The MFA, a look back on my Dark-Year and Dark-Day two years later.

Today is my birthday.

Two years ago at 11:00PM my father called me to say, "Happy Birthday." He was so busy in physical therapy and celebrating being able to walk again a month after his spinal cord surgery that he almost forgot. Well, he was indoors for a month with no sense of time, so I understood all of that.

We went almost a month or so without our normal father-daughter banter. I missed him terribly. I felt like I was losing it because I hadn't spoken to him much. The reason was that he was suicidal. The doctors told him after his surgery he would be paralyzed, probably, for the rest of his life. He had always been my protector and the person that wanted to fly across oceans to save me. He couldn't "face" me or the fact that he might never be my rock again, that I would have to take care of him.

On my birthday he took his "first" few steps. He was happy. He felt whole again. He cried on the phone, I cried. I told him I loved him and couldn't stand not talking to him for a month. He told me he loved me. He didn't get reception at this hospital and was reliant on my sister's phone - she had to go home for the night.

I thought I would hear from him soon and go see him soon after he got situated in his new handicap-friendly apartment.

He died on November 4th, early in the afternoon.

And I died too.
A little bit at first when getting the call from my sister and then with the words, "He's gone, Megan, I am so sorry," all at once.

It is two years later, four deaths later, one resurrection later, a handful of busy work later, and jobs that didn't suit me later, and hours of staring at the wall processing the meaning of life later.

My stability was ripped out from underneath me. My constant was no longer. I had nothing to fall back on and nothing to rely on. I had no one that I honestly loved or trusted fully.

I no longer cared. I still don't, not really, not in my heart of hearts. I don't get as excited about things anymore. Things like games, tarot cards, interesting books, and writing that I used to be consumed by - I can no longer even get a glimmer of excitement when I try to make myself interested. I think it is because I would pack up all of my stuff, all of my future, all of the pointless things I ever thought I enjoyed and burn it all if I could have one more hug from my father. That thought stops me from really caring about frivolous nonsense that everyone else does. Because, what is the point?

In ten days, I will have a degree.

In ten days, I will have received something I spent almost two years busting my ass for because after Matt died I couldn't see how else I was to honor two people's memories if I didn't TRY.

Matt reached out to me in the weeks after my dad's death. He messaged me to make sure I was eating, when I lost it crying he somehow always knew before I even flipped out on facebook, there was always a message of support. He was my friend for years before that but in this month and a half he showed me how much he really cared.

He was supportive of me and was there for a sounding board all the way up to the week of his death.

After his loss, I was inconsolable. I wanted to call my dad. But I couldn't. I called our mutual friend instead.

I feel like I talk about grief in a frenzy like a colony of bats frantically flying around the stone walls of a dank cave. I can't seem to understand it, I can't seem to get out of it and I just hope to find my way into the world again. Like talking about it will help me find my way, words and whining bouncing of stalactites.

Deep in January 2016, I was staring at a story I wrote about my father when he was still alive. For some reason, I was compelled to look up Master's Degree programs for writing. I remembered that Matt had just finished his the year he passed away.

I applied for them.

Within days, I received calls and emails to send my portfolio in to get reviewed to see if I was right for the program. I was right for a few.

I chose the one with the professor I enjoyed emailing with more. I don't know why that seemed important to me at the time.

Then I fell right in.

Some days are worse than others. Some days I can't even find the strength to get through, but I did and I do.

After these deaths, I lost a young cousin, and an Aunt, and almost my mom.

I know loss is coming for me. It makes it harder to enjoy things. It makes it feel futile to try for things like advanced degrees and the like. But I still try. Because that is all you can do.