![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Feb. 8th, 2003 02:59 amWith the introduction of today's newest developments settling into my brain, everything from the past summer has started coming back to me. Only this time, it's multiplied.
All of the issues and problems I had thought were long past have now reared back into my face and spit. It doesn't exactly help my present mood that I've learned of two deaths in two weeks. One of which was someone's father, the someone being roughly around my age.
Yesterday, I stood outside my office with my coat blowing around my ankles. Smelling the coming snow on the air and trying to flex warmth into my fingers. This was before I found out about my mother's test results, but her health was on my mind as it usually is this past months.
I paced, waiting for my ride to show up, and thoughts raced furiously through my skull like angry wasps trapped in a Mason jar. I know I will eventually have to deal with the death of a parent. Frankly, it's inevitable and is really just a part of life. Most children outlive their parents. And despite all of the risks I've taken in my life and the damage I have inflicted upon myself and others, I believe I am also going to be one of those offspring who survive longer then the people who brought them into this world.
I've watched my parents lose their parents, but it's just not the same. My one grandfather, my father's father, died when I was very young. And I don't remember the aftermath of that nor how my father reacted. Though I do have stories told to me by my mother of how my father almost threw himself into the grave as the casket was being lowered into it. (This is the grandfather who is buried in a cemetary near my apartment, I visit it from time to time, something which I've always kept to myself.) My mother lost her father when I was young, but young enough to remember. And the things I mostly remember were the wake and not really understanding what was going on. I don't remember any of her reactions. And from what I've been told, she didn't react much around the rest of the family. Everyone else was falling apart and it came to her to be the strong one to hold everything together.
My mother's mother died when I was in my early twenties. Well. I should probably amend that statement. My mother's mother, Helen, died when she had a hysterectomy when she was around her thirties. In her grief over the loss of future children (she came from a huge family and wanted to have many children of her own), she became an alcoholic. Her heart was gone from this world, it just took thirty or forty years for the rest of her body to catch up.
We all reacted strangely to that death. It wasn't so much mourning as a collective sigh of relief that this woman, the one who had brought so much grief and drama to an already strained family, had finally left us alone. I remember a conversation I had on the phone with my cousin, Dolly-Ann, about how odd that it was that it took one very angry and woman's death to bring us all back together. Even odder considering the fact that my family is still enormously fucked and will probably continue to be so until the bloodline finally runs its course.
My father's mother, the grand Dorothea, died a year ago. This was probably the worst I've dealt with, in terms of family mourning. I was an adult and held full comprehension of the death, though it was something we expected and had been waiting for. I completely understood and registered my father's grief over the loss of his mother. I sat next to her hospital bed with her frail and withered hand in mind, whispering into her ear that it was time for her to go. We can take of ourselves, I promise. You don't have to keep an eye on us anymore. If you want to go, just go.
No, we can't actually take care of ourselves. But, it was something she needed to hear. If she heard it at all, as she was basically in a morphine induced coma at the time.
(I don't really know what I'm getting at with all of this, to be quite honest. I think I'm just rambling out all the things in my head. I should also be in bed, as I have to help The Engineer move into his new apartment tomorrow.)
It is a strange hurt that fills me when I think of the loss of either of my parents. Sure, they both can annoy the fuck out of me. But, I remain very close to them. And despite the fact that I've been a tremendous disappointment to the two of them, I know they love me dearly. I truly don't know how I would react if I were to lose either of them.
And as I grow older and as the two of them also grow older, I can feel it getting closer and closer. And the most bizarre things pop into my head. Wanting my father to do a will, so I don't have to fight with a bunch of my hick relatives from the South over something they swear up and down he promised to them (which he has promised them nothing. I get it all and it's up to me to decide who gets what. He tells me this constantly. Thanks, Dad.) Wanting my mother to write down her spaghetti sauce recipe because I don't know how to make it properly and once she's gone, it's lost forever. The living wills that both of them have.
Stupid, stupid thoughts. Practical ones, I suppose. But, stupid to me. I don't want to think of petty things like recipes and my father's model car collection. I don't want to think about the eventuality of having to deal with these things.
What I want, dear ones, is to be a child again. With my parents as gods and ever living. Secure in the knowledge that they are immortal and have all the answers. Knowing that if anything goes wrong, I can go running to them and they, in their infinite wisdom, will know just the right thing to fix the problem.
I don't want to play at being the executor of the will. I don't want to make funeral arrangements. I don't want my name on my father's bank accounts and stock holdings with a P.O.D. (paid on death) next to it. I don't want to decide who gets my mother's expensive bride dolls (all 29 of them).
And I especially don't want to deal with the grief and sorrow of losing someone whom I love dearly. I know all about the circle of life and blah blah blah. Fuck all that noise. I don't want a circle. I want a straight line, never ending.
Screw all this navel gazing. I've had it, for now. I'm going to bed.
All of the issues and problems I had thought were long past have now reared back into my face and spit. It doesn't exactly help my present mood that I've learned of two deaths in two weeks. One of which was someone's father, the someone being roughly around my age.
Yesterday, I stood outside my office with my coat blowing around my ankles. Smelling the coming snow on the air and trying to flex warmth into my fingers. This was before I found out about my mother's test results, but her health was on my mind as it usually is this past months.
I paced, waiting for my ride to show up, and thoughts raced furiously through my skull like angry wasps trapped in a Mason jar. I know I will eventually have to deal with the death of a parent. Frankly, it's inevitable and is really just a part of life. Most children outlive their parents. And despite all of the risks I've taken in my life and the damage I have inflicted upon myself and others, I believe I am also going to be one of those offspring who survive longer then the people who brought them into this world.
I've watched my parents lose their parents, but it's just not the same. My one grandfather, my father's father, died when I was very young. And I don't remember the aftermath of that nor how my father reacted. Though I do have stories told to me by my mother of how my father almost threw himself into the grave as the casket was being lowered into it. (This is the grandfather who is buried in a cemetary near my apartment, I visit it from time to time, something which I've always kept to myself.) My mother lost her father when I was young, but young enough to remember. And the things I mostly remember were the wake and not really understanding what was going on. I don't remember any of her reactions. And from what I've been told, she didn't react much around the rest of the family. Everyone else was falling apart and it came to her to be the strong one to hold everything together.
My mother's mother died when I was in my early twenties. Well. I should probably amend that statement. My mother's mother, Helen, died when she had a hysterectomy when she was around her thirties. In her grief over the loss of future children (she came from a huge family and wanted to have many children of her own), she became an alcoholic. Her heart was gone from this world, it just took thirty or forty years for the rest of her body to catch up.
We all reacted strangely to that death. It wasn't so much mourning as a collective sigh of relief that this woman, the one who had brought so much grief and drama to an already strained family, had finally left us alone. I remember a conversation I had on the phone with my cousin, Dolly-Ann, about how odd that it was that it took one very angry and woman's death to bring us all back together. Even odder considering the fact that my family is still enormously fucked and will probably continue to be so until the bloodline finally runs its course.
My father's mother, the grand Dorothea, died a year ago. This was probably the worst I've dealt with, in terms of family mourning. I was an adult and held full comprehension of the death, though it was something we expected and had been waiting for. I completely understood and registered my father's grief over the loss of his mother. I sat next to her hospital bed with her frail and withered hand in mind, whispering into her ear that it was time for her to go. We can take of ourselves, I promise. You don't have to keep an eye on us anymore. If you want to go, just go.
No, we can't actually take care of ourselves. But, it was something she needed to hear. If she heard it at all, as she was basically in a morphine induced coma at the time.
(I don't really know what I'm getting at with all of this, to be quite honest. I think I'm just rambling out all the things in my head. I should also be in bed, as I have to help The Engineer move into his new apartment tomorrow.)
It is a strange hurt that fills me when I think of the loss of either of my parents. Sure, they both can annoy the fuck out of me. But, I remain very close to them. And despite the fact that I've been a tremendous disappointment to the two of them, I know they love me dearly. I truly don't know how I would react if I were to lose either of them.
And as I grow older and as the two of them also grow older, I can feel it getting closer and closer. And the most bizarre things pop into my head. Wanting my father to do a will, so I don't have to fight with a bunch of my hick relatives from the South over something they swear up and down he promised to them (which he has promised them nothing. I get it all and it's up to me to decide who gets what. He tells me this constantly. Thanks, Dad.) Wanting my mother to write down her spaghetti sauce recipe because I don't know how to make it properly and once she's gone, it's lost forever. The living wills that both of them have.
Stupid, stupid thoughts. Practical ones, I suppose. But, stupid to me. I don't want to think of petty things like recipes and my father's model car collection. I don't want to think about the eventuality of having to deal with these things.
What I want, dear ones, is to be a child again. With my parents as gods and ever living. Secure in the knowledge that they are immortal and have all the answers. Knowing that if anything goes wrong, I can go running to them and they, in their infinite wisdom, will know just the right thing to fix the problem.
I don't want to play at being the executor of the will. I don't want to make funeral arrangements. I don't want my name on my father's bank accounts and stock holdings with a P.O.D. (paid on death) next to it. I don't want to decide who gets my mother's expensive bride dolls (all 29 of them).
And I especially don't want to deal with the grief and sorrow of losing someone whom I love dearly. I know all about the circle of life and blah blah blah. Fuck all that noise. I don't want a circle. I want a straight line, never ending.
Screw all this navel gazing. I've had it, for now. I'm going to bed.
