I Wish I Could Go Back In Time
Well, I hid all my previous posts—they’re quite embarrassing. Despite the endearing cheekiness of my previous self, I’ve decided to hide my previous posts until I find the courage to show them to the public once more.
But I kept my promise, didn’t I? I’m still writing in this damn thing. Albeit, the last time I wrote in this thing was years ago. I must admit, though, compared to the me three years ago, I’m not nearly as talented with the pen as I use to be. Perhaps I just haven’t had as much time to think about the pedestrian topics I use to think about; things like boundaries, commuting, friends, or love. These topics still come to me, but I am so busy with work that I can’t even find the time to gather enough sleep.
But if you’ll stay with me for the next few minutes, here’s what’s happened in my absence. Buckle up. My life went from drab and gloomy to indefatigably stressful to nostalgic and sorrowful.
Let’s step back a few years…
Graduation. GRADUATION! That’s all I was thinking about at the time.
This will be over soon…So soon. I just need to get through all of these grueling classes and I’ll be free. The world will look so different when I get out of here. Won’t it?
I was taking 3 400 level CS courses, all of which were stressful, but to be honest, I spent most of my time struggling through my mathematics minor. I seriously spent over 70% of my time trying to force my way through Group Theory and Elementary Mathematical Logic (read: proving mathematical axioms). Dear Lord, going for my math minor was such a mistake. I literally breezed through my CS courses. In fact, had I actually chosen a different field to minor in, I would’ve been able to take 5 400 level CS courses with absolutely no difficulty—that’s just how much I love the field.
Regardless, I steeled myself and prepared for the very last round of exams, projects, homework assignments, and hellish commutes.
Fast Forward: Winter 2012-2013
I graduated, but I decided not to go to my graduation; they were going to charge me $300. 300 BONES! Seriously?! To hell with the graduation ceremony! I got my B.S. of Computer Science and I’ll be damned if the University of Maryland was going to take another God-Damned dime.
I was hired at a software engineering company, which I still work at, up in Connecticut. Me and my parents sprinted around the area to look for an apartment for me to stay in. Afterwards, I jump-started my career as a software engineer with my very first (real) job; it also pays handsomely, if I do say so myself.
The rest of 2012 is just a blur of mindless work and random visits home—visits I would soon miss. Visits I wish I could redo. I took too many things for granted last year. When I finally figure out how to put myself back together, I’ll come back and write about it, but, for now, let’s skip ahead to the past 30 days.
13. Not my lucky number. Not a number I’m very fond of. It’s prime, which is cool. But…it marks the year of my mother’s death, so it’s not so cool.
On December 31st, 2012, I went to my friend’s New Years Eve party. It was your typical hackneyed house party. Only a handful of coworkers and friends showed up. We counted down the seconds to midnight and played beer pong. Nothing all that special.
On January 1st, 2013, I texted my dad and wished him a happy New Year. He didn’t reply until 6-7 in the evening, informing me that mom had gone to the hospital. She came down with a bad case of Influenza B. OK. Nothing to be concerned about. She’s only 48 years old—soon to turn 49 in February. Plus, she runs marathons—yeah, as in, she has ran multiple marathons and actively trains for future marathons. She was in better shape than me! She could probably whoop my ass. So when I heard she had gone to the ER, I figured they would give her an IV with saline water—an expense that reaches several thousands of dollars by the way—and then send her home. No big deal.
Hell, I was so confident that I even toyed with the idea of her dying in my head.
What if she died? Haha. That’s a good one. I suppose I could play the well known non sequitur gag on my friends. I’ll just tell them my mom went to the hospital and then I’ll quickly switch the topic to sports or something totally unrelated
Never in my life would I ever regret such a thought, even in jest.
Stupid me. Don’t you realize that words have power?! Don’t even dream of these things
A call came at 8:00am on January 2, 2013. I’ll never forget it. I was tired and I had gone to bed really late the previous evening—or rather, earlier that morning. My dad’s voice. Shaking. Doleful. He sounded like he didn’t know where he was, just that he needed to tell me something.
Andrew, I don’t know how to tell you this, but mom passed away last night. I’m really sorry
Is that so?
I honestly didn’t even register the message. It was so unbelievably surreal that my fleeting thought of using my mother’s admittance to the ER as some sort of punchline had actually come back to punch me in the gut. What a sick irony to be a part of. I didn’t quite like this joke.
I’ll be home later tonight
OK. I’m really sorry. I don’t…I don’t know what to tell ya. I’m really sorry
My dad coughed up a response to that liking. I can’t quite remember it all. I immediately hung up the phone and dashed to my computer.
A Flight Out
Power button. Click. BIOS boot and POST. Loading…Come on. Come on. Go faster, God dammit.
Windows 7. Log in. Clack clack clack. I enter my password. More loading…God dammit. Faster, faster…
I always fly out of HPN. It’s the closest airport and it offers cheaper flights via US Airways—a terrible airline, if I might add—and shorter lines at security.
I booked a ticket with an arbitrary return date. Now, this was before I actually knew about bereavement fares, which is something you should keep in mind if you need to fly out to a funeral. This mis-step would end up costing me approximately $800 dollars later down the road. No worries, though. My mistake. Plus, I don’t care about money at this point.
The earliest flight I could reasonably make was at 5:00pm. That would get me into DC around 6:00pm, but with all of the delays our airline industry suffers through, I imagined we wouldn’t be in DC until 6:30pm.
We took off. Not many people were at the airport—either of them. Odd. Regardless, I arranged for my close cousin to come by and pick me up from Reagan National. We arrived at home, but my father was absent—he was picking up his brothers from the airport.
I sat down on a stool in front of the island in the middle of the kitchen, waiting to wake up.
Part II sometime soon.