The Upside Down

To be honest, I have been dreading to put this in black and white. These memories and thoughts have been running constantly in my mind over and randomly. "My heart is begging me to get the hell out of my head. I am gonna live in the upside down." It weighs me down.

After we fell apart, I had about a week of severe depression I suppose. I was not eating, barely drinking any water and not seeing anyone. I went to work, did what I had to do for those 6 hours and came right home to my bed. No one knew of what happened and that is because I did not want anyone to know. I consider myself a pretty private person, especially when it came to him.

Soon after I came out of my shell a little more and started to socialize with my friends. Keeping busy to keep my mind off of it. This fall out was different from the first one. The first one, it took me a few months to over come the grief. I thought I was in love. This time around, was so, so different.

A year goes by and I still was distant with my family. Maybe I felt that it was pride that was keeping me distant and away. Maybe I felt they were asking too many questions and trying to get details out of me. I am an older woman now than I was with the first heartbreak and with this grief I wanted to keep to myself.

Following the year I had felt that I had just gotten over that hill of grief. That "moved on," moment. I felt that I was ready to continue on and see what else was out there for me to explore.

As I hung out with two of my really good friends, one of them told me that something had happened with him. However, I refused to know what it was. "The more momma know, the more it will hurt her." I figured that he had moved on, and Im not sure, probably started a whole new life that was once promised to me. Another promise that fell through.

A week later, I got the phone call. The phone call that left me frozen. It wasn't like what you see in the movies where I drop the phone and start crying hysterical. I had no emotion. I completely felt like I was dreaming. And from that day on for a long time, I had felt that I was dreaming.

That phone call was said that he was not going to make it through the night. I called my best friend immediately and she cried with me over the phone. Without a second thought, I went up to my room, put on the shoes that he had bought me and then left to my friends house to head to San Francisco. I had told no one. Just left.

Now mind you, we had been separated for a year now. Again, I did not want to know anything he was up to. I had fallen out of contact with his family that I was so close to, all of it.

I get to the hospital and down stairs in the waiting room was his brother who had called me earlier. We hugged each other for a long time. We pulled apart and I asked him if there was a way that I would give him one of my lungs. In that moment, I regretted what I had said. He was not my significant other. He was not my husband. Until then or I have children of my own, I have always had the mindset that I live for my brother and sister. I have two of everything. One for each of them.

We take the elevator up. The doors open and I can FEEL the eyes on me. All of his family was there, 20 plus members. I looked at no one. I kept my eyes straight ahead down the hall looking for his room.

I turned the corner and saw him. Laying there and almost lifeless. I was told that he was awake and aware, but unable to speak, earlier that day. That was the last time he was awake. I had just missed that moment.

I looked at him and his eyes were slightly open. I was told even though they seem like they are not awake or responsive, they are fully aware. I sat knelt down, got to his eye level and just looked at him. A tear rolled down his cheek slowly. Now maybe his eye was dry and stuck open, so that it why there was a tear. But that whole week of seeing him, I never saw another one. So did he know I was there? I would like to hope so. After our fall out, he knew exactly how I felt. I wrote letters, texts and told in person.

We had gone with this brother, brothers girlfriend and their kid to a kids buffet. This was about a month of our fall out, and I was still trying my best to win him back. I was pathetically begging almost every day. I did not care. After we had gotten home, he walked me to my car. Which was unusual because the nights before then, he did not walk me. He walked me all the way and I felt that he wanted to say something. Like he knew he was making the wrong decision. For a split second he wanted to come back. But he didn't. I did not want to linger around with him and quickly got into my car and drove away. That was the last time I saw him in person.

As the days went by, I tried my best to get to San Francisco as much as I could. I had a car that could barely make it to the next city over. So I had to catch rides with friends or borrow my moms car.

One day in particular, I was able to borrow my moms car. I was there for 8 hours easy. I went by myself. Hardly anyone was in the waiting rooms for him. Every one has their own lives that they have to continue on with so it was understandable. But it gave me more time with him alone. If any of his family were to come into the room I would have gladly and respectfully left. But no one came. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

I went to his room for several hours. Just standing there, caressing his arm. I didn't say much, if anything at all. I would say a few words here and there so that he would know I was there. But I mostly just stared at him. Ran my fingers through his hair like I used it. That certain touch and feeling he had on his arm that I was hold all the time when we would just lay in bed. All of the feeling that I am repressing for a year was just rushing back to me. I did my best to not cry and keep a positive energy in the room. So that he could feel that presence and continue to do better.

I left the room and went to the waiting room. His mother had flown in from Texas and was in there. She had a bag with some clothes and a pillow. Of course she was sleeping there, that was his mother. As far as she knew, him and I had broken up a long time ago. About 2 years into our relationship they found out he lied when heh had gotten into a car accident in front of my house. He was terrified on his mom and step dad. So in the heat of it all, he lied and said that we had broken up. It was all to make them happy and make the situation better. But instead we had carried on with our relationship for almost 6 years. Whether she knew that or not I will probably never know.

So we sat there and talked and took turns to go into the room and spend time with him. Towards the end of the night when it was getting late, she had asked if she could get a ride home with me. She only lives a few blocks away from me and her brother who would have taken her home lives in the opposite direction. Of course I said yes. The drive home was interesting and I was constantly feeling judged like I had before, and what he had felt constantly from them. That pressure that most asian parents give their children. At the end of the ride, she gave me a hug and gave me a totally unnecessary twenty dollars for gas.

The next moment I will never forget. She asked me to keep this a secret from her husband. I was in shock because her and her son were no different. They were both keeping secrets. I kind of smirked in my mind. Like wow. They are exactly the same.

Days would go by and we were told that he was getting better. Then worse. Then better. It was a constant roller coaster of emotions. He even had a lung and heart surgery that was extremely risky. But anything and everything was worth it in saving him. The surgery went well and all they said that the only thing he has going for him was his young age.

So we waited day by day for a week. Within that week, I was completely destroyed. I was finding out everything about him. What he had been doing. The girl he had been seeing. The promises he told me he would do, that he was not doing. It was all that I did not want to know. It crushed me.

But I continued to go to work. I told no one. Rumors and gossip spread so quickly at my work. I wanted to keep myself busy. To keep my mind off of the million and one thoughts going through my head.

A week after I had gotten the phone call, I had gotten another phone call. They told me he was not going to make it and to come say my good bye. I was out with my sister and my friend grabbing a sandwich. We got it, I dropped them off and then headed to San Francisco. I tried so so hard to not cry on the way there. My friend, who was his best friend, was driving and I did not want the sounds of my crying to make him cry. But I could not hold it in. I would have spurts of crying sessions. It was so hard.

I emailed my family all at once and told them that we were going to let him go and gave them the address if they wanted to come by and said their goodbyes.

I made it to the hospital. Before going upstairs, his brother and family went tot he church that was there. Even though I do not believe or do not know what I believe, I still prayed. I remember going to the bathroom, standing in that stall and just praying to whoever was out there. I asked to take all of my good karma and give it to him, to give him the strength to pull through.

We finally go upstairs and more family that before was there. Tears were flowing. I went into his room. It was crowded. I stood there and finally made my way to his bed side.




I whispered into his hear, with my hand on his head and the other holding his hand. I told him, "thank you for giving me 6 years of your life dedicated to me. Thank you for all the joy and laughter you brought me. You made me feel so beautiful and gave me so much confidence. You are and always will be my best friend."

I kissed his hand goodbye and that was it. The priest came in and said a prayer. I knelt down and held his foot. We say the final prayer and everyone but a few people exit the room.

We all stood in a line outside his room. His mom makes his way through the line and gives hugs. She comes up to me and asked me repeatedly if I had enough time to say my goodbye to him. She made sure that I had enough time. I assured her that I had. A few days earlier, I had texted her and asked if she needed anything from Vacaville before I made my way to San Francisco. She told me in her phone that my name was his. She said that she had thought that he had texted her. Perhaps waking her up from this nightmare. She told me, "I'm going to keep it forever." I am glad that I was able to give her some happiness.

We all sat in the waiting room. Some old coworker, really close friends had came up to say their goodbyes as well. It was just liked it was before. Everyone all together when we used to have good times. The times that we took for granted.

Then 11:13 I believe it was came. That was the time he was born. They pulled the plug then. They said it took him 10 minutes to go. And then he was gone. It was silent. No one said a word. Just tears.

And just like that, my best fucking friend was gone.

We sat there for another 20 minutes then got up to go back to the room and pay our respects to his mother. It was so hard to take those steps to his room. My friend held me as I just cried. I cried so hard for so long. I finally got the courage to into the room. I tried to make it a point to not look at him. I did not want that to be the last time I saw him. Gone. I hugged his mom and I did take one final glance. There are no words or emotions to explain what I felt.

I whispered into his mothers ear that I loved him very very much and that there wasn't a thing I would have done for him.

Then we got in the car and headed back home. We listened to the older album of AFI and just drove. I called my dad and all he could say was that he was so fucking sorry this happened to me. No father wants to see their daughter in pain and I am sure this was not easy for him. That is another pain that I hope I never feel.

I came home, talked to my dad for a little. I went to the fridge, grabbed my sandwich from earlier. I went up to my room, ate it and then went to bed. How I was able to do all of that was beyond me. I remember sitting there on my bed thinking, "Well I guess this is life." But I also felt some sort of relief. As fucked up as it sounds and I do not care how anyone interprets my grief. But I felt a sense of relief for both him and I. I am not sure but it was hard to explain. Honestly I do not want to say anymore because it is going to sound fucked up any and which way.

Whats beyond my mind, is that I went to work. I did not call in sick or go home early. I continued to work. I wanted to keep busy.

Of course word spread fast, so my manager at the time allowed me to just be in her office and organize it with the door closed. I did not want to run into anyone or have anyone talk to me. I would instantly cry and I did not want that. There were moments when I would go to bathroom and cry. But I would wipe my tears, fix my hair and makeup, and continue on. I wanted to stay strong.

A week after he passed, after mending the wounds, we had to face going to his wake. It was incredibly hard to handle. I refused to go up to see him. I did not want to see the shell of him. I did not want to go up there and have that thought in my mind of, "Oh I know it isn't him." I also know that this is not how he would have handled this himself. He was not a religious person at all. I am sure he wanted to be cremated and have remains in Fairfield.

All of close friends were there. There were so many people there that there was not enough chairs. People were in the back standing. Crowded.

I chose not to go with my family. Again, I wanted to keep myself and pride private. I sat with his best friend and my best friend. I was there till the very end of all of prayers.




And that was it.




Since then, I went into a pretty bad drinking habit. Drinking constantly, hiding bottles, etc. From there I wasn't eating and starting to look unhealthy. I was making bad decisions and continued to distant myself from my family.

I have gotten a little better and still continue on to stay busy and try to get to a happy place again. Slowly but I am getting there.

I still think of him almost every day. I have little memorabilia's here and there dedicated to him. Two of our good friends had babies and both have middle names after him. It is fucked up that they will never know who he was. But there are photos and videos they can fall on. Those that show who he was and to carry on his memory.

I can not say that I feel him with me but that does not mean he isn't. His niece was placed into my new car at the time. She was in the drivers seat and the first thing said and kept repeated was his name. So maybe he is with me.

I still do a lot of things for him still. But after this post, I think that I can finally continue to move on. It is one thing to talk to some friends about my feelings but a whole other thing to put it on paper and go on with my story and facing it. I already feel a little better now.

He was truly one of a kind. To see all of those people, whether friends or family, show up, is more love that I have ever seen for one person. He touched so, so many lives.




I miss him still. I love him still. And always.





Quinn.