Not your typical PDC post...

Usually I enjoy posting about shitshows on this blog here, but can I be serious with you guys for a moment? I've been fortunate enough to have a relatively problem-free childhood and family life. No divorce, no major drama, no lifetime movies. This is my thing. This is the one thing that eleven years later, I still cry about. eleven years later, I still can't talk about it. Therefore, I blog.

I don't even know where to begin with this one, so let's just have at it. Eleven years ago my aunt died. From alcohol poisoning. My dad's only sister. My grandma's only daughter. She literally drank herself to death. My dad took her to detox, but it was too late and her body completely shut down. I'm not even sure she knew we said goodbye.

She drank because she lived her entire life hiding from her past. Choices others made for her. And choices she would always regret. So she drank. And she knew this would happen. She knew.

My uncle knew. He knew it all. And he watched. And he let it happen. My family knew that she was drinking, but not how severe it was and how it was destroying her life. I was too young to fully understand the severity of the situation. If I could have done more, would I? It probably still would've been too late. But I will never know and I will always wish I would've helped her more. I should've helped more.

I used to have nightmares about her funeral. Because it was awful and tacky and she would've hated it. Because I watched my Grandma say goodbye to her only daughter. I watched as my Grandpa couldn't even grasp what was going on. We rode in a fucking limo between places and my fucking uncle put her in a wall. She would hate that fucking wall with the tacky silk flowers.

Why am I still so traumatized because of this? I live in San Diego because of her. I work at SeaWorld because of her. I love Seaport Village and Shelter Island because of her. I can't even look at Humphrey's Half Moon Inn. She brought me here when I was young and kept bringing me back. She fostered my interests and encouraged all of my hobbies. Even the rock collecting.

I see so much of her in me all of the time and it fills me with pride and breaks my heart all at the same time. Because I wish she could visit me at work. I wish she would've seen me graduate. I wish we could hate birds together and that we could've seen Bette Midler in Vegas. And Cher and Celine. We were supposed to see The Phantom of the Opera. I wish she could meet my sister's kids. Dear god, she would love the shit out of those kids.

Sometimes I think all I have left of her is some costume jewelry, faded photos, my venetian glass candy collection, and a box of things she knit for my future children. She knew. But I have so much more. I have this life that she inspired me to live. I owe it all to her.