Category: Family

What if it’s me?

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So now that moms funeral has past, things are kinda resolved a bit. Or at least I thought they were. I’m actually having a lot of anxiety about the relationship I had with mom and how I perceived it. I perceived it as we were friends. I talked to her twice a day. She was going to move up here and live with us in a few years. But she never told my sisters (whom she lived with) about that plan. She said she didn’t want to stir up drama and God would work it out. But now I’m thinking what if she just didn’t want to tell ME she didn’t want to move in?

Also the phone calls. I called her twice a day. That’s pretty needy. I thought she liked it. If I missed a call, she’d call me to see what was up (or to rag me on skipping work cause if I didn’t call in the morning, she totally knew I was skipping work). However, whenever sister 2 would call while mom was here, she’d roll her eyes ’cause sister 2 will call in a crisis or wasted and keep you on the phone for over and hour before you can get off. You’ll talk in circles for 45 minutes and just be dying to get off the phone. Did mom roll her eyes every time I called?

She told me she and sister 1 never talked. And sister 1 was mean to her in my opinion. She treated her like she was old and getting senile (she wasn’t). I feel like sister 1 gaslighted her a lot and made her feel like shit. But now that she’s dead, sister 1 is in hysterics that her best friend and her “person” are gone. But dude, you treated mom like slave labor. You weren’t nice to her. You talked about how she was getting too old to do some things IN FRONT OF HER like she was some senile old dog. I wanted her to move in with me to get away from you.

However, it seems we all thought mom was “our person” and our friend. Which I guess you shouldn’t play favorites with your kids. That’s fine. But I thought what I had with mom was different and special. And now I feel like maybe she lied to me. Like maybe I wasn’t special at all. Like maybe she didn’t like my calls all the time. Maybe she never intended to move here. Did she lie to me? Was I wrong? Was I just the 4th kid she had to treat with kid gloves because I’m just as crazy as my sisters?

I don’t know and I’m devastated at the thought. And I can’t make it right. I can’t apologize and have a better relationship with her. I thought we had the perfect relationship though. Was I wrong? This is horrible.

A new chapter

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Mom’s funeral was Monday. The service was perfect, the flowers were beautiful, there was no family drama. It was more than I could have hoped for. She would have loved it.

I took down the Christmas decorations in her room today. She would have never left them up this long. It would have been decorated for Valentines by now. I did not decorate it for Valentines Day. However, I did change out the Christmas for her bright orange and teal quilt. The cats favorite chair changed from a Christmas throw and pillow to a more summery combination.

It’s funny. When we take down Christmas in the house, it always seems so much colder and more sterile. Moms room doesn’t. It still feels comfy cozy.

I do feel a small sense of closure. Like healing can start now. Waiting over a month to hold the funeral was a heavy stress on all of us. Now it feels like the page has turned to a new chapter. Your favorite character just died but you keep reading.

And a suitcase full of black

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Man, life does not take a break when your world stops. It doesn’t stop. It feels like it should stop. My mom died, the funeral is Monday, everyone be respectful. But no. Your sisters dog still tears and ACL and requires surgery. Your shower still gets a leak that requires a plumber. Work is still a shit show. The escape plan for May is getting pushed back to October. Your husband is still having the worst week of his career. And you’re packing a suitcase full of black clothes.

A suitcase full of black. I’m still oddly numb and practical about everything. I had to make sure my husband had appropriate clothes which required clothes shopping. I had to get new black pants for us both. So this afternoon we’re driving down to stay with the family tonight.

My over stressed husband, who’s been in quarantine for nearly a year, is being forced to stay with other bubbles. However, it’s unavoidable. He knows this. I do worry about all of these bubbles crashing for the funeral. Ugh. When are we getting a damn vaccine rolled out for all of us? I can only pray there’s no virus spreading going on with the funeral. We won’t be having visitation at the funeral but we’re having a big lunch after. Not remotely my decision. But how can I say no? It’s moms funeral. The family wants to do lunch after which I thought was nice. But now a lot of people are coming to lunch. I’m a bit worried. I’ve already bowed out my husband but I feel obligated to go. Mom just died of Covid and we’re having a party. Blarg.

Well, wish us luck. Emotional and health-wise. Here we go.

Trying to keep my cool

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So mom’s funeral is Monday. This is my off Friday, so when I filled out my time card, I went ahead and entered bereavement leave for the funeral next week. I almost burst into tears.

I love time off. I hate working and in particular I hate my current job (don’t worry, I have something in the pipeline for May). So missing work is awesome. And free PTO? Sign me up! But bereavement leave… for my momma? I don’t want this. Not like this. I’ve joked about using bereavement leave in the past for my father because I’m a terrible human being — but my momma?

I guess it’s strange things that can trigger grief. K gave me a card I knew was from old coworkers with condolences and I didn’t even open it until I got home. Couldn’t afford to cry on my lunch break.

K said shes coming to the funeral. K, you so don’t need to drive two hours to come. I wont be able to see you and even if I did, I couldn’t give you the big hug you deserve and cry on you cause she was my momma. I’m crying as I type this. I’m so glad you at least knew her a little bit. I was so blessed to have such wonderful relationship with mom and I’m so blessed to have you as a best friend.

Alright, I’m gonna go hug the cat.

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Then the check engine light came on.

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I has been a week. Let me tell ya. Monday I was so anxious and overwhelmed that I skipped work. I had watched 90 Day Fiance which was me and moms show. We both call each other to remind each other it is coming on and then talk about how crazy everyone is. And Natalie be CRAZY. Mom will never see how crazy she is and we cant talk about it. Who’s watching our show with me now? Just me and the cat, I guess. And he doesn’t care how crazy Natalie is, which she really is.

I’ve been hyper focused on the cat as a bit of a break from the far heavier death of mom. So of course I’m upset that even with all the changes, he’s still only got a life expectancy of 1 – 2 years. I assume that includes a lot of decline towards the end as well. So it’s difficult. I just gave him his fluids via stabby needle an hour or so ago. He’s resting in his bed next to me. With a big lump of fluid on his side. Poor guy.

Also, I’m anxious about starting vestibular physical therapy. With not having to drive much thanks to Covid, I had kinda of convinced myself I was all better. This is fine. Ya know? And acknowledging that I still get really sick driving is a hard pill to swallow. I certainly don’t want to go back to last January when I had to do my physical therapy exercises twice a day and got nausea and vertigo every time. It was miserable. So I don’t wanna. That’s basically what it boils down to. I don’t wanna.

Work’s been… bad, I guess? Honestly, I haven’t been working. I’ve been just getting though my days. I’m sorry, I’m just trying to not break down, yall. Like I said, Monday I didn’t even make it in to work. So my not-very-important task has been halted half done. But this is the last week of the sprint so my favorite coworker was assigned to help me with it. Of course DeBitch made a snarky asshole remark. DeBitch was one of the main reasons I didn’t go in Monday. I just didn’t want to deal with that shit. And of course I feel terrible.

It’s a team carry. I’m the teammate down and my team is carrying me over the finish line. It’s embarrassing and …well… embarrassing. I’m ashamed of myself. But then I also need the carry. So I’m grateful but also want to crawl up in a hole and die. Mostly the latter.

So I’ve got a lot going on that’s stressing me out. A lot. And then the check engine light in my car comes on yesterday on the way to work. God dammit, are you serious? So I have a scanner to read the codes — it’s some faulty circuit in the temperature sensor. But still, kick me when I’m down, will ya?

I just want to crawl up in a hole and die. Or to retire and crawl up on the couch and never leave the house again. That’s fine too.

Some Things 1/15

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1) I’m trying to get stuff for the funeral organized. We need to pick a photo for the main mom photo. But my sisters are still too distraught to look at photos. Sister I was talking to said she didn’t even leave her room yesterday. She just ate some cottage cheese she had in the fridge down there. Okay, thats not healthy.

Also, I can’t shut down. I have a job and a mortgage and a husband and a cat I had to take the the vet today. I know she’s fucked up and grieving but I kinda want to smack her. Get off your damn ass.

2) Took the cat the vet today. The good news is, all of his levels have improved! I think the vet was very impressed that I followed directions. She basically treated me like I was a good dog. I’m cool with that. Go me!

Problem is he’s still in kidney failure. I got the copies of his labs so I could look stuff up. He’s right at the bottom levels (good end) of stage 3 failure. Ugh. So I don’t think he’s going to get off the fluids and stuff. He has an average life expectancy of 2 years at this point. Let’s make ’em good.

After the bath, he was licking himself so much he had a hair ball… in the new heated cat bed. He was obsessed with it and now he wont go near it. Fuck. It’s like Mr C and grape juice. He’s traumatized now.

3) Someone was using “my” bathroom stall at work and it was surprisingly weird. There is like one bathroom per floor where I work with 6 stalls. I always use the same stall. Row 2, Stall A. It’s a good one. Row 1 Stall B runs forever. 1 A flushes too much (sensor calibration issues). I can’t use a handicapped stall so I stick with my safe 2 A. But the other day someone was in there! I had to use one of the handicapped stalls.

Am I the only one who always uses the same stall?

Heavy Sighs

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Missing mom is weird.  It’s been three weeks since we last spoke.  The last time we’d ever speak in this life.  I keep catching myself going “I’m gonna show this to mom” or “I haven’t called mom yet!” or getting up late and thinking “moms gonna rag me for sleeping so late and being late to work.”  I’m making mental notes about things I’ll tell her or talk to her about when we next talk.  I miss that connection and that outlet. 

But I’m not broken.  I’d never think I would handle her death this well.  I certainly didn’t expect it.  We were going to build mom an addition to our house.  I had it completely planned out and drawn up in sketches here or there.  We’d discussed it.  She wanted one of those step in tubs.  She’d have her own kitchenette.  It was going to mirror the dining room bay windows size and shape by the pool.  Creating a kind of courtyard.  She’d have her own home entrance and foyer on the side of the house.  And when we built it making a hallway through the storage room, I’d build in a closet for all that shit in the downstairs hall.  And there would be a wooden deck between the back doors.  I’d imagined I’d find her there a lot in the morning having coffee and tending her plants.

I miss her and I weep.  But it doesn’t feel like a massive Greek Tragedy that I think it should feel like.  The way it seems to be for the rest of my family.  They can’t talk about her without crying.  Can’t look at photos of her.  I like the memories the photos hold.  I don’t mind looking though them.  She always looked happy.  It makes me remember the trips and who took that photo.  I just ordered a 20×30 print of her sitting in a window looking out over the Fox Theater in Atlanta when I took her to see Third Days final concert tour.   I had planned to have her sign it or something.  But she won’t be here to sign it.  However, I will still have it hanging by my side of the bed.  Mom forever looking happily out the window. 

My family won’t even let me post the memorial date and time.  They’re “too upset” and “not ready.”  I don’t understand.  We’ve planned the memorial.  We’re having it, why is it weird to tell people when it is?  I completely don’t get it.  K said that maybe I’m just more in touch with my feelings and they’re not so they can’t look past themselves right now.  I can see that being true.  But shouldn’t I be more broken?  They’re all fucking puddles of tears over there.  Am I too medicated, perhaps?  Too many antidepressants?  Do I WANT to be more sad?  Should I be?  I just don’t know.  

I’ll never give her that house of her own.  We’ll never sit on the tanning ledge together again.  I imagine opening the pool this year with her gone will be a very difficult thing for me.  She loved my pool so much.  She’ll never sign the window portrait for me.  I can’t take her on a trip to a place she’s never been.  Or even a trip to a place she has been.  What will Florida be like without mom?  How will it be without her being awake before everyone having coffee on the balcony?  That’s just weird.  Should we even go?  Mom was the one who worshipped the Florida trip.

Yet I don’t feel like there are loose threads.  I don’t feel the carpet unraveling beneath me.  She had a better life than I’d even realized.  She touched so many people.   She knew I adored her and would do whatever I could for her.  I know she adored me and would do anything for me. 

I only had three touch stones.  Mr C, Mom, and my cat.  Mom was the strongest bond and now it’s lost.  And the cats in kidney failure.  And Mr C has his games. 

I keep thinking of when I worked on tanks.  “Always have three points of contact with the tank.”  Your ass, your hands, your feet, your stomach – just have at least 3 places of contact with your body and the tank at all times.  Don’t fall and break your ass on the company’s dime.  No standing willy nilly on the tanks – put your ass down.    

I had three points of contact with the Earth, life, whatever you want to call it.  And now one’s gone and one’s going.  Will I fall? I’m certainly not following directions.   I’ve never had good balance.  What will happen to me?  What will happen when I’m balancing on one foot and that foot has a bad day and just wants to play his games and be left alone?  Do I just go play Animal Crossing?  I get on every night to get my money tree and see if that bitch owl shows up.  But I’ve got over 6 million bells in the bank and she never gives me anything good anyway.  Fucking owl. 

Morbid but successful at cutting red tape.

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I’m surrounded by moms death. I’ve got so many gorgeous flower arrangements, my counter is a memorial now. In addition to making the music playlist, I’ve got to make the slideshow for her memorial. Which means all my texts, emails, and facebook messages are pictures of mom. But there’s also mundane stuff. Gotta shut down her debit card. Gotta cancel her phone line…

That last one is what I wanna talk about. I called Verizon to have her line removed from my bill. They, naturally, have to give me bullshit. They have to try to sell me on keeping the line. I get it, it’s your job. So the guy tells me he has to read me a few offers before he can remove the line. I reply very flatly that “there’s no point, the user is dead.”

To his credit, the operator gave me zero bullshit after that and immediately removed the line with his condolences. I wonder if they get that often?

Case of the Mondays

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Ah Monday. Monday after a holiday break. It’s truly painful. Reminding myself to sit and make nine hours pass is just excruciating.

“You sit here, in this place that you hate, doing crap that you don’t like for nine hours. Don’t move until 4:30pm. Starting the clock… Now.”

No one on my team asked how my holiday went. I mean it was an absolute shit show and I had no intention of hiding that, but someone had to ask first. I don’t work with the kinda team that notices hair dye or asks how your weekend was. I work with a person who hates my guts and another who’s a squirrely micromanager. But DeBitch hates everyones guts so apparently that makes it okay. Yes, I’ve complained about her multiple times. Multiple people have.

Anyway, finally after lunch, a guy from another lab comes over to snipe some candy from the goody bowl. He asks the whole room how their break went and I took the opportunity to unload. DeBitch didn’t even both to offer a glance or condolences because she hates me. Who cares?

And the news just states the numbers. Over 350,000 dead in the US from Covid-19. Three hundred and fifty thousand people. Moms in that number. Just one in a massive sea of other faceless number ones. It’s almost insulting. I want to take insult. You mean 350,000 deaths PLUS MY MOM. She wasn’t a fucking number. But to most that’s all it boils down to. A massive pile of lives lost: people they loved, deeds they did, plans they had — they’re just a statistic to us. They don’t even care to keep track of the hundreds, tens or singles. In fact, we’re not even tracking thousands anymore. Just a single partial digit in an unfathomable number. A god damned fraction of a single digit. In a growing number that doesn’t even register much to anyone anymore.

I called my brothers wife on the way to work today. It was nice that she was expecting my call. She had asked me what time I usually go to work when we talked the other day. She asked me what time I’d be off too. I’ve talked to my brother and sister-in-law more this week than in the last two years, I’d wager.

My sisters don’t answer their phones or respond to text messages reliably. I wonder if we are destined to drift apart without our mother to hold the team together. Or is it just me drifting? My sisters currently live together and they’re chained to my brother for the sake of his children, our sweet nephews. I’d always complain about no one responding to my messages and mom always got mad and said “none of these people talk!” It’s true. But we all talked to mom. And mom kept us all up to date on the others. Now they don’t answer my texts.

Moms Dead

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Yeah it was that shocking and sudden for me too.  She just up and died on Christmas fucking day.  Covid.  What a cluster.  And who’s the one to tell me?  Crazy alcoholic sister.  I didn’t even believe her.  Had to hang up and call my brother.  Nope she dead.  D. E. D.

And I adore my mother.  She’s the best person I’ve ever known.  She was my best friend.  Not in a cliché way – I talked to her twice a day.  When I was driving to work and when I was driving home, I chatted with mom.  She’d say “What you doing?” and then answer her own question with “Driving to work.”  And if she didn’t get a call from me, she knew I skipped work that day.  We’d talk about what we had to do that day and then later talk about how it went and what we were gonna do for the evening. We’d trash talk family and coworkers.

We were all up in each other’s lives.  So now I’m just… left wanting to call someone who isn’t there.  She’s not there.  Sure I can “talk to her” still.  But not really, she doesn’t talk back.  And I have SO MUCH to tell her!  It’s been over a week!  And so much has happened!  I mean I’ve got shit to talk about. 

I’ve got loved ones and family and friends who all say I can call them.  And I have.  I’ve tried a few people.  It’s not the same.  I miss mom.  So I need someone to talk to.  So here we go.  I’m blogging now. 

Hello.  Call me C.