoke of hospice and everyone was in my ear telling me that hospice meant death. Still I remained hopeful. Looking back I’m not sure if I was hopeful or just in denial. Before the talk of hospice she once mentioned that she wished she could see her home one last time. My heart broke. This was a simple wish that most people don’t even have to worry about. She was soon moved to hospice where she started off energetic and again I was hopeful she’d be home in a weeks time. That was the plan after all. After about 4 days in hospice she became unresponsive. She was breathing and would move every now and again, but couldn’t talk, and her body temp was burning hot. I was still hopeful until nurses told us that when patients usually become that hot it was because their brain was shutting down. That was a hard blow. Just days ago she was joking and walking around and now this.
On the morning she died my mother and I went to the house my aunt shared with my grandma to grab her some clothes so she could stay by my aunt’s side. While there I made it a point to take pictures of every room in the house. When we arrived to her bedside I showed her the pictures on my phone not knowing if she could see them or not. I told her “I know you said you wanted to see home one last time and I’m sorry that this is only as close as I can get you there.” Later that afternoon my younger cousin flew in from out of town. My grandma, uncle, and I drove to the airport to get her (which was pretty far from hospice). The moment we all walked back into her room my aunt took her last breath. It was like something out of a movie where we got there just in time. It was unreal to see someone who had just taken their last breath and see almost immediately their color leave their body. I didn’t know how to react. Even though this was an event we all knew was coming I never thought it would actually happen.
I tried to keep the sadness inside, but I completely broke. Crying is something I never do in public even though I’d label myself a very sensitive and emotional person. I hadn’t grown up around emotion. I often identify with the age old “men aren’t supposed to cry” saying because even as a woman, although it wasn’t said I felt like I had to hide my sensitivity. One of my early memories as a child was watching “The Land Before Time” with my parents and weeping when Littlefoot’s mom died. I’ll never forget my mom looking at me and in jest said “Are you really crying?” From that moment on whenever I felt emotion rush over me in public I sucked it up and tucked it down deep. That’s why the death of my aunt has me in a sort of depression. The night she passed I literally couldn’t sleep. All I saw when my eyes closed was her lifeless body. My family looked at me like I was strange when I told them. It seems as though they should’ve understood what I was feeling, but no. I can’t really cry about it. So I ask, how do you cope? How do you grieve for someone who you didn’t have a close bond with and at one point was certain didn’t care about you? I’m sure that’s all in my head, but it doesn’t make the feeling go away.
The day of her memorial service I was certain that I would be fine. We all decided cremation was better (and cheaper since she didn’t have life insurance) so I didn’t have to stare at a box with my aunt lying in it. Halfway through the service I was okay, but one of my aunt’s close friends got up and sang a gospel song called “I Won’t Complain” which was fitting since my aunt hardly complained during her illness. The power of this woman’s voice and the words made me break slowly and once I saw my younger cousin crying I held her and just wailed. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve been, but I couldn’t stop. Moments later I looked up and saw my family, who were also crying, give me that weird look. Wipe my tears, suck it up, and push it down deep. Nothing needed to be said all I needed were the stares that made me feel so small and out of place.
When the service was over the packed church went into the dining hall to eat and catch up with long lost family and friends. When most people had eaten and gone the weeks events kept replaying in my head and I felt scared, alone, and down. Another old friend/client of my aunt (my aunt was a well known hair stylist in the area), who hadn’t had a chance to catch up with me because of all the chaos, told me of a conversation she had with my aunt years ago about me. She told me of a time where my aunt was trying to do something for me but couldn’t remember what and said my aunt told her “Asia doesn’t want for anything so if this is what she wants I’m gonna make sure she gets it.” I started to remember what she was most likely talking about. When I was trying to move to Chicago in 2008 I couldn’t find an apartment because I really didn’t have any credit established nor a job (I was relocating to go to Columbia College) and everyone wanted a cosigner. I had asked her since no one else in my family was able to. I started to cry all over again. Here, I thought she favored my other cousins over me and didn’t think of me at all. Mostly I cried because she recognized that I never asked anyone for anything yet most people accuse me of being a spoiled brat. I’m someone who tries to do things for herself and doesn’t like to bug anyone for help (Hell, I lost my apartment in Chicago 2012, because I wanted to handle it on my own like an adult should. That;s how I am). She acknowledged that. I’ve waited all of my life for someone to see that and now it’s too late for me to thank her for seeing that I’m not some arrogant brat. As my eyes welled up I saw my mom just look at me. It wasn’t a look of “Are you crying again?” it was just the fact that she just looked at me then turned back around to continue her conversation with someone. So here I was alone and feeling horrible thinking that maybe I shouldn’t be this emotional. Again, we weren’t close so why would I feel this strongly about her… but I did and I felt alone in it. I still feel alone in it.
In the weeks since her passing I’ve mentioned to my mom and grandma to seek grief counseling, although my younger cousin and I have said to them for years they need some type of therapy. I still urge so that possibly they can process these emotions openly without feeling like they have to have a guard up. Every weekend since my aunt has passed my mom and I stay with my grandma. One Sunday on the drive back home my mom broke down and said that she hated to leave my grandma alone. I didn’t know how to handle it. I never see her cry other than funerals and if I cry I’m given looks like I’m an alien so naturally when she cries I feel extremely uncomfortable. The only thing I can do is talk calmly and logically as far as comforting, that idea is foreign to me when it comes to my family.
I feel like I’m grieving in installments. I do it alone in my room and let you all in social media land into my feelings because I know someone out there will understand. When I enter the world I keep it tucked away. I don’t like it, but it’s what I know. No one has ever told me that crying is weak, but I have always been an observant person who doesn’t need to be told anything. I can see it all in a persons facial expressions and body language. These things and never seeing the people closest to me be emotional has told me that crying is something not done in public. You have a society out there that tells men that crying is weak, but what about women like me who have been brought up like that? I’m probably the softest person you will ever meet with the toughest exterior to get through. I’m grieving but I have a nagging feeling that tells me I shouldn’t be.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Tumblr: AsiaWrites
During the last few months of her life we still never became too close, but I felt like I got a chance to understand her more than I had my entire life. I was shocked to find that underneath it all we had a lot more in common than I realized. The last few months of her life was spent in and out of hospitals until the week after Thanksgiving where she never got to go back home. All that time I was at the hospital almost everyday along with my mother. I saw how much our lives paralleled while being complete opposites. We both had meddling mothers who meant well, but will drive the most patient person fucking insane. Most days would be laughs because at some point my grandmother would say something completely redundant or simple and my aunt would look at me and say “You see what I deal with everyday?” All I would do is laugh, point to my mother and say “Same thing.” In between these days of laughter would come the occasion days where she’d be completely silent. For months doctors told her there wasn’t anything more they could do and some days I could tell those words probably swirled around in her head repeatedly. I’m never the optimistic person, but I always hoped something would turn for the better. Because of my mindset I never fully understood why other family members wore long faces. I reminded them that they were the ones who were religious. They should be the ones with the hope yet I felt like I was on that hope cloud alone.
Everyday I went to the hospital I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Even if I didn’t say much, which I never do, I couldn’t imagine not being there as some sort of support. For the last week or more that she was in the hospital her health as well as her spirit declined. She was diagnosed March of 2013 and the whole time she fought hard, but those last weeks she kept saying that she was just tired. I can only imagine. I watched as the lower half of her body swelled to almost twice her usual size. I still stayed hopeful. Soon representatives spoke of hospice and everyone was in my ear telling me that hospice meant death. Still I remained hopeful. Looking back I’m not sure if I was hopeful or just in denial. Before the talk of hospice she once mentioned that she wished she could see her home one last time. My heart broke. This was a simple wish that most people don’t even have to worry about. She was soon moved to hospice where she started off energetic and again I was hopeful she’d be home in a weeks time. That was the plan after all. After about 4 days in hospice she became unresponsive. She was breathing and would move every now and again, but couldn’t talk, and her body temp was burning hot. I was still hopeful until nurses told us that when patients usually become that hot it was because their brain was shutting down. That was a hard blow. Just days ago she was joking and walking around and now this.
On the morning she died my mother and I went to the house my aunt shared with my grandma to grab her some clothes so she could stay by my aunt’s side. While there I made it a point to take pictures of every room in the house. When we arrived to her bedside I showed her the pictures on my phone not knowing if she could see them or not. I told her “I know you said you wanted to see home one last time and I’m sorry that this is only as close as I can get you there.” Later that afternoon my younger cousin flew in from out of town. My grandma, uncle, and I drove to the airport to get her (which was pretty far from hospice). The moment we all walked back into her room my aunt took her last breath. It was like something out of a movie where we got there just in time. It was unreal to see someone who had just taken their last breath and see almost immediately their color leave their body. I didn’t know how to react. Even though this was an event we all knew was coming I never thought it would actually happen.
I tried to keep the sadness inside, but I completely broke. Crying is something I never do in public even though I’d label myself a very sensitive and emotional person. I hadn’t grown up around emotion. I often identify with the age old “men aren’t supposed to cry” saying because even as a woman, although it wasn’t said I felt like I had to hide my sensitivity. One of my early memories as a child was watching “The Land Before Time” with my parents and weeping when Littlefoot’s mom died. I’ll never forget my mom looking at me and in jest said “Are you really crying?” From that moment on whenever I felt emotion rush over me in public I sucked it up and tucked it down deep. That’s why the death of my aunt has me in a sort of depression. The night she passed I literally couldn’t sleep. All I saw when my eyes closed was her lifeless body. My family looked at me like I was strange when I told them. It seems as though they should’ve understood what I was feeling, but no. I can’t really cry about it. So I ask, how do you cope? How do you grieve for someone who you didn’t have a close bond with and at one point was certain didn’t care about you? I’m sure that’s all in my head, but it doesn’t make the feeling go away.
The day of her memorial service I was certain that I would be fine. We all decided cremation was better (and cheaper since she didn’t have life insurance) so I didn’t have to stare at a box with my aunt lying in it. Halfway through the service I was okay, but one of my aunt’s close friends got up and sang a gospel song called “I Won’t Complain” which was fitting since my aunt hardly complained during her illness. The power of this woman’s voice and the words made me break slowly and once I saw my younger cousin crying I held her and just wailed. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve been, but I couldn’t stop. Moments later I looked up and saw my family, who were also crying, give me that weird look. Wipe my tears, suck it up, and push it down deep. Nothing needed to be said all I needed were the stares that made me feel so small and out of place.
When the service was over the packed church went into the dining hall to eat and catch up with long lost family and friends. When most people had eaten and gone the weeks events kept replaying in my head and I felt scared, alone, and down. Another old friend/client of my aunt (my aunt was a well known hair stylist in the area), who hadn’t had a chance to catch up with me because of all the chaos, told me of a conversation she had with my aunt years ago about me. She told me of a time where my aunt was trying to do something for me but couldn’t remember what and said my aunt told her “Asia doesn’t want for anything so if this is what she wants I’m gonna make sure she gets it.” I started to remember what she was most likely talking about. When I was trying to move to Chicago in 2008 I couldn’t find an apartment because I really didn’t have any credit established nor a job (I was relocating to go to Columbia College) and everyone wanted a cosigner. I had asked her since no one else in my family was able to. I started to cry all over again. Here, I thought she favored my other cousins over me and didn’t think of me at all. Mostly I cried because she recognized that I never asked anyone for anything yet most people accuse me of being a spoiled brat. I’m someone who tries to do things for herself and doesn’t like to bug anyone for help (Hell, I lost my apartment in Chicago 2012, because I wanted to handle it on my own like an adult should. That;s how I am). She acknowledged that. I’ve waited all of my life for someone to see that and now it’s too late for me to thank her for seeing that I’m not some arrogant brat. As my eyes welled up I saw my mom just look at me. It wasn’t a look of “Are you crying again?” it was just the fact that she just looked at me then turned back around to continue her conversation with someone. So here I was alone and feeling horrible thinking that maybe I shouldn’t be this emotional. Again, we weren’t close so why would I feel this strongly about her… but I did and I felt alone in it. I still feel alone in it.
In the weeks since her passing I’ve mentioned to my mom and grandma to seek grief counseling, although my younger cousin and I have said to them for years they need some type of therapy. I still urge so that possibly they can process these emotions openly without feeling like they have to have a guard up. Every weekend since my aunt has passed my mom and I stay with my grandma. One Sunday on the drive back home my mom broke down and said that she hated to leave my grandma alone. I didn’t know how to handle it. I never see her cry other than funerals and if I cry I’m given looks like I’m an alien so naturally when she cries I feel extremely uncomfortable. The only thing I can do is talk calmly and logically as far as comforting, that idea is foreign to me when it comes to my family.
I feel like I’m grieving in installments. I do it alone in my room and let you all in social media land into my feelings because I know someone out there will understand. When I enter the world I keep it tucked away. I don’t like it, but it’s what I know. No one has ever told me that crying is weak, but I have always been an observant person who doesn’t need to be told anything. I can see it all in a persons facial expressions and body language. These things and never seeing the people closest to me be emotional has told me that crying is something not done in public. You have a society out there that tells men that crying is weak, but what about women like me who have been brought up like that? I’m probably the softest person you will ever meet with the toughest exterior to get through. I’m grieving but I have a nagging feeling that tells me I shouldn’t be.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Tumblr: AsiaWrites
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