Death rears it's ugly head again.
So much to say. To the whole two people who read this. Hell, the only two people I allow to read this.
Maybe not true.
But I just need to write.
Moving –
I moved. Moving sucked. Dealing with the crazy ex landlord long after we moved SUCKS more. But my new house is kick ass. I loves it. I love my neighbor. It’s been a damn long time since I like anyone I lived next to this much. Plus, I’m close to a lot of things now. The old landlord has charged me way over my deposit. I counter offered. No response. So crazy. Also! I have a new neighbor who is also awesome and while sometimes I may feel a little left out cause her and Jenni are so close the only thing I can do about that is get to know her better. She’s a honey badger. Honey badger’s don’t give a damn.
Death –
It’s been over a year since Dad died. Last month he would have been 57. I hate that sentence. It screams UNFAIR to me. I miss him even though I didn’t see him much at all. Indeed not at all since just before I turned 13. My mom gave me some insight…they were both mere mortals, not superhuman as I thought and each was at least partially responsible for their break up. But they really loved each other at one point, and the only real reason my mother became so poisoned against him was because of me. Which I understand. I have a hell of a time forgiving anyone who I’ve considered as doing something bad to my kid….but that didn’t make her constant jabs against him any better. It’s still brought me a greater understanding and maybe a little less anger over the whole issue. I also recently found out what he died of..kind of. He went septic for reasons they still can’t explain, but it was the heart attack that finally did him in. Also, he’d been having heart issues and gout. It’s made me start thinking about things. I used to think that as long as my kid made it to 18 before I died, I would succeed. Except I wasn’t ready for my dad to die even at 30…so it’s pretty fucked up to think that way. And I’d like to think Derek and I are closer and it would be even harder on him if I died. Agh. Mortality, how I hate thee.
Since that has been better, of course something else fucked up had to happen. My aunt died in her sleep in the middle of September. =(
No idea what happened. And she wasn’t my “real” aunt I guess. But she was the person who was always around. She was the reason we moved to Oregon. She was the one we tried to live with repeatedly. And then her and mom would fight and stop hanging out. The last time the catalyst was me. =(
Aunt Jeanette had moved back to Colorado and her and her husband reported my step father to the authorities here in Oregon. Then when they came, I lied. So my mom (even though she KNEW better) decided that my Aunt had lied and was out to get her. And blah, blah, blah…so none of us kids were supposed to see her. Which I disregarded. Screw that. She was merely trying to help me.
Only recently had they started talking again and my aunt was SO excited, talked to me for quite a while via facebook chat. I was happy, but also cautious. I warned her that while I was glad, she should be careful cause she knew how mom was. She at least semi agreed. I’m happy they were getting along when she died. I always identified with her the most. She was a fat girl like me, but so fun. Then she got the stomach stapling or whatever and her facebook pictures all looked like a much smaller, almost scarier version of the aunt I remembered. No doubt it was healthier for her to not weigh so much, but her pictures made me think of tweekers. Which I know better. She wasn’t that kind of person.
I don’t know what to say to any of my cousins. She had so many kids and while most of them are grown, it’s still going to be fucking hard for them. Of course it is. It’s hard for me and my aunt was so much closer with her kids than I was to my dad.
Then….oh then. At the end of September my grandpa died. This one has been harder. I thought maybe I’d feel better since I at least HAD seen him in March…but it’s not easier. It’s a different kind of sad and maybe not as full of wondering …hell, he was 80. He wasn’t gonna live forever. My mom isn’t handling it real well…and why would she? It’s a hell of a group to belong to, the dead parents group. Even a year later, I’m not entirely better about dad. I can talk about him more freely, but I also lot my shit when I changed my profile pic to a really cute one of him and me when I was a baby. I’ve been thinking about writing my step mom another letter telling her how I’ve been thinking of him and I know she must be too. I think the tattoo I got helps…so I’m working on an idea for something for my grandpa. Something with a car, as they were his passion. I just…well, he looked really good in March. And I realized that he had a sense of humor and he was just really patient. 5 kids and barely any of them really get along together but he’d sit and listen to mom rant and then tell her something smart. I can’t remember the exact conversation and it was all second hand, but those are my memories. My younger memories mostly involve playing on his porch and with the toys he always had on hand. Derek didn’t quite know how to react. Why would he? He barely knew him. He DID hug me, which is rare these days. So yeah…not doing super well. Maybe if there weren’t two in a row, but there was. And it makes me sad and tired. I feel like I’m being extra bitchy and my boss even reminded me that we have counseling available to us here. That’s great and all…but I never really have liked talking to counselors…I feel like they don’t see people they only see statistics. And I’m not a statistic. Instead I’ve been spending time talking to friends. Is it helping? I feel like it is a little bit.
Four people. Three years. Can’t I go one fucking year without someone I love dying? The only good thing (if you can call it that) about this is that I’ve had much less time to think about how I’m doing my life and relationships “wrong” or making up issues where none exist. Ben has been amazing. Both for moving and for people dying on me. Charles may have hit me the worst. But I AM the girl who used to go to cemeteries and cry over the baby graves. Why did they die when I was still alive? Why would Charles die when so many other people “deserved” it more? I managed not to cry too much over my aunt, but I just keep losing it over Grandpa. I AM happy I sucked my fears up and went to Colorado. But I just wish that people would stop dying. I suppose it’s gonna get worse as I get older. =(
It’s too much sometimes.
I texted my lovely neighbor Jenni about my aunt and basically told her about my shit filled day and she came home with a bottle of rum, sent her boyfriend home and spent the night at my house taking shots and listening while I talked about my aunt. I don’t know if I’ve told anyone this enough but I loves that girl. I don’t know why I didn’t hang out with her much before, but she’s perfect. And yes, I might be having a girl crush, but she’s to the point, she’s fun, she’s not a flake, and we can sit and bitch about Heather together and both know that we adore her, but she can be a bit….well.
Then my other new neighbors showed up and so we sat in the front, smoking, bullshitting, Ben played guitar (whoa!!), and Kymber showed me her backwards house. Then she fed me all sorts of yummys. Including awesome cheeses. I really love my neighbors. I stayed up until 1 and had to be up at 7, but it was worth it. Also, Jenni is awesome with my kid. She teases him and he loves it. Plus she doesn’t look perpetually half aggravated like Heather does sometimes when talking with my kid.
My lovely honey badger neighbor was totally there for me when I got the news about Grandpa. Because I couldn’t ask for help or ask my friends to come rally. I just texted them and told them and said I was doing as well as could be imagined. Ha. Sometimes I wish I could just fucking ask people for things. But I don’t want to be told no. That seems worse than just not asking for help in the first place. I’m just too introspective lately. I should be living life and every moment to the fullest, right? *sigh*
So that’s life…some of it is better than it was. Some of it is worse and I really, really, really would like a year to go by in which no one I love dies. Please?
People have expressed concern and I love every one of them for caring. I really don’t want to be sad…but. I’m working on it. I WILL pull myself out of this. I managed to pull myself out of emo land back when I was a teenager and while it may have taken a pregnancy for me to stop doing stupid shit and basically waving my life around like a red flag to the bull of death. I was not doing well then. I had got away from the sexual abuse but I still felt worthless. To this day Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter” makes me want to pump my fist in the air. Because I am better today. Because I’m way more stable today. Because I don’t want to die almost every day. And while this whole death business may have me backsliding a bit, I DO still have that baby of mine (yeah, he’s almost 14 but he’s MY baby) to keep me caring about life. To keep me fighting. To keep me caring. He’s the best accident of my whole life. And while this is a different thing to deal with, at least I’m an adult in this situation and I have control over myself. In the long run, dealing with the abuse was much harder. Being in the moment of abuse was way worse then being sad over death. So this too I will get past. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, maybe not next month, but it WILL happen. And if writing that out and reading it as I write it makes my resolve that much stronger, well that’s a good thing too.
Maybe not true.
But I just need to write.
Moving –
I moved. Moving sucked. Dealing with the crazy ex landlord long after we moved SUCKS more. But my new house is kick ass. I loves it. I love my neighbor. It’s been a damn long time since I like anyone I lived next to this much. Plus, I’m close to a lot of things now. The old landlord has charged me way over my deposit. I counter offered. No response. So crazy. Also! I have a new neighbor who is also awesome and while sometimes I may feel a little left out cause her and Jenni are so close the only thing I can do about that is get to know her better. She’s a honey badger. Honey badger’s don’t give a damn.
Death –
It’s been over a year since Dad died. Last month he would have been 57. I hate that sentence. It screams UNFAIR to me. I miss him even though I didn’t see him much at all. Indeed not at all since just before I turned 13. My mom gave me some insight…they were both mere mortals, not superhuman as I thought and each was at least partially responsible for their break up. But they really loved each other at one point, and the only real reason my mother became so poisoned against him was because of me. Which I understand. I have a hell of a time forgiving anyone who I’ve considered as doing something bad to my kid….but that didn’t make her constant jabs against him any better. It’s still brought me a greater understanding and maybe a little less anger over the whole issue. I also recently found out what he died of..kind of. He went septic for reasons they still can’t explain, but it was the heart attack that finally did him in. Also, he’d been having heart issues and gout. It’s made me start thinking about things. I used to think that as long as my kid made it to 18 before I died, I would succeed. Except I wasn’t ready for my dad to die even at 30…so it’s pretty fucked up to think that way. And I’d like to think Derek and I are closer and it would be even harder on him if I died. Agh. Mortality, how I hate thee.
Since that has been better, of course something else fucked up had to happen. My aunt died in her sleep in the middle of September. =(
No idea what happened. And she wasn’t my “real” aunt I guess. But she was the person who was always around. She was the reason we moved to Oregon. She was the one we tried to live with repeatedly. And then her and mom would fight and stop hanging out. The last time the catalyst was me. =(
Aunt Jeanette had moved back to Colorado and her and her husband reported my step father to the authorities here in Oregon. Then when they came, I lied. So my mom (even though she KNEW better) decided that my Aunt had lied and was out to get her. And blah, blah, blah…so none of us kids were supposed to see her. Which I disregarded. Screw that. She was merely trying to help me.
Only recently had they started talking again and my aunt was SO excited, talked to me for quite a while via facebook chat. I was happy, but also cautious. I warned her that while I was glad, she should be careful cause she knew how mom was. She at least semi agreed. I’m happy they were getting along when she died. I always identified with her the most. She was a fat girl like me, but so fun. Then she got the stomach stapling or whatever and her facebook pictures all looked like a much smaller, almost scarier version of the aunt I remembered. No doubt it was healthier for her to not weigh so much, but her pictures made me think of tweekers. Which I know better. She wasn’t that kind of person.
I don’t know what to say to any of my cousins. She had so many kids and while most of them are grown, it’s still going to be fucking hard for them. Of course it is. It’s hard for me and my aunt was so much closer with her kids than I was to my dad.
Then….oh then. At the end of September my grandpa died. This one has been harder. I thought maybe I’d feel better since I at least HAD seen him in March…but it’s not easier. It’s a different kind of sad and maybe not as full of wondering …hell, he was 80. He wasn’t gonna live forever. My mom isn’t handling it real well…and why would she? It’s a hell of a group to belong to, the dead parents group. Even a year later, I’m not entirely better about dad. I can talk about him more freely, but I also lot my shit when I changed my profile pic to a really cute one of him and me when I was a baby. I’ve been thinking about writing my step mom another letter telling her how I’ve been thinking of him and I know she must be too. I think the tattoo I got helps…so I’m working on an idea for something for my grandpa. Something with a car, as they were his passion. I just…well, he looked really good in March. And I realized that he had a sense of humor and he was just really patient. 5 kids and barely any of them really get along together but he’d sit and listen to mom rant and then tell her something smart. I can’t remember the exact conversation and it was all second hand, but those are my memories. My younger memories mostly involve playing on his porch and with the toys he always had on hand. Derek didn’t quite know how to react. Why would he? He barely knew him. He DID hug me, which is rare these days. So yeah…not doing super well. Maybe if there weren’t two in a row, but there was. And it makes me sad and tired. I feel like I’m being extra bitchy and my boss even reminded me that we have counseling available to us here. That’s great and all…but I never really have liked talking to counselors…I feel like they don’t see people they only see statistics. And I’m not a statistic. Instead I’ve been spending time talking to friends. Is it helping? I feel like it is a little bit.
Four people. Three years. Can’t I go one fucking year without someone I love dying? The only good thing (if you can call it that) about this is that I’ve had much less time to think about how I’m doing my life and relationships “wrong” or making up issues where none exist. Ben has been amazing. Both for moving and for people dying on me. Charles may have hit me the worst. But I AM the girl who used to go to cemeteries and cry over the baby graves. Why did they die when I was still alive? Why would Charles die when so many other people “deserved” it more? I managed not to cry too much over my aunt, but I just keep losing it over Grandpa. I AM happy I sucked my fears up and went to Colorado. But I just wish that people would stop dying. I suppose it’s gonna get worse as I get older. =(
It’s too much sometimes.
I texted my lovely neighbor Jenni about my aunt and basically told her about my shit filled day and she came home with a bottle of rum, sent her boyfriend home and spent the night at my house taking shots and listening while I talked about my aunt. I don’t know if I’ve told anyone this enough but I loves that girl. I don’t know why I didn’t hang out with her much before, but she’s perfect. And yes, I might be having a girl crush, but she’s to the point, she’s fun, she’s not a flake, and we can sit and bitch about Heather together and both know that we adore her, but she can be a bit….well.
Then my other new neighbors showed up and so we sat in the front, smoking, bullshitting, Ben played guitar (whoa!!), and Kymber showed me her backwards house. Then she fed me all sorts of yummys. Including awesome cheeses. I really love my neighbors. I stayed up until 1 and had to be up at 7, but it was worth it. Also, Jenni is awesome with my kid. She teases him and he loves it. Plus she doesn’t look perpetually half aggravated like Heather does sometimes when talking with my kid.
My lovely honey badger neighbor was totally there for me when I got the news about Grandpa. Because I couldn’t ask for help or ask my friends to come rally. I just texted them and told them and said I was doing as well as could be imagined. Ha. Sometimes I wish I could just fucking ask people for things. But I don’t want to be told no. That seems worse than just not asking for help in the first place. I’m just too introspective lately. I should be living life and every moment to the fullest, right? *sigh*
So that’s life…some of it is better than it was. Some of it is worse and I really, really, really would like a year to go by in which no one I love dies. Please?
People have expressed concern and I love every one of them for caring. I really don’t want to be sad…but. I’m working on it. I WILL pull myself out of this. I managed to pull myself out of emo land back when I was a teenager and while it may have taken a pregnancy for me to stop doing stupid shit and basically waving my life around like a red flag to the bull of death. I was not doing well then. I had got away from the sexual abuse but I still felt worthless. To this day Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter” makes me want to pump my fist in the air. Because I am better today. Because I’m way more stable today. Because I don’t want to die almost every day. And while this whole death business may have me backsliding a bit, I DO still have that baby of mine (yeah, he’s almost 14 but he’s MY baby) to keep me caring about life. To keep me fighting. To keep me caring. He’s the best accident of my whole life. And while this is a different thing to deal with, at least I’m an adult in this situation and I have control over myself. In the long run, dealing with the abuse was much harder. Being in the moment of abuse was way worse then being sad over death. So this too I will get past. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, maybe not next month, but it WILL happen. And if writing that out and reading it as I write it makes my resolve that much stronger, well that’s a good thing too.
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