Endings

This is a very personal piece.  It details events from around this time two years ago.  I've toyed with the idea of writing a book about my first few years in Korea.  If I do that, then this, or something similar, will likely be the prologue.

     Life is full of endings, all we can do is press on until we find the beginnings again.

     When my university years ended in May I felt empty and hollow inside, as if a part of me had been taken.  I searched for something to fill this emptiness, this realization that for the first time in almost two decades I was no longer a student. 

     For, if I wasn’t a student, what was I?

     I couldn’t be teacher yet; I had no job, no classroom full of students, waiting to be filled by knowledge.

     Neither could I be a wife.  While my boyfriend and I had been dating for almost five years we were no closer to marriage than when we’d been begun, despite all our talk.

     I spent the month of June working at our local grocery store, like I had all through university.  In my free time I wrote or just lazed in our neighbor’s pool.  Sometimes there was a bottle of something fruity and alcoholic in my hands, other times there wasn’t. 

     It was a lazy existence as I waited.

     Are you wondering what I would be waiting for?

     Why, I was waiting for my life to begin.

     I had finished university, I had a beautiful diploma in hand as I sent out resumes and applications everywhere.  I was supposed to be moving near my boyfriend, in fact, he and I were to be living together. 

     Near the end of June though I came to a realization as I was sitting in my grandparent’s spare bedroom, a cold drink in hand with my laptop propped in front of me on a small chair.

     I didn’t want to teach in Florida, nor did I want to move in with Zack, my boyfriend.

     This thought shocked me; waking me from the stupor that graduating had given me.  I sat staring at my drink for several minutes, wondering what I would do if I didn’t teach in Florida and move in with Zack.

     After all, it had been what I had been planning to do for years.

     As I searched through my memories I discovered a different dream, another plan I hadn’t thought of for a long time, ever since Zack told me we would break up if I chose to do this.

     As soon as I found this dream a smile came to my face, the first such smile to grace my face since I’d graduated.

     To hell with Zack, I was going to do what I wanted.

     I was going to teach overseas.

     The idea consumed me as I spent hours going through websites, finding recruiters and narrowing down my search from the entire world to just a few countries.

     I didn’t have enough experience to teach at a good international school, so I settled for teaching English.  I narrowed it down further to Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea.

     I talked with recruiters, told them what I wanted, and yet didn’t tell anyone else until I’d already started the long process.

     I told my family first.  I was fearful of their response, but they were very happy for me and excited.  This increased my happiness and my excitement.

     Then came the time when I had to tell Zack.

     He wasn’t happy, far from it.

     The air grew even stiffer between us.  My decision, the one that made me happier than I had been in years, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

     We’d been growing apart for years, though we refused to accept it, both of us clinging to what we had when we were both fresh out of high school.

     We tried to pretend all was normal during Fourth of July, but it wasn’t.  He still controlled me though, talking me into things I really didn’t feel like doing with him.  This made me feel worse and killed our relationship even faster.

     Our relationship staggered on for another few weeks, and then he called me up one night.  He didn’t know I had an interview in less than an hour, I tried to escape the phone, but he wouldn’t let me.

     By the time the call was over our relationship was dead, though far from forgotten.

     I couldn’t cry though, I couldn’t smudge my makeup.

     I busied myself making sure everything looked good for my Skype interview and played happy, cheerful music while refusing to think about it.

     I sat through the interview and did a good enough job that they offered me the position the next day.

     During the time between the interview and the job offer though - I found myself in a living nightmare.

     I was in my grandparent’s large house by myself, late at night, and the house was full of memories.

     I packed up everything he’d given me and hid it so that I could not see it.  I dealt with it further several weeks later, when my soul wasn’t in mourning for a relationship that should’ve died long ago.

     After I packed everything I did something that I couldn’t believe.  Something I hadn’t done since I was seven years old.

     I threw a tantrum.

     My grandmother would be shocked to know I want through the house screaming and crying, hitting walls, doorframes, and even myself.

     Eventually I ended up in my grandparent’s closet.  The only room Zack had never even seen.

     There I lay; curled up on the floor, sobbing my heart out, and truly wondering if I’d made the right decision.

     The next day I was in shock again, worse than I had been after graduation.  But, the harsher the pain, the shorter it lasts.

     For my pain disappeared as I sat next to my friend, Michael, and his fiancée, Kristen, the next night and talked of Korea, video games, and complaints about work while we drank something fruity.

     The next month and a half passed in a blur of interviews and preparations.  My birthday came and went.

     And then my childhood, my life as a student, came to a complete and utter end.

     I was sitting on my dad’s couch, chatting with my sister about nothing in particular.  I think we were about to watch a show, though I can’t remember what.

     My phone rang and I pulled it out of the cushions it had fallen under. 

     It was my grandfather.

     “Hello,”

     “Caitlin, are you sitting down?”

     I frowned, “Yes, what is it?”

     “Your mother committed suicide.”

     Shock ran through every vein in my body as I shouted, “WHAT?!?!!?”

     My sister looked at me in alarm, but I didn't say anything more, all I could do was sit frozen and listen to my grandfather continue speaking.

     “There’s a cop at her house, I need to go meet him, but I don’t remember what street she lived on.”

     I finally found my voice, “I’ll meet you at the Texaco.”

     Then I hung up and jumped off the couch.  I grabbed my purse and raced to the door.

     “Caitlin, what’s wrong?” my sister’s voice was strong, yet full of fear and worry.

     “Something happened to someone from work,” I blurted out as I jerked the door open and rushed out to my car.

     I raced through the streets of Niceville, my windows down in the heat and my music blaring, trying to chase away the horrible thoughts in my head.

     I arrived at the Texaco before my grandfather.  I pulled in next to the fresh seafood restaurant next door and walked into Texaco.  I kept staring at the shelves, a million thoughts racing through my heads, but none of them staying for more than a second or two.

     I finally bought a couple dark chocolate bars and went back out into the sweltering heat.  Sweat dripped down my neck as I ate one of the already melting bars – the other two were safely in my purse.

     By the time I finished the chocolate my grandfather had arrived.  I silently got in the truck.  He said something, but I didn’t hear him.

     After a few simple directions we arrived at her house.

     The cop was a detective and he started giving us the details as we stood in her driveway.

     She was moving to a new place and hadn’t paid the rent, so the landlord tried calling her.  When he got no answer he called the cops and they agreed to do a welfare check, since they knew she was disabled.  They found her van in the driveway, but no one answered the front door and it was locked.  They went around to the back, which was open.

     Walking in, they were assaulted by horrible smells.  My mother never kept a clean house, it always smelled like cigarettes, rotten food, and dirty litter boxes, but this was worse. 

     They found her in the bathroom, lying on some pillows in the bathtub.

     A cup of coffee was beside her, as was a note, a note dated six days before.

     My father arrived around the time the detective got to this point.  Introductions were given, but      I don’t think I said anything.  Images were going through my head.

     You see, on the date the note was written I was at DragonCon in Atlanta, wearing a costume and having the time of my life, while my mother was deciding to end her life.

     Guilt washed over me, plus the realization that she didn’t know that my relationship with Zack had ended, nor did she know about my plans to go to Korea.  In fact, the last time we had talked had been a month and a half before.  She’d texted me at my birthday, but I couldn’t bother to respond since she’d made my life a living hell all through middle school, high school, and parts of university.

     Not to mention what she’d done to my sister.

     Still, the guilt ate at me.

     What if I had responded on my birthday?

     What if I had stopped by in August to tell her about Zack and Korea?

     What if I had stopped by after DragonCon, but before the cops found her?

     This last question is the one that haunted my nightmares for months.

     When the detective continued his story I forced myself to focus on him again.

     The note was very long and hard to read, she rambled on a lot, but the message was eventually clear.

     She’d been planning suicide for years.

     She’d been carefully saving up her many pills for just such an occasion. 

     Why did she pick now though, you ask?

     She ran out of money, and her body was failing her.

     My mother was an extremely proud and independent woman.  The thought of going to her family for help and entering a nursing home, just to live a miserable and painful existence was too much to bear.

     So, she decided to make sure it would never happen.

     Guilt, anger, and pain swam through me, chasing away the shock as we searched for a house key.  Eventually I found one in her unlocked van.

     I called family members and we made plans to come in the morning and go through her things.       I called my work to tell them what happened.

     It was as I spoke with Lisa, my manager, a woman I barely knew or liked that I lost it.  The simple empathy and kindness in her voice broke through my shock and sent me into tears.

     After I hung up I just stood their crying until my dad walked out of the house.  He gave me a hug, and he rarely initiates a true hug.  After a minute or so I collected myself and we left.

     My dad and I went home to tell my sister.

     She sat there in shock for a minute on the couch, and then she just got up, went to her bedroom, and shut the door.

     I followed her after a few minutes.

     We just laid on the bed, cuddling like little children and not saying a word, or crying.

     That night we went to dinner at a Chinese buffet with our grandparents.

     My sister and I ate so much we were in pain.  Near the end I went to the bathroom and threw up all the food I had eaten.  The pain felt good, it reminded me that I was alive, though I knew at the time that it was wrong.

     The next day all my family came to help, even my friend Michael came to help.

     It was amazing, though I had to put my foot down a few times when it came to my aunts.       There’s a reason my mom was too proud to ask them for help.  They kept trying to push their wants and beliefs on me.

     Usually when they do that I just smile and nod, but this time I said no or just walked away.  I know I was very rude to them, but I didn’t care.

     We worked from early morning until dusk going through the things at her old place and her new place.

     It was exhausting, but it helped break the shock even further.

     The next few weeks were a blur. 

     Gone was my happy excitement about Korea, rather, I just wanted to bury my mother and leave for Korea.

     I wanted to get away from Niceville.  Everywhere I turned there were memories and ghosts.  Every time I saw a white van I jumped, expecting it to be her. 

     By the time September 23^rd came I was done.  I was tired of seeing my mom and Zack everywhere.  I was tired of the sympathetic cards and the painful phone calls with her old friends, friends she hadn’t seen in years.

     I was just tired.

     We interned her at Barrancas National Cemetery in Pensacola.  And then I spent the next day and a half with family, eating and drinking as we tried to stay positive. 

     The two days after that I spent finalizing everything. 

     And then, early in the morning on Tuesday, September 27^th I boarded the first of three flights to Korea.

     And as the plane took off over the still dark Niceville, I knew that my old life was over forever.