Happy 23rd

Let me take a minute to talk about my brother. For those of you that do not know, he is a Halloween baby meaning that this holiday has always been associated with his birthday. How could I not be jealous? Candy AND birthday cake...Lucky!

So what do I get the guy that has everything? His passions are watches and cars but something tells me if I got him a watch he would laugh because it wouldn't be up to his standards, and I'm not about to buy him a car. Then it hit me, instead of getting him a tangible gift, I'll just get all sappy and brag about him to the world!

When people think of Aj they think of someone who is successful, put together, confident, and a gentleman. While yes all of these characteristics are true, he is so much more than that. Aj is the kind of guy that would take a bullet for anybody, and I use the term 'anybody' because he really would. He genuinely cares about people and getting to know them. Not everyone sees this side of him though because he tends to spend most of his time with a close-knit group of people as opposed to a large crowd. 

Aj is also one of the hardest working people I know. This wasn't always the case, in fact I remember when we were little my mom and him would have a constant battle at getting him to do homework. Now though, he's a beast. He takes a challenge head on and will work his ass off until it's done perfectly. He's also a people-person, he makes an impression on every single person he meets. His ability to spark a conversation with anybody and with such ease is actually amazing to watch. He never gets awkward and weird like me. 

He is also one of my best friends, probably my best friend for that matter. He knows how to talk me down when I get emotional, be goofy with me when I'm feeling goofy, and be my voice of reason when I'm acting ridiculous. Yes, we are two completely different people and sometimes I wonder how we came from the same set of parents, but somehow it works. Our family has been through a lot of ups and downs, but Aj has always been that constant support through it all. Even when we were little and my dad would have a seizure when we were home alone, he always took control and made sure I was okay. Even though the role of who was in charge of the medical stuff changed over the years, he would always ask how I was doing after I would change one of my dads bandages or after I gave him his medicine through his IV. He was supportive, and he still is. 

Aj, you are one amazing man who is going to accomplish some big things in your life, I can't wait to see what the future holds for you. Even though you changed your mind and stole my dream of having a lake house in Vermont, I'm not upset because that means that we don't have to live on opposite sides of the country anymore. I can see it now... Mippington and Aje Bear... Neighbors? 

So I hope this post will suffice for your birthday and I promise, I'll try to think of something better for Christmas!

What a guy!

So my dad had a pretty messed up childhood, filled with both abuse and neglect. His biological and step father were sadistic men with their own twisted sense of parenthood. Although their styles of "parenting" were different from one another, it is the combination of both of them together that fucked him up. 

His mother was pretty helpless. Obviously, she was dreadful when it came to choosing men. She also took much of this abuse from them which left her without a voice to defend my dad. In fact, he was the one that protected her. He had to grow up at a very young age, while still trying to act his own age; this lead to the sneaky, lying, manipulative, and angry side of my father that my family often dealt with. 

Growing up he was in and out of numerous boarding schools, getting kicked out for a number of things. But at one very small prep school in Maine he met someone, a very special woman. Although he was expelled from Hebron and he always complained about how horrible it was I know he wouldn't have traded it for anything. When he left Hebron he also cut ties with all of the people that he met there.

But then a miracle happened and my dad reconnected with that special woman I mentioned before, that lady is my mom. Even though they only dated for a few months and had a quick four day engagement, their marriage was based on love, and that's the most important thing. I can honestly say that without my mom, my dad might have never moved on from his past. She made him find a new purpose in life and allowed him to become the father that he never had. 

He had a career. He was a chef that worked at restaurants all around the world, and studied at some of the best culinary institutes. My dad was involved in our lives, and he worked hard to provide for us. I personally never would have expected him to have lived such a shitty life, because the Andy Bloomingdale that I knew was one giant teddy bear that cared for his family.

But in March of 2001 his mom passed away in a plane crash off the coast of Iceland. She was the pilot alongside her partner (she came out of the closet later on in my dad's life, sorry I forgot to mention that). Soon after that he got diagnosed with both Hepatitis C and Type 2 Diabetes, this is not a pair of diseases that should be combined. Over time these illnesses were no longer a characteristic of my father, it became who he was. He allowed the diseases to define him, he gave up.

My mom, brother, and myself all took this in a different way. Since I do not feel like I can speak for my family about this topic I'll just mention my take on the whole thing:

I hated that he gave up, but I also get it. He had a horrible upbringing that he somehow managed to break free from. He turned his life around into something to be proud of, he became the father that he never had. I was a daddy's girl, and I'll admit it. I know he spoiled me, I was his little Mippington, and he was my buddy. I know that he was not the most responsible of parents out there, in fact he was more like one big kid, but I loved that about him. He also had the biggest heart, he was genuine and cared for everyone. He was passionate, and when he found something that interested him he would become fully devoted. What a guy!

Andy Butter Bloomingdale Sr. was a man who could have allowed his childhood to define him, but he didn't, and that's kinda cool.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

So much has happened that I want to tell you. It has been 389 days since you left this world which is one giant mind boggle because some days I feel like you are still here. I call you sometimes, expecting that you will be there to pick up and it's not until I get sent to voicemail that reality kicks in, and I know you are not there to answer. That's one of the hardest adjustments to the whole dead dad thing. So many of our conversations and memories that I look back at took place on the phone at random hours of the day. You were the person I would call when anything happened to me, whether it be positive or not. Not having that anymore makes me cringe. Sometimes, when I'm not in public, I do pretend to call you though. I talk to you, and I really hope you are out there listening because if not I would just feel like a crazy person!

And then there are times when I feel like you're doing the same to me. You've been in some of my dreams and I can't help but feel you are trying to tell me something. A wise woman once told me "If you are aware that they are passed in the dream then it is a visit, if you are unaware however, it is just a memory." When I wake up in the morning I feel whole again, like the part of me that was missing is finally back in place. You and mom made me who I am today; you accepted all of my weirdness and loved me for who I was. I was not only myself with you, I was my best self with you. You taught me so many things that I'm grateful for; cooking, humor, and generosity are just some examples.

There is one memory I always look back on. We were driving around Vermont for my parents weekend freshman year in the G Wagon. The leaves were changing, Jimmy Buffet was on the radio, and the weather was perfect. You wouldn't let me put on the GPS because "you're always right and never get lost." We ended up in Stowe for brunch (our favorite meal) at McCarthy's Diner, you had your Eggs Benedict and I had my omelet. I didn't know it at the time, but that was our last brunch together. As we hit the road again we drove past a random ski lift that was running. You pulled over, got out of the car, and started walking over to it. I thought you were crazy but I followed you anyways... (This was usually the case whenever we would go out in public). We rode up the mountain in silence, sitting side by side admiring the view. I didn't want to go to school in Vermont, but you made me look at schools here anyway, and I'm so glad you did. Because if it weren't for you pushing me,  we never would have shared this moment. When I meditate and try to find my happy place I always end up back on that chair lift, except this time it's not only with my dad, it's with my guardian angel.

I miss you like crazy Dad, but I'm doing okay. Aj is taking over as the protective man in my life and I must say, he's doing a very good job! Mom's trudging through life being the superstar that she is. Seriously though, I don't know how she does it. Even though none of us are the same as we were when you were here, I can promise you this... You will never be forgotten. You have changed all of us. You came so far in your life, from your shitty childhood to the chef, car enthusiast, watch collector, goof-ball, friend, husband, and father that we all love so much. I look at your strength and know that no matter how hard my day may seem, knowing the journey you went through to where you ended up inspires me to push through it. Thank you for continuing to be my rock, and for always being there when I need a shoulder squeeze.

Love you,
Your Daughter
Mippington

8.30.15

Let me start off by saying that this is officially my tenth attempt at writing this post, and even now I don't know if it's perfect, or if it will even make sense for that matter.

Last Sunday, August 30, was officially the one year mark of my father's death. It was also the day I turned 21, as well as the day I moved into my Junior year of college. All of these would be emotional mile markers in one way or another, but when you combine them they all change meaning. In fact, I had no emotion the whole day. I couldn't push myself to be happy, it felt forced and inappropriate. But I also wasn't sad, I didn't cry once. I cry all the time at the littlest of things, so how come on what should have been the most emotional day of my life I couldn't get myself to cry? It felt like the right thing to do, but I couldn't even do that right.

I also realize that to all of you as readers, I sound kind of annoying and like I'm complaining; that is not the purpose of this post at all. In all honesty, I asked my dad to die on my birthday. As I've mentioned before, I think the most important days on the souls journey is the day that we enter this life and the day that we move onto the next one, and I am so grateful to share that with my dad. I just figured after a year I would have figured out what I would have wanted to do to commemorate that. Then the day arrives and my mind went blank. 

You know who I felt sorry for? My friends. They had no idea how to react towards the day. I could tell that they were all looking at me funny, and trying to filter everything, afraid that they might say something to upset me. And then, on top of that, my twisted humor started to kick in. For instance I would say, "Will one of you grab my phone charger, my dad is dead and it's my birthday." or "Hey mom, please don't die today, I already lost one parent on my birthday." I know, I know, it's really messed up but it was the only way I could acknowledge what was really going on. 

And then, 8:30pm rolls around. I am in my friends apartment listening to music when the one and only Wildflowers, by Tom Petty starts playing. For those of you that don't know, my dad and I decided my freshman year when we were on one of our drives that this was the song we were going to dance to at my wedding one day. I teared up a little bit, not because I was sad or anything, but because I think it was exactly what I had been waiting for all day. I didn't know if this was some sign that he was there with me, or if it was just a song that would trigger my emotions. But, sitting around the living room with my friends in silence, listening to the lyrics, and remembering a certain car ride I had with my dad was the best way I could have imagined to spend my birthday.  

Ink.

Tattoos are a touchy subject for my family; not only were they the reason my Dad got sick in the first place, but they also caused some heated arguments between my parents. 

When my dad was 17 he got his first tattoo, it was a Tasmanian Devil on his right calf muscle. It sounds weird I know, but for some reason he loved the Looney Tunes so much that he proceeded to get all of them tattooed on his bum later on in life. He also had a tiger on his back, a sleeve with a variety of symbolic meanings, various car logos, and of course, the Buddha on his stomach. 

That tattoo he got when he was seventeen was the reason Hepatitis C came into my family. Even though he never could have predicted the disease, I would like to think that getting that ink etched into his skin was his biggest mistake. The thing with Hep C is that it doesn't fully come into effect until years after you have been infected, therefore doctors didn't discover his illness until after my brother and I had grown up. 

He tried to rid his mistake by getting the Tazmanian Devil removed and covered with something he loved, a cheeseburger. Again, it's weird but it made sense to him. Although the scar was covered, the disease was very much alive, and as time went on, the effect of it started to get worse and worse. 

He loved tattoos, but my mom hated them. I understand both sides though. He loved the self expression aspect, she hated the look of them. He loved the meaning behind them, and she hated what they put my family through. It's easy to blame a patch of ink on the skin for everything, but when it comes down to it, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't change a thing. 

I don't hate tattoos, I just hate what they put my family through. He got his years ago prior to sanitation regulations being enforced. 

The Hep C taught my mom and patience, and how to care for someone no matter the circumstances. It taught my brother hard work and never allowing an illness to slow you down. And it taught me that wherever I am in life, family comes first. Together we can make it through any situation, no matter how horrible it may seem at the time.

Rotary, oh Rotary.

What a difference a year can make. At this time last year I had finished up Staff Training week at camp. I was feeling torn not just on where I should spend my summer, but also on what my priorities should be. Should I stay at camp, not knowing if I could push my own issues aside in order to be the role model I am supposed to be as a camp counselor, or should I stay at home and take care of my Dad?

I decided to stay at camp because I thought it would be the perfect distraction. It did prove to be the distraction I needed at the beginning, but summer would soon come to an end and so would my father's life. I was able to leave camp when I needed to visit him in the hospital, or just be home with my mom for emotional support. It sucked though, never feeling like I was completely settled in one place. When I was home I wanted to be at camp, and when I was at camp I wanted to be home.

The hardest part of being away from home were the phone calls. My dad would call me in the middle of the night; tears, regret, and disappointment in his voice made for long nights without very much sleep, and days filled with exhaustion. He would make me feel guilty for being at camp as opposed to being home with him, and that guilt ate away at me every day. My mom and I made a promise when I was younger that no matter where I was, or what time of the day it was, that she would call me if anything went wrong, and a lot went wrong. Therefore, lots of calls were filled with medical talk, anger, and fatigue, and not very many were  joyful.

It wasn't all bad though, I had some great people supporting me. My co-counselor was fabulous and was able to read my emotions before I could even comprehend what they were. My campers always put a smile on my face no matter how depressing my days were. And my family was there to talk to when I needed someone that could understand the pressure that I was feeling. Camp Rotary isn't just a place, it is a home, and what a big family I have there.

This past week we had a training exercise where we went around and said what camp meant to us, and one of my co workers put it perfectly; "Camp is a place where you can go to spend time with 250 of your best friends, and no matter how old that friend may be, whether they are 7 or 27, they will impact your life and teach you life long lessons that will better you as a person." I learned more last summer than I had ever learned in any class I have ever taken. I learned that it is okay to show my emotions no matter what they may be, it is okay to ask for help, and no matter what, it is okay to fail. There were some situations where I wasn't in the right emotional state to handle them, and I couldn't reach every camper, but I everyday I gave it my best and I think in the end I did a darn good job.

My dad died exactly one week after camp ended. That week was weird, uncomfortable, and overall a blur. But the last words he said to me, even though they were slurred they were powerful as he said, "I love you."

I love you too, dad.

My Turning Point

I have had a set plan in my head of what my life was going to look like and where I was going to go. I was going to go to school in Vermont, study in Italy for a semester, and become a kick-ass History teacher in a prep-school. After spending some time with my counselor, advisor, and of course the best accountant in the world, I discovered that the path I thought was meant for me, was actually the wrong one. Much of the past week has been devoted to discovering who I really am as a person and what I really want to do with my life.

I have been dealing with a lot of self-loathing for years now, however I have been pushing those feeling way down in order to stay strong for those around me. When my father became very sick last January, it was the only thing we talked about as a family. Including myself, his illness became the only thing everyone worried about. After articulating this, I now realize that I must not only be honest with those around me, but also with myself. I have been lying for years, putting on a face of happiness and humor. I'm not saying that I have been miserable; in fact, I have had a lot of fun and met some of my best friends in this time, I just know that I am not as happy as I can be.

Personal health has always been at the root of all of my problems and my unhappiness. It leaves me feeling self conscious, ugly, and tired. I hate knowing that I take up nearly double the surface area of those around me and that I bump into objects when I try to make my way through a crowd. Although, I did have a taste of the “skinny life” my freshman year of high school. However, due to my addiction to food I have slipped right back to where I previously was. I used to play tennis competitively, I was on the soccer team, and I loved to dance around with my friends. Now, I feel like I am incapable of any of those things. I am ashamed when I can't keep up with my friends. I have always wanted to change my lifestyle and I knew it was something that I needed to do, but for some reason I could never get myself to actually go through with it... until now...

Thankfully, I am changing my life. I have just signed up for a weight loss program in California where I will be attending for my Spring Semester of my Junior year rather than going abroad. I will use this time to take hold of my addiction; I will learn healthier habits and be active for the majority of the day. In order to keep up with my schoolwork, I am going to take a couple online classes. I also dropped my education major and am instead pursuing a minor in the topic.

I look back at how my father lived his life; he was unhealthy. This didn't just affect him, it affected everyone around him. Because he was hurt, we all were hurt. I love my father, but I don't want to pursue the same unhealthy lifestyle that he had. I had to become a caretaker at a very young age; through it all, using food as my comfort. Now I must take my life into my own hands, and I would like to thank everyone who has helped me come to this realization.

“If you don’t change direction, you may end up where you are heading.” -Buddha

Six Months.

We are coming up on the six month mark since my Dad had passed away. Each month since has been very different in the grieving process but all very helpful and I wouldn't be where I am without it.

September: Anger. I was angry for the first month. First of all, for those of you who never knew my Dad, he was a hoarder as well as a hider. He collected a variety of clothing, jewelry, car models, and other paraphernalia that I feel should not be exposed to you as a reader. As we packed up his belongings, box by box, we discovered a series of belongings that we never knew he had. It unraveled a part of his past that he kept from us, this made us all very bitter, my mother especially. 

October: Jealousy. Whenever I hear my friends talk about their father's I am not only jealous of the fact that they still have them alive, but also that they all seem so healthy. They speak of the 5k races and how their fathers go to work everyday. It hurts knowing that my Dad was like that at one point, I just never got to meet that version of Andy. The chef, the athlete, and the adventurist. 

November: Reflection. I look back at my memories with my Dad, and while some of them were traumatizing, I wouldn't trade any of them for anything else. Yes, it sucked having to feed my father medicine through an IV, and I hated having to calm him down after he would get worked up over something stupid, but he made me who I am today. He was a clown, full of humor and personality. He would help anyone in time of need and had a heart of gold. He truly loved his family, and he taught me that no matter what there would be a big jolly fat guy smiling down at me, he called him Buddha, I call him Dad.

December: Family. My Mom, Brother, Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, Sarah. Without the support and love from my family I don't know how I would have gotten through this difficult part of my life. I have always been close with my Mom's side, we spend every holiday together and I can honestly say that my cousins are some of my best friends (Hi Caroline and Grace)! But as sucky as this tragedy has been, I have really grown closer to my Father's side as well. They have not only taught me so much about how to be a stronger woman, but they also have told me stories of my Dad when he was younger. It puts a smile on my face to know that even though I lost my last physical connection to them, they still treat me with the love and comfort a family brings.

January: Letting go. Whether it be from throwing a symbolic golf ball into the oceans of Hawaii, or releasing the negative energy to create space for something more beautiful, I have discovered that I will always have my Dad with me in some way or another. I was afraid for a while that if I said "goodbye," that would mean that I let go of him completely. That is not the case, I still feel his energy  with me and his hands on my shoulders. I have voicemails dating back a few years and his voice is what keeps me going every day. I no longer hold onto all of the "could have beens." Instead, I have come to realize that life throws you shit, and there is nothing you can do but play with the cards you were dealt. 

February: Moving forward. I love my Dad, he was and will continue to be my best friend and nothing will ever change that. I know that this has all been a learning process, and trust me, I have learned a lot. When I think about the future it scares me, knowing that I won't be able to pick up the phone and call my Dad for advice, or watch stupid shows like Family Feud or Jeopardy with him to distract me from my issues, but I think I will be okay. I have a great support system of friends and family that are there when I need them and a future of challenges that I cannot wait to come across. He will always be with me, and instead of dwelling on the past, why not look forward to whats to come? I can look back at all of the lessons he has taught me and relate them to my future. The most important: Laugh it off. 

1.25

On January 25, 2014 all hell broke loose. My mom was in Maine, and my brother and I were at school. After hours of my father not answering any phone calls my mom arrived at home to find the house a mess, the animals going chaotic, and my father wandering around the house. He was confused; he didn't even know his name.

When my mom called me I was laying in my bed, "Dad's really sick Molly," she said as she told me of the scene she had just recently walked into. I knew this, everyone knew this. He was a sick man, but this time was different and we all knew it. This was the turning point; he officially went from being sick, to dying. His death was a slow one, it lasted a total of seven months and five days. Some days were better than others. I remember our last date, he wanted to go buy magazines. After the hour drive to a very specific Barnes and Nobel, I had to go to the bathroom. When I arrived back to him he was dancing to Bob Marley by the magazine stand.

Other days were not so great. Sometimes he would get angry, I didn't mind those days. But on the days when he would get sad and give up hope... those days sucked. What was hard is that everyone knew that there was nothing any doctor could do or say because he wasn't going to get better. He would spend days in his room without showering, laying in bed with that cat, yelling for us to bring him grilled cheese and popsicles... and god forbid you bring him only one popsicle, he wanted the whole box. I would get phone calls from him in the middle of the night, and what he said to me I will not repeat to you (sorry). I distanced myself from all of my friends and I had went home nearly every weekend that semester, not something a freshman in college should have to suffer through.

 But I am stronger now. Fast forward to January 25, this year. It's weird really, to me this is the day I realized the end was sooner than I had anticipated. The day I realized my dad wouldn't live to walk me down the isle, he would never be a grandfather, and that at any moment I could receive a phone call from my mother saying that he had died. But I don't have to worry about that anymore. I can breathe and allow myself to have fun without feeling guilty that he is at home in pain. I don't have to worry about my mom taking care of him, and that she can finally make it through the night.

I find that I enjoy talking to people about what I have been through, it lets them know why I might have acted the way I did, and why I distanced myself so much. I don't do it for the pity, or for the "you're so strong," bull... I do it because it helps me cope.

January 25, 2014 was a hard day for my family. But he is at peace now, and we can be too.