Really long account of what I´ve done the past month

So it`s been more than five weeks since I`ve updated and I know you`re pretty sad about that, so I`ll do an update of what I`ve been doing the past month. I`ll start Oct. 15, the day my dad died. Then I`ll continue on until today, Nov. 22. I`ve forgotten some stuff because obviously I haven`t kept up to writing, but I`ll try to make it as thorough (and thoroughly enjoying) as possible. It`s going to be long (after all, it took me almost 3.5 hours to write all this) but I don`t care whether you read it. It`s good to get this stuff out of me, as it helps the pain and helps me to remember. Most people who know me know that I`m not a very emotional person; ie, I don`t really show my emotions in that in front of people I don`t cry or fret or get angry or even give good hard belly laughs unless I`m around friends. But this entry will be a little different, for obvious reasons. So, hopefully you`ve got nothing to do for the next hour so you can read this. Just kidding. But it`ll still be pretty long....


Sunday, 15 Oct. 2006

I woke up early that morning to study for the exams I would`ve had that week (a final in Intensive Spanish and a midterm in Translation). Weird for me to wake up so early on a Sunday, but I was feeling unusually motivated. The weather was balmy, nice enough for shorts and a T-shirt or pants and a light jacket. I studied hard all morning and at about 4 p.m. I asked Ahmed if he wanted to go downtown to get something good to eat -- as in gorge ourselves, as I hadn`t ate all day. And studying takes a lot of mental AND physical energy (you know, writing and reading and running downstairs to get water and then going to the bathroom and then fidgeting and getting some more water and then checking your e'mail and then getting some more water and sorting through your notes and trying to remember where you left off and then going to the bathroom yet again. Rinse, wash, repeat.)

Anyway, just as Ahmed and I were leaving, Mitchel (our other roomate) and his family we`re leaving the house as well to get something to eat. So they gave us a ride downtown (a savings of 30 minutes) and dropped us off by my school. Ahmed and I walked to several buffets -- all closed by 5 p.m. (Sidenote: the last thing I can remember that I thought of my dad before I heard the news was the way he pronounced ``buffet`` exactly how it`s written and not as ``buffay``. Mexicans pronounce it like ``buffet`` as well, and it always puzzled me that my dad said it that way. Now I know.) We then kicked around the idea of going to a comida corrida (but then thought that even that wouldn`t have satisfied our raging hunger) so our last resort (and guilty pleasure) was to go to Burger King.

By the time i got there and saw the hordes of people and screaming kids and felt the hot sticky air from all the grills my hunger eased a bit. Instead of ordering two king-sized whopper meals (as I thought i had wanted) I stuck with the promociòn, a whopper jr., fries and a drink for the delicious price of $29 pesos, or $3 USD.

After eating, and several refills to spite Burger King (the company that ripped me off a month prior, when they sneakishly gave me a two supersize meals that cost $13 instead of one (we were going to split one between the two of us. I`m not a fatty.)) we walked over to Blockbuster, which is right next door. I took a few pictures of Burger King to send to my friend Gregg, a disgruntled ex-employee of that hateful yet beautiful franchise. At Blockbuster we rented Natural Born Killers and a documentary and I bought a Rolling Stone, Mexican edition. Ahmed was talking to an employee he knows and just as I was pushing the door to leave I got a call.

Private number. I hesitated to answer because those kinds of calls are either expensive or expensive.

``Bueno?``
``Bronson, you have to call home right now.``
``Amanda? Why?``
``Bronson, just call home. Right now.``
``Why, what happened? Tell me!``
``Bronson, call home right now, alright?!?!``

I hung up and could feel my blood already turning ice cold. I started breathing rapidly and in the back of my mind it only took a few seconds to guess that someone had died. I told Ahmed that my friend called and that it sounded very urgent and that I needed to get to a payphone. Fast. I ran off, him trailing behind me.

``Tranquilo, tranquilo. Relajate,`` he told me.

I slowed down a bit, but walked faster than ever. I pointed to a store across the busy street and told him I needed a phone card. It seemed like ages that I waited for the traffic to slow, and when I got to the store my brain stalled.

``Necesito tarjeta. Phone card! Tel.....cel. Telcel tarjeta,`` I said, trying to remember what brand of phone card i needed. Instead I had said the name of the cell phone phone card. Ahmed clarified but the store had none.

Shit.

I ran out of the store, cursing the clerk in my head, and ran across the street, nearly getting hit by a car. I wasn`t thinking, just running. Finally I found a sidewalk vendor and she sold me a phone card. By then I was even more worried, my blood still icy and goosebumps all over. Shaking violently, I was positive that someone had died and that it was 80 percent likely my morbidly obese father.

I found a pay phone but couldn`t open the plastic casing to the card. SHIT! I screamed. When I did get it opened I stuck the card in the wrong way and tried dialing. Nothing. Then I did get it in right but I couldn`t remember which code to dial to get out of the country.

``Mom, WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?!`` I screamed.
She didn`t answer me at first.
``Hello?`` she asked, and I could tell that she had been crying.
``MOM, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!!!!``
She said nothing for a few seconds.
``Daddy died.``
The tears came hard and fast. I bent over and sobbed and had one of those out-of-body moments, when it feels like you`re not really there, inhabiting your body, but rather looking at yourself as if you`re in a movie.
I don`t remember exactly what happened next, but my mom told me the details -- how it happened, where he was, that my little brother found him in the garage. Although her voice was shakey, she was calm about it. I told her I`d come back home and that I`d call once I got to the computer.

Had I been alone when I heard the news, I don`t know what I would`ve done. Especially in Mexico where I know very few people, I might`ve lost my nerve. Luckily though I was with a buddy and he comforted me and helped me get a taxi to get home. En route I was sobbing but trying to do it as quietly as possible so I wouldn`t freak out the taxi driver. That ride, the longest of my life, I thought of the last thing I said to my dad.....


****

I called home on my brother`s birthday, a week before my dad passed. Although I didn`t talk to my bro long, my dad, chatty as ever, kept the conversation going, even after I tried to awkwardly say, ``Well I should get going.`` I don`t remember what all we talked about, but we talked about my brother`s wedding and how it went pretty well. We talked about the weather at the moment (it had been monsoon-like in Xalapa that day), obviously. We talked about girls, and classes, and what my bros and sis and mom were up to. We talked about my plans to move houses, and the pets and camping. I don`t remember exactly what I said to him before i hung up (besides the obvious bye) but I didn`t tell him I loved him, not because I didn`t but because he knew and it wasn`t necessary. But I do remember very clearly the last time I ever saw him, alive:

At my brother`s wedding dance Sat., Sept. 30, we left pretty early (about 1 a.m.) compared to typical weddings. My brother told our dad to take care of himself, and that he loved him and that he wanted him to go see a doctor and to start losing some weight. It got pretty emotional, not because everyone was a little tipsy (except my dad who almost never did) but because it was such a happy day and the ocassion seemed like the thing that would really make the family closer. On the ride from the banquet hall to the campground (a good 30 minutes) my dad was yelling at me almost the whole ride home, swearing at me for having to chose such an early flight (``Cheapass! Couldn`t you spend some money and gotten a later flight, huh?? Goddamned Mexico, you don`t need to go there, save your money and buy a car.``) Back at the campground he was still yelling at me, but to make it fair I was yelling at him too (``maybe I`ll just move to Mexico so that I wouldn`t be an inconvenience to you, and you won`t ever have to wake up to take me to the airport again.``) I don`t regret what I said, because I didn`t mean it and neither did he and we both knew it.

We got to the airport after only 3 hours of sleep and the only people who stayed awake in the lobby were my sis and I. When it was time for my flight to go, my family walked me to the security gates. Always the hardest part is saying good bye. I hugged and kissed everyone. I hugged my dad last and told him that I loved him.

``I love you too,`` he said, something he hardly ever did, and at most usually just a fast, barely inteligble mutter, but this time it was solid and audible.
``Oh, I didn`t mean the things I said last night,`` he added. ``I was just mad but I didn`t mean to yell at you.``
``I know, dad, you never mean it,`` I said, laughing. I paused, and thought of all the things I wanted to say to him about his health but just couldn`t spit them out in the few minutes I had left. ``Dad, take care of yourself. I don`t want to have to come back for you.`` Deep down, i knew that he wouldn`t be around much longer, as he was very overweight and refused to do anything about it. I didn`t think though that I`d come back in only two weeks...I was thinking he`d live at least a few more years before he had, at most, a minor heart attack.
``Ok,`` he said.

The last image i have of him is him looking after me, waving, while I walked through the security gates. Whenever I say bye to someone I always like to get the last wave, but my dad was that kind of person too, so we always had a battle of waves. Finally, though, we were out of sight from each other, and I think he won that time. I remember him in his faded brown jacket, the one he died in, yet too small to zip completely and too short to go down to his waist. I remember him waving, and then, walking to the window to catch up with my mom and sis, who gave up the waving game long before my dad, so they could watch my plane take off. That was the last time I saw my dad himself, alive, was when he walked through the airport while I left him forever.

****

I got home (Xalapa house) and called back home immediately. My dad had been working on his car when he went into the garage to most likely get a tool. When my little brother found him he was sitting, sort of hunched over on a bike, face up. It was evident he had fallen backward and the bikes caught his fall. My bro screamed to mom, who rushed outside and she told him to call 911. She did CPR, but by that time it was too late. Although it had been, at most, 30 minutes since the last person saw him alive (and probably even much less, like 10 or 15 mins.), they say that it takes the brain only four minutes without oxygen for the body to die.

When the paramedics arrived they did what they could, but could is an iffy word that carries more doubt than truth. And within that could was possibly the worst few moments for my mom and brother, false hope, when they thought that the paramedics could still save my dad. But such is death.

That night I jumped around, between sobbing in disbelief, packing my suitcases, looking for the soonest yet cheapest flights, calling my mom, sending e`mails, arranging a ride from the airport to home and trying to keep myself together. I was lucky to have Ahmed, Carlo and Arianna with me, as well as Mitchel`s parents. I can`t imagine having been alone in that time.

16 Oct.

I left Xalapa at about 12:30 a.m. that same day, less than 7 hours after I heard the news. The first class luxury bus was the only option, the best one for sleeping, but I knew sleep was out of question, as it`s almost impossible for me to sleep in anything that moves. En route I heard a guy snoring who sounded dead-on like my father had snored: it was kind of comforting.

I got to Mexico City about 6 a.m. and from then until 10 a.m., when my flight left, I staggered around the airport and outside of it in search of food, too tired to rest or cry and too awake to forget that I needed to get an exit card and stamped passport (of which I`d be punished for upon my entrance back into Mexico).

My flight back was quick and easy but on American Airlines, a poorer quality company than United (of which I used for my last three one way trips). No movies, only one beverage serving and mediocre customer service. In Dallas, my layover, I met a girl who goes to MSU and also wrote at the Reporter. She was on the same flight as me. Things like that, freaky coincidences, make me think that the world is an overrated place and that it should stop pretending to be so big and just admit that it`s fairly small.

Riding the escalator down to get to my luggage in the Minneapolis airport the first person I saw was Eric and shortly after Amanda, who took me home. I`m thankful for friends like that, especially since it was a last minute deal where they came to get me. But they were big fans of my dad so you can`t blame them.

The ride back was sparse with conversation but I was fairly calm, I think to the extent that I freaked out Amanda and Eric. Before going directly home we stopped at Wendy`s in Austin because I was craving ice cream (my dad would have wanted that) and wasn`t sure if I`d have time later that night to get it.

I finally got home at about 7 p.m., 19 hours after leaving Xalapa and slightly more than 24 hours since my dad monkeyed with his last car. I opened the front door and saw all my 5 brothers and sisters, their spouses, the baby, siblings` friends and pets in the living room, watching TV, somber and mellow and reddish looks on their faces. Then I saw my mom and realized that reality hurts.

17 Oct. to 19 Oct.

The next few days were nothing but family and friends and food. Blessed I am to be Latino - large families and good conversation are the norm. All my aunts and uncles on my dad`s side came, cousins were everywhere, my brothers` friends deemed themselves honorary Pettitts and everyone felt it was necessary to bring huge dishes of lasagna, giant tins of cookies, 2 liters of soda and pizzas. But I think they might`ve forgotten that the biggest eater of the house had eaten himself out of life, and that all the food instead raised the blood sugar and sodium levels and blood pressure of the remaining. But no doubt it was appreciated immensely.

Before my dad died, I always wondered what it would be like when someone so close to me dies. I thought that it would be nonstop crying for several days or even weeks. But it wasn`t like that. Sure there were moments when we`d burst out in sobs, but more often we told good memories of our dad and imitated his constant yelling and screaming and outbursts (if you knew him you`d know what I mean). It really makes me think that family is not something to take for granted and that I`m extremely lucky that mine is not dysfunctional or crazy like so many out there. We fight, sure, but for the most part everyone gets along well and drama is not an issue.

Being home was very comforting. It reminded me even more of my dad, especially since I had been there less than three weeks prior for my brother`s wedding, but it helped chip away at my denial that he died. Even more helpful was seeing his body at the wake. They did a pretty good job embalming his body (I`m not sure what is ``good`` -- I didn`t see him just after he died and couldn`t make the comparison -- he looked himself though -- but seeing other bodies at wakes, compared to how they looked alive, my dad was probably the best). I can see why people refuse to cremate -- it definitely helped to confirm that he was gone forever and it really gave some closure.

For the wake we made a few posterboards with pictures of my dad and relived some good moments. The wake itself was ok -- a lot of people came, many of whom I had never met. And many came from faraway distances -- California, Germany, Illinois, Missouri. But even those who came from across town traveled a good distance (in terms of knowing my dad) -- my dad grew up there and spent his whole life there. But besides my mom, my grandparents probably have it the hardest -- they and my father were very close, as they never changed towns like their other kids had done. They were good buddies and my grandpa always came over Saturday mornings, knocking at the door at 9 a.m. when my dad was still sleeping and snoring heavily.

20 Oct.

His funeral was in the morning that Friday and I saw even more people I never knew my father knew. The hardest part of the funeral was not draping with my siblings a white sheet over the coffin during the service, or reading a poem in front of everyone, or not even loading him into the hearse, but seeing my mom and grandparents standing at his coffin, crying, right before it was closed. That was another heavy piece of reality right there, another bite off the denial phase, that my dad was definitely gone and that that was the last time anyone would ever see his physical form ever again.

The service was okay. I read a poem (below) and my older brother Jason told a few stories of our dad. The pastor read the ´´love is kind´´ bit from the Bible, an uncommon thing to read at a funeral I think, but it was what was read at his wedding 22 years prior. At the end of the service they played a loud, booming, joyful song (of which I forgot the title) that reflected my dad`s personality.

***

Our Dad

Our dad was the guy with the goofy grin
The man with the hairy chin
The one with the sprawling kin

Our father loved cars
Hated long hours
Brought mom flowers

A dad, a grandpa, a hsuband, a son, a brother
A friend, a teaser, a joker, a Latin Lover
Completely unlike any other

A welder, a camper, a relaxer
Whose favorite medicine was laughter
Good company and a few beers

Our dad was the guy with the thick mustache
The man with the secret tool stash
The one who had many a deer crash

Our father loved everyone
Hated to say it
But always though it

TVs and pets, cars and cookouts
Stubborn and strong, husky and gentle
Big-hearted, generous and outgoing

But most of all a family man
A dad, a grandpa, a husband, a son, a brother
You will be missed like no other

***

We buried my dad next to his grandparents in a very modest cemetery with few elaborate gravesites and instead flat, barebones headstones that give the names and birth and deathdates. After the burial (I took a few flowers from atop his casket and put them on an altar I made for Dìa de Muertos) we went back to the church and ate Chinese food from HyVee, my dad`s favorite. Yet another funeral oddity, but I think it was a pretty big hit.

Afterwards we took the truckload of flowers into our house, unsure of what to do with them all. Then we went to my grandparents, a stuffed-to-the-brim house of relatives, where we talked, ate, drank and reminisced until midnight or so.

21 Oct. to 24 Oct.

As each day after the funeral passed we got less food and fewer people came to our house but a lot of relatives remained. Nirish and Abid came down from Kato and we ate at a Mexican (authentic...I dunno?!?!) restaurant and I hung out with my Austin friends (Eric, Tuan, Feefs, Gregg, Val, Kellie, Jenna, Carissa) a few times. I went bowling with my siblings and mom and we saw a movie (Man of the Year, not that good, and my dad wouldn `t have liked it, even though Robin Williams was in it and it was advertised as a comedy but instead was a weak excuse for a satire). I left for Mexico on Tuesday, 8 days after I arrived, but I didn`t want to go back. I was leaving far too soon in the grieving process and it wouldn`t make things any easier. Also, that was the last time i`d see my family for 8 months and I felt like a bastard for going, but it would´ve been worse to quit everything, especially after 8 months of planning, and my dad would`ve wanted me to continue (``Goddammit! I told you it was a bad idea. Now stop wasting your money and go buy a car.``) But time passes fast and it`s already been 5 weeks. Eight months is nothing.

Bits and Pieces (stuff that is easier to write in bullet-point form rather than mend into a story):


* Going back I took with me a huge jar of peanut butter (it`s rare and spendy here), 3 bottles of astringent (acne medicine), powderized Gatorade, 2 sticks of Arrid deodorant, 6 bottles of contact solution (spendy as well -- $8 a bottle compared to $2.50) and a video iPod (hopefully to sell, but I might`ve gotten a little too ambitous...gulp).

* I also took one of my dad`s work shirts. He was a welder, and it`s obvious from all the holes and fading. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) it was washed (though having his scent, no matter how awful, is stronger than a photo).

* This time going back to the states I didn`t get sick like I did the month prior. I was thinking I would, especially since it was even colder and I think that`s what triggered it last time.

* I can do without Chinese food for a while.

* No matter how depressing Minnesota can be in Fall and winter, I realized that I definitely missed it, despite the barren cold and lack of anything to do. The air was cleaner too -- despite the fact that I`m living in the mountains right now.

* The day before he died he bought a widescreen TV. He always told me that he wanted to get a new TV (even weeks after buying a new TV) and I told him that he`d better get a widescreen TV because that`s how the DVDs are made and it`s natural for the eyes because their field of vision is more rectangular than square -- but he always told me, ``Goddammit, I`m not getting one of those! TVs shouldn`t be like that!``

* The traveling back to Xalapa wasn`t so bad -- I mean, given the conditions, the schedules were on time, the Burger King I ate in the Minneapolis airport was insanely delicious (I have my superstitions), the Rolling Stone (in English) was very good, and even the second class bus I took from Mexico City to Xalapa was decent. The only complaint I have is that the airport people were dicks -- I tried explaining that i forgot to get my exit card and passport stamped when leaving Mexico, but that wasn`t enough and I was told to go to the Migration office in Xalapa. Also...and this isn`t that big a deal, but the subway was closed, and instead of paying 20 cents to get to the bus terminal I paid $10 via taxi. It`s ok though, they played movies in the taxi.

25 Oct. to 1 Nov.

Going back wasn`t hard but it wasn`t easy. I missed family and friends but I had enough distractions in Xalapa to keep myself busy. Going back to school was difficult. Missing three tests and 6 days of classes was a dogfight, but I got excused from one test and the other two I got extra time to study. It was the most awkward when people asked why I was gone so long.

``Oh, i had to go back home.``
``Back to the US? But didn`t you go home just a few weeks ago?``
``Yeah...``
``Well?``
``Well, my dad died.``
Pause, and then a look of horror.
```Jeez, I`m sorry. I had no idea.``
``It`s ok, thanks.``

Returning back to the house that`s a 35 minute walk to school didn`t really help, but we moved the first day of November. I couldn`t wait for that day because the faraway house was still fresh with the emotions I left in it the day my dad died. And if I stayed in that house I think it would`ve made things worse. Going out for the simplest things -- bread, laundry, tortillas, food -- is a chore in and of itself, as the nearest places are a 10 minute walk, and in Mexico that`s a lot since the people rely less on super centralized super markets and more on individual shops to buy their things (or so it seems).

We moved, without problems, and the house we`re at now is about 1,000 times better. Not only is it in the center and five minutes from my school and we now have gas and hot water, but from the terrace you can see Pico de Orizaba (Mexico`s highest, almost-perfect looking mountain) and Cofre de Perote (another mountain that`s kind of a big deal). Besides the small terrace roof collapsing and the water leak and the difficulty the toilets have in flushing, the house is a dream. Ugly and outdating styling and cockroaches aside, of course.

2 Nov. to 22 Nov.

The past three weeks have flown by. What I`ve done in them isn`t nearly as important in my life as what happened mid`October, but at least worthy of mentioning.

* I started getting back into my routine again, and I got hardcore for about a week studying -- I put in about 3 to four hours each day. Especially helpful is buying a newspaper and underlining the words I don`t know. It helps a lot to build vocabulary.

* I went to Veracruz, a tropical port city an hour and a half from Xalapa. Whereas Xalapa can be in the 40s -- hella cold right now -- Veracruz enjoys temps in the 80s and beyond. The seafood is delicious and the zocalo is lively, but overall I wasn`t a huge fan of the city. It`s a lot more expensive than Xalapa, the climate is too humid, and the people seem more fresa (stuck up) than those of Xalapa. I might`ve caught all the wrong ones at the wrong time, but nearly everyone I encountered offered little help and didn`t really care about anyone except themself. They may be jaded by all the tourists there (another good reason Xalapa is better) or pissy about the weather as well. But who knows.

* Guitar classes going well and are getting more interesting.

* I`ve been having a toothache lately and have many cankersores. I`ve been brushing though....hmm...

* We`re getting a refrigerator soon. Maybe even today.

* There`s nothing greater than hot showers.

* Dog puke seems to be everywhere these days.

* I went to Santiago Tuxtla (tiny city five hours south of Xalapa) this past weekend with Carlo and Daniel (England and S. Carolina) to visit with Ahmed his parents and family. We originally had plans to go to all these tourist spots, like the museums, the beach, an island with monkeys, the country side and a lake with good boat rides. Instead we stayed at his house all weekend and watched about 7 movies, ate constantly (eggs, refried beans, tortillas, Coke, fried bananas, tamales, chicken and pork) courtesy of his mom (thanks Señora Avendaño) and climbed halfway up a small mountain, where we found a black kitten and named him Santiago. We intended to bring him back to Xalapa but decided against it because it would`ve incurred a lot of typical kitten costs (shots, deworming, neutering, Tuny tuna) and, more importantly, they don`t allow pets of ANY KIND in the house we`re renting. I think maybe I should`ve told Carlo that before he moved in.

* Mexico`s new president gets sworn in Dec. 1. It`s gonna be interesting because the loser is saying he`s the legitamate president of Mexico. I agree with him, but I`ll save politics for when I`m not sick of writing.

* Scarlett Johansson`s birthday was today (Nov. 22) -- happy birthday!!! and Nirish`s birthday is today (Nov. 23) -- happy birthday buddy!!! and Fernanda`s birthday is today as well (Nov. 23), a Mexican lady friend (who resembles Scarlett Johansson) -- ¡Feliz cumpleaños!

Alright, I`m tired of writing, and it`s been 3 and a half hours, and i`m starting to remember what it was like last year as news editor when 3.5 hours of writing and anything related to it were cakewalks and instead 15 hours seemed a bit much. Anyway, thanks for reading this far down, (but my thank you is not extended to those who just scrolled down to see if I`d wish them a Happy Thanksgiving (which I do, just wait) and if you want a sincere thank you then go back and read this thoroughly and take note of what i did, as the way in which I`ve arranged these 5,338 words is unique and quite important to your well being).


HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!!

FATTEN YOURSELF AND LET THAT TURKEY WORK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DOZE OFF WHILE WATCHING FOOTBALL AND EAT SOME PUMPKIN PIE FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

--bronson.