GOING TO NEW YORK FOR A WEEK, SEE YOU IN JULY! :)

(hopefully with lots of stories, mad loots, and pictures.)

AND ALL IS FULL OF JOY!

Last week was bumpy, but suddenly, I realize, I HAVE EMOTIONS. I KNOW WHAT THEY ARE. I KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE HAPPY AGAIN! (That sounds so emo.)

I thought I was doing pretty well on meds, but being off them and knowing how good I feel makes me feel like everything was super-stifled when I was taking them.

Max brought up a pretty good point last Friday when he said "If your plan is to eventually be emotionally self-sufficient and be able to deal with any kind of negative emotion without meds, what's the point in taking them now if you intend not to take them later?" And I couldn't defend myself, and decided to stay off the meds. For good.

It is a gloooorious feeling. Last night I was just so thrilled I was doing well again that I was nearly in tears. I love it.

It feels almost foreign, to have this kind of energy and interest in everything again, and a desire for interaction and inclusion, that it made me feel like a jackass because I'm unused to expressing such positivity. And then I realized, shit no, this is how happy people should act.

FUCK YEAH.

Saturday, May 16, 2009, my father passed away.

I was at work when I got the call. It was about 8:15, I was making noodles. Mom sounded hollow on the other end, and asked me to come home.  Naturally, I was shocked, and I obliged - the folks at work understood. I felt like I could barely function, and was forgetting to do everything. I made it out clumsily, and drove straight home. I barely cried, I thought about how quickly everything happened. 
It was deeply scary, and weird, but I felt... and still feel empty and kind of emotionless. It's still sinking in.

My mom found him when she got home from work not too long before she called me. She noticed he had come downstairs while we were gone, and he was in the bathroom.  She tried opening the door but it was locked, and after calling his name and trying to pry the door open she realized it was not locked, but he had fallen and was preventing the door from opening.  She called 911 and they took the door off the hinges to get him out, and revive him, but to no avail.

When I got home there were a few dispatch units there and mom was speaking with some officials, I don't even know what their titles were. There was a woman and a man who were discussing things with my mom.  I initially did not want to go inside, for fear of seeing my deceased father, but I did, and jumped straight into helping mom figure stuff out.  We spent a long time discussing funeral home options, that was pretty much the focus of the evening - no one could leave until we had decided on it.

My father was a religious man, everyone in my family is baptized Russian Orthodox, but he followed it more closely than the rest of us. Mom knew he wanted his body to be blessed before anything else happened, so we started making phone calls before we even decided on a funeral home, to find a Russian Orthodox Priest.  While that was happening, we decided on cremation instead of a burial. 
Eventually, a few friends of the family showed up and helped us hunt down said priest. His name was Father Aleksei. He arrived promptly. By then, the people present were myself, my mother, one of the dispatchers, and four of my father's friends. About half an hour was spent blessing dad's body. It was an incredibly spiritual experience, I felt beyond human and deeply humbled.

After the blessing, my mom discussed proper religious procedures for the service. We picked a funeral home, and contacted them. About an hour and a half later people arrived to pick up my father. And that was that. His eyes were glazed over. He felt cold.

They left about an hour ago. Family friends are still downstairs with mom, they are having tea. I helped with everything I could, making arrangements and just thinking logically and practically. I will spend the day with my mom tomorrow, we are going to the funeral home to make arrangements for the service and everything else.

It is so strange.

In January, my father was laid off from his job, and fell ill shortly after.  He seemed to be doing poorly for a few weeks, so mom took him to our doctor, who said that there may be a chance of him having cancer.
He was diagnosed with cancer mid-February - liver cancer, stage 2 of 3.  I remember making visits to get CAT scans and diagnoses with him. He was so jolly and good spirited throughout them, and even these last few months.  We constantly joked and spoke lightly even though we knew that it was a serious matter.  My dad took everything really well.

I found out only today that he had been denied treatment, which is why he had been taking pills instead of chemo.  (I still don't know why he was denied treatment, I imagine insurance stuff.)
We were doing lots of homeopathic stuff, tea, all-natural food and juice, etc.  He was strong the entire time. 

Just this week, I had a cold, and he came by my room on his way downstairs to check up on me and asked me how I was doing. I said "So-so", and asked him how he was. He said "About the same," and smiled.

Every day he would get dressed on his own, and go downstairs and eat and medicate and do everything by himself. Mom and I constantly offered help, but he humbly declined.  Of course we still did everything to make things easier for him.  Mom was still frantically searching for new things to help him, and was getting ready to quit her Saturday job just so that she could be home to take care of him while I was at work.
We could see him getting weaker, but no one had anticipated that this would happen so soon.

It had only been four months.

My dad and I were very close when we were younger, when we still lived in Ukraine.  He got me started making art when I was but a wee child, and now it is my life.  We spent a lot of time together, when my mom was in the hospital, and every Saturday he'd take me with him to hang out at the publishing office of the newspaper he worked for.  We were great friends. 
After we moved to Seattle, he got really distant. I didn't realize it at the time because I was too young.  As I got older, he seemed absent from my life entirely, my sister thinks that he was going through depression because of our relocation.  Homesickness, I'm sure was part of it.  We barely spoke, and when we did we argued.
In recent years we'd gotten closer again. About four years ago I stopped bickering with my family over petty shit, and whenever he and I spent time together we could speak and joke and we were back to being friends again. I live with no regrets, but I wish I'd taken advantage of more opportunities to spend time with him. We were never as close as we had been when we were in Donetsk. 

I realize only now how much of his life was lived in the spirit of optimism, with good intentions.  I admire his attitude, and I wish I had told him this more when I still could.

I miss him dearly.  I love my dad. 


Now more than ever I do not want to be alone.  I am already grateful for all the help I've had tonight from my friends who were with me when I had just heard the news.

I do not want to be without something to do.
I am grieving, I am sad, I am full of fear and confusion.
I also am inspired to do things, to do better, and to do everything I can and not waste my time.
It will be a hard transition between the inability to do anything because of loss, to living better.


I wish I had a proper way to conclude this mess of thoughts...
I love my dad, he will forever be in my heart.
R.I.P. Vladimir Kochetov. November 14, 1951 - May 16, 2009.

Not advice, but,
"Your ideas will be totally acceptable."

I got this at a Chinese restaurant on the ave. while with Max and he laughed and called it something like a pat on the back. It's kind of a bogus thing to say on a fortune cookie but I thought it was hilarious, and I had it taped to my laptop for a while until it peeled off.