Tag: grieving

Melancholy

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I left work early again today. I just feel so sad. Melancholy. Sorrowful. It’s not all mom. Of course part of it is mom. I miss her dearly. I have so much anxiety and worries running through my head and I need her calmness. I need her “It will work it all out.” I need her to calm me down and say she’ll pray about it.

Monday was a holiday. It was a lazy day. The kind of day where her an I would have lazily floated in the pool. I miss that so much. That time was perfect. Of course I never realized it was perfect but it was. It was a time with just us chatting and relaxing. Telling each other secrets and gossip. And I was providing for her. Be it a day or the weekend, I was providing for her. And I was giving her this private pool to enjoy as much as she wanted. And believe me, she did enjoy it. I’d find her out there on the stairs having coffee when I woke up. If she hadn’t already got on a bathing suit and moved into the tanning ledge or a float.

I miss you, momma. So so much. To say it hurts is superlative.

I do have things im looking forward to. That’s something that leaves me in a depression — when I don’t have things to look forward to. But this time I have a few things to look forward to — but they’re all tainted somehow. Or I fear they won’t come to pass at all.

I’m looking forward to plastic surgery. I might be pretty smokin’ with some tightened up arms and belly and bigger boobs. I’ll be an hourglass for sure — even if it is still an extra large one. The fact that my husband is letting me pay for this and take the time off to do it is amazing! But rather than being grateful, I worry. What if my recent weight gain takes that off the table? How will my recovery be? Will my husband be able to step up to help me enough? With pain meds, bringing me drinks and food, helping me get up and around, washing my hair for me, taking care of the cat. How can I take care of Jack right after ive been gutted? Momma always always took care of me in recoveries. Even since I’ve been married. She’d just come up here to stay. It’s hard for me to trust. I worry.

I’m looking forward to Florida. The family trip my side of the family always takes. However, this one is obvious. Florida is MOMS THING. It’s what she loved. Sitting on the beach all day with the waves of the gulf washing over her feet. Lazily dripping sand into elaborate spires next to her chair. Having coffee at 6am on the balcony listening to the crashing waves. This year we’ll all be going at least one last time all together. For mom. She wanted some of her ashes spread there. In the ocean. And she’d want us to go. She always wanted us to go. Even when I felt like I ruined it. I turn into such a bitch around my sisters. It’s the codependent family structure. I fall right back into it when I’m with them. Then we all bitch to mom and she screams that she cant take it anymore. And I feel like they’d have a better vacation without me there. So yeah, cloud over that one. But I have to go. For mom.

October. This one’s odd. So it’s the year to spend Thanksgiving with my family. However, Mr C’s parent’s are celebrating in October — so sweet, we can do both families, right? Well. Mr C’s parents, in a fashion so very typical of them, just assumed none of us “kids” were coming. So I was chatting with my mother-in-law the other day (remember, I was all sad about mom and no one would return my calls? You know none of my family has yet to return any of the calls, BTW). Yeah I was talking to her and she mentioned that they’d be stopping by our house on their great road trip right before heading up to the thanksgiving festivities. So I confirmed that we’d be leaving to follow them. This was news to her! She thought we weren’t coming! She was super excited that we were. She informed me that Thanksgiving dinner with the N’s was canceled and gave me the run down of the new plans.

So after talking with her, I called Mr C’s brother. He has legitimately no excuse in the world to miss Thanksgiving. So I called to see why he wasn’t coming. That was news to him. He thought he WAS coming. Mr C’s sister — same thing! We were all planning on going but the parents just assumed we weren’t for some weird reason they’re calling a miscommunication but I’m calling bullshit. So since no “kids” were coming, the adults scrapped thanksgiving dinner at the N’s for a fall trip. Now they’re going to North Carolina to ride a train through the mountains. Sounds nice enough. So we conspired and decided we’d join. Then I did more research.

The parents are staying in a very overpriced lodge. Thats cool, cause my sister-in-law found us a cheap air BnB less than a mile away. Awesome! So I looked into this “dinner or lunch train.” Well, one: there’s no dinner or lunch. It’s just a 4.5 hour train ride. You can get a boxed lunch of a sandwich and chips. But I’m keto, I can’t eat the sandwich or the chips! Oh and those sweet antique steam dinner train vibes — nope. Only available in November and December. We’re riding a plain old commuter style train. It’s not even steam! So now I’m riding a foodless amtrak to nowhere as the main part of my trip. AWESOME. We’re only driving 4.5 hours hours both way for this privilege. Buy hey, good meals with family are worth it, right? Well, on the train we won’t all be together. Because it’s not a dining train. And dinners? there’s no where to eat dinner in the town we’re staying in or the town with the train! They’re shit towns, I looked! Fuck me, this trip sounds terrible. We’re all pretty mad they canceled dinner and games at the N’s but we didn’t realize the extent of this thing.

Then there’s my sweet tattoo. I can’t get it if I don’t get my arms done so there’s one worry. Also all the good artists are in LA or New York! I can’t get anyone to reply to my inquiries. And if I travel to one of these artists, can we do it in one go? Don’t they have to do it in stages? I can’t travel to New York 3 times! And who’s gonna take care of my precious Jack? That goes for all of these trips (except Florida when K is gonna house sit. Thats why K’s getting the sweet ass home warming present. Not the Dragon of Scams, though. He’s currently a deflating trophy in the garage). But it might not matter, because none of the artists have replied to my inquiries.

So. Yeah. I’m whiny. I told you I was melancholy. But I don’t really have anyone to whine to, so I’m doing it here. My blog, my therapist. I find myself lonely. I miss mom so much.

I’m here anytime you need to talk. Except when you need to talk.

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Got a text from sister1 today. Apparently sister2 had a breakdown and spent hours telling her how she had backslid into drinking a ton and depression and she was not doing okay over moms death. We all kinda knew that (When I sat in moms bedroom chair and looked to see what she had been reading, I assumed the hard liquor wasn’t hers), but she hadn’t admitted any of it. So sister1 wanted us to be mindful and reach out and let sister2 know we love her and not tell her we know kinda way.

In this same text message thread, sister3 mentioned she cried to nephew2 about mom just this weekend. Well, fuck I was talking just yesterday to nephew2 online and told him I was super upset about moms death too. So I was like, I’ll call sister3! She ignored my call, yall. You know how you click someone off and it goes to voicemail early ’cause you clicked them off. Uhuh. So okay, I’ll call sister2. She cuts me off too with the auto text “can’t talk right now.” She ALWAYS does this. She did it to mom all the time too. So no big surprise. Okay… I’ll call sister1. No answer. FUCK ME. So I call my mother-in-law cause she loves to talk. No answer (she’s most likely working and not ignoring me. She LOVES when I call). Yall have got to be kidding me!

So I called nephew1 and chatted a while. I wanted to talk about mom but I did not. I just talked to him about what was going on with him and his life. It was still good to talk to someone. And I left work early cause I was upsetty.

INTERMISSION: Hey I told Mr C when I got home super early: “I quit! … for the day.” Haha, he had one of those mini heart attacks.

Anyway, what the fuck? Everyone’s all “I’m here for you.” Except when you actually need to talk to someone and then no one will pick up the god damned phone. It’s been hours and no return calls either. And in the text thread where sister3 mentioned crying about it this weekend, she was like “I’m glad we all still think of her.” Again I say to you: what the fuck? Like no, I moved on. I don’t give a shit that my mom died on Christmas. I hardly think of it. Certainly not EVERY FUCKING DAY. What a shitty support net I have.

AND NOW, THIS…

God, that mug humored me so much when I saw it earlier in my Facebook Feed. “Bitch, I will put you in a trunk and help people look for you.” That’s good. I’ve never heard that. They had so many good ones too. (The picture links to Piper & Lou who sell these epic mugs.)

Missing Mom

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I tried to make myself a little less of a potato of depression and anxiety today. I got in the pool. But it just made me miss mom. I miss her insanely dark skin that smelled like Nivea. I miss talking about life while we floated in the pool. I miss joking about her flip flop tan lines she was trying to even out. I miss fetching her peanut butter crackers and peach wine while she sat on the tanning ledge. She should be there on the tanning ledge while I cool off inside. But she’s not. She won’t ever be again.

Not a speaker review

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So I bought a bluetooth speaker for the pool. Nothing extravagant, just a little speaker. I was going to write my review for it here. I’m trying to get a post AND an Amazon review out of my reviews. However, this one would start rather depressingly if I were honest. Not exactly good for the helpful votes. See I bought the speaker, because I’m lonely.

I’ve said many times that mom was my pool buddy. I’ve been worried about missing her a lot so one thing I did was buy the speaker. That way I could have music by the pool. And it works. It’s less lonely singing along to my Pandora station while I float around. But I still miss mom. And yet, I feel I don’t miss her enough.

I suppose it could be massive amounts of antidepressants, of course. But I feel like I’m just not sad enough. Yet, there is an infinite sadness if I stop long enough to look for it. It’s so weird. It’s like I don’t miss her in my day to day. My day to day goes on. I do what I do. It’s like life has not changed (even though, rationally, it has) — like she was just deleted all of the sudden. Like maybe she was never there — just *poof* gone.

There doesn’t seem to be an intrinsic piece of evidence of her existence. Sure there’s pictures and her room and her urn… But those are only evidence someone existed. They’re evidence a human was here. Of course I had a mother. Bot there’s not evidence that SHE was here. That that special person I had was here. And I feel like my continuing on day to day without more mourning than I have is a injustice to her. Like an insult. Like she can be replaced by a radio.

There’s no epic conclusion. I don’t have some wrap-up planned here. Much like life, this post doesn’t really end. It’s just me blabbering about.

Grief is weird. And there’s no one to point me in the right direction.

Looking down.

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So this morning at work I was consulting the Senior Scientist.  Yes, that’s his real title, I’m jealous.  My goal is to become a SME (Subject Matter Expert) which is basically what he is, but I’ve never heard them called “Senior Scientists” before this job.  It sounds so fancy.  Now I want to be one even more.

SMEs are basically the unfirable people the company can’t live without.  They can curse out the customer and not get a slap on the wrist.  They’re just too valuable because they know everything about that thing and no one else does.  I know of a one-degree-of-separation-from-me SME that was on a customer call and started ranting and cursing.  The customer being fucking NASA.  Management’s response?  Let’s not tell him when we have customer calls anymore.  I worked with a SME, Rich, and he was like 75 and already maxed out his payscale but he was too invaluable to the company to lose.  I personally witnessed him in a meeting tell the presenter “there’s no fucking way that’s gonna work and LAUGH.”  He was right, of course.  And no one said a thing.  Because it was Rich and Rich is like the guru go-to for that piece of software that no one else can figure out.  He could do something in 2 hours that would take someone else a month to figure out.  Rich knows more than you ever will.  And he can retire any minute he pleases so you don’t say shit to Rich.  SME life is where it’s at.  I just wanna be so valuable to a company for knowing everything about this one niche piece of legacy software that I can curse at whomever I please without repercussion.  It’s my only career goal besides retirement. 

It sounds like you have to be a genius to be a SME.  You don’t.  You just work on a piece of software long enough and you end up knowing everything about how it works by nature.  You just become the person everyone comes to to ask questions.  You know where this new code needs to go because you worked on that piece two years ago and you were at the initial design meetings where it was discussed.  The other engineers would need to work all that out, but you just remember it.  You have become the SME simply by staying in one place for so long.

Anyway, SME discussion aside, I was talking to our “Senior Scientist”/SME this morning.  This is one of my two favorite people at my job.  You know, the job I despise with everything I have?  Yeah, well there are a few people I like there that aren’t DeBitch.  I’d love to be outside-of-work-friends with two of these people.  And Mr Senior Scientist here is one of them.  So he’s discussing the shit I asked him about and he’s like “do you understand what I’m taking about”  — yes, I do.  And then he’s like “you seem so down.”  Well, yeah.  I’m at work.  I’m down at work.  Also it’s a Monday.    

However, I also had a panic attack this morning.  I didn’t mention that.  I might later if he mentions my spirits again.  I’m still heavily grieving my mother and you don’t realize you’re still so upset until a little thing just hits you.  I didn’t even realize I’d been hit.  Today when I got up and got ready, I went for my cat on my way downstairs – as always.  He’s either downstairs on the couch (can be verified easily as it’s visible as you pass the stairs) or in moms room.  He was in moms room curled up on the bed next to the tray with her glasses and ashes and some photos.  She’d have liked him curled up on her bed. “Look at him!”

I sat down beside him to love on him.  I’ve been careful to not rush past him in the mornings like I usually would.  I hate my job and my precious only has a short time left with me.  So I want to give him as much love as possible.  I can spare a few minutes.  So I sat beside him and started stroking his fur while looking at the photos of mom.  I thought of the conversation I had with my brother’s wife last night.  Two of my siblings are in complete despair.  I didn’t realize it was so bad for my brother.  He’s been having so much anxiety that he hasn’t spent the night in his own bed since she died.  He’s been sleeping on the couch.  Hearing that crushed me.  I adore my brother.  He was my father figure growing up. 

So for a brief moment I remembered their despair and wondered if I’m cold.  Should I be in more grief than I am?  The moment didn’t last long – a passing thought in my mind.  I didn’t marinate on the thought at all – it fluttered through.  I picked up the cat and carried him downstairs to shove a pill down his throat.  He still resists those fucking pills with everything he has in him.  Give me a break, fuzzy fuzzy!  I’m doing this FOR YOU. 

And then my chest tightened.  A panic attack.  The burning knot behind my sternum.  The absolute feeling of existential dread.  The elevated heart rate.  What the fuck?  I started beating on my chest to try and relax the muscles.  Trying to talk myself down in my head.  Relax relax relax.  Focus on your breathing.  Focus on the cold granite of the counter top you’re now leaning on to try to ease the pain.  The smoothness of the stone. The quarter bevel edge you chose – good choice, you.  Full round is tacky.  Look at the plants in the window.  Ground yourself.  Don’t lose it.  Don’t give in.  Beat on your chest some more because damn I’m having a heart attack now.  At least it’s before work and not after.  If I’m going down, take me down before my ass has to go to work.  Relax relax relax.  It’s ok.  You got this. Damn that hurts.  It’s okay. It’s okay.  Pound on your chest.  Deep rub the muscles.  You’re good.  Work is gonna be good cause you didn’t slack off Friday.   

Stand up and get going.  The world doesn’t stop for you.  The world doesn’t give a shit about your feelings.  You have a meeting in 30 minutes. 

So I grabbed my stuff.  Feed my good boy his stinky food.  He gets it twice a day after discovering he lost an entire pound between vet visits for his kidney workups.  Grab my keys and lock the door behind me as Mr C is still sleeping.  Beat on my chest as I walk to the car.  And now Chucks telling me I look “down.”  I am down, Chuck.  I’m real down.

The Easter Bunny is dead.

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So Easter was pretty depressing for me. I didn’t expect it to be. I didn’t really have any expectations for Easter. Sure, we usually go spend Easter with my family since they’re closer than Mr C’s. But it never seems like a big deal. I didn’t think it did, at least. We’d go have big Easter dinner and hide eggs for the kids. Mom would always have a spread of all the best candies laid out in cute containers around the table display at her house — with Andes for Mr C (his favorite).

I made Mr C an Easter basket as always. I did not expect him to get me anything as he never has for Easter. And yet… I was really sad and depressed about it. No one called to wish me a Happy Easter. No fun present from mom. Mr C didn’t even come downstairs to get his basket for hours. He oddly claimed that he’s not used to getting anything on Easter. Which is utter bullshit as I’ve made him an Easter basket for the past twelve years now. One year his friend was visiting and I made the friend a basket too. Which he completely ignored and I got my feelings hurt that he didn’t even pretend to care. And mom always had him Andes. Were our thoughtful little gifts that forgettable?

You see, my love language is gifts. It’s how mom raised me. And gifts don’t have to be huge. Gifts can be free even. Like if I get a free drink with my lunch at work, I get something for Mr C and bring it home. It’s the “hey, I was thinking about you.” “Hey, I love you.” “Hey, I went a little out of my way to bring you a smile.” Sure I could have just not got a drink, but I got a coke and slipped it in my lunch bag for you. One of my favorite gifts from Mr C was when he drew me a cute picture with some inside jokes and my favorite things.

One year mom got us all different kinds of Jelly Belly’s. I got “Peas and Carrots” because I love peas and carrots. She mailed mine and almost had me really convinced that she mailed ACTUAL peas and carrots to me. She was on the phone with me on my way home from work when I was checking the mail. She got me.

She was my Easter Bunny. Mom never showed up without a gift. It could be a $2.00 clearance shirt from Old Navy or a pillow for my beach chairs or out of season Halloween decorations I could use the next year. She never spent much. But she was always on the lookout for something you’d like. Or that someone would like. I bet her trunk was full of these little gifts for her various children and grand kids that she just happened upon.

I miss her so much. I miss the chatting. I miss the gossip. I miss that — whats a good word — that unwavering love. The ever present unconditional love. Which might be rose colored glasses. I mean it’s not like we didn’t frustrate each other plenty of times. But alas… my Easter Bunny is dead. I miss those tiny notional gifts. I miss those phone calls. I miss the gardening help and advice. I need my mom. But that need can never be filled. She really stepped up and provided a lot of my “love” need. I’m not sure Mr C can possibly step up even close to that role. Sure I’ve got my soulmate cat — but he’s only good for like 1 or 2 more years. What then? What am I gonna do? *Heavy Sigh*

Some Things 03/15

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  • So spring is springing.  I find it extremely depressing.  It makes me miss my mother.  She was all about gardening.  Flowers, vegetables, any plants.  All the plants.  It’s time to weed and get things ready for growing.  Mom would have been here this weekend helping me weed the flower bed.  She’d have been bringing me drinks and insisting on helping rake out the pool area.  She’d be fawning over the Candy Corn Spirea showing its true colors for the first time (we only got them last year).  The daffodils are in full bloom.  The purple hyacinths she bought me last year are popping up under the bat house. It all screams MOM. 
  • I bought new shoes yesterday.  Three pairs.  I know, I spent far too much.  However, if you know me in real life, you know I never buy shoes.  I bought the three pairs, trashed five pairs and moved the old running shoes into the tornado shelter.  So I netted a big loss in shoes.  I’m just not a shoe person.  They’re expensive and a pain in the ass to find.  I need work shoes, work out shoes, dress shoes, and sandals.  So now if I just get a pair of rain boots for gardening I think I’m totally solid for the first time in my life on shoes. 

I went to Fleet Feet and they did all their technology to recommend the shoes for me.  I got two pairs of HOKA One One’s.  Holy shit, they feel like your feet are wrapped in marshmallows and walking on clouds.  I got the same shoe (the Bondi) in black leather for work and grey for walking/biking.  So I went the old lady route and even though I hated the look, I bought them because they were so fucking comfortable.  However, today I looked up the brand and read that they purposefully went for the huge wide foot bed as a style choice and to give you a firmer grip and more padding.  That makes sense.  And I realized what I thought was a PPU material is actually leather.  So I like them more now.  I’m really not used to my feet looking so BIG.  But my lord, clouds and marshmallows, yall. 

Shoes

The third pair are some slip-ons.  They’re actually Oofos recovery footwear.  Also, giant marshmallows.  I asked her if I could get them in a different, more neutral color.  She said they didn’t have anything and couldn’t order anything because doctors send people there to get them and they can’t keep them in stock.  Well, I can feel why.  So yeah, I got those in galaxy purple.  So sue me. 

I wish they had more than just athletic shoes.  Having them find the perfect fit for me as well as the perfect build for me made a huge difference.  She knew exactly which shoes I should try and what my feet needed.  And the sizes ranged from 8.5 to 9.5 because “these run short” or whatever.  I mean, I know it’s the computer and not the lady – but this shit works.  They found me three perfect shoes.  Maybe not the prettiest but damn my feet are comfy. 

  • Lastly, I think I’m in the angry stage of grieving. Or just angry for no reason. I’m just angry. I’m quick to temper. I’m bothered. I’m quick to call someone a dumbass on Facebook and then get gang pummeled by people defending them. Only to double down and explain why they’re a dumbass, only to get group pummeled again even so much as to pick apart my profile picture where apparently my lipstick is terribly applied. And I get angry driving, going to the store (fuck people), being at work — I’m easily angered. I have no chill. I hate my job, my cats dying and hates me shoving pills down his throat, and my mommas dead. What do you want from me? Mr C is suffering at work too and has the cough from HELL that won’t go away. I’m just really not cheerful.

And I miss mom. I miss having that connection and our conversations. I need her opinion about my new shoes.

My blog, My therapist

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I’m sad.  Just sad.  Mostly about momma.  I just really hate my job and my mom is dead.  I sit on her bed and look at the pictures on her memorial card and think “I’ll never see her again.”  It’s almost an unfathomable thought.  My brain can’t wrap around it.  I can’t really grasp that it’s true. 

I’ll never come by this bed to find her laying across it (never the right way).  He having fallen asleep, not under the covers, but under a throw while watching QVC.  I’ll never give her a hug and wish her goodnight and see if there’s anything I can get her before I go to bed.  I’ll never wake and look down at the dining room to find her painting at the table – or see her having coffee on the stairs by the pool.  Or just wake up to find she’s run off to Old Navy or Ollie’s or Old Time Pottery to return later with gifts.  Always gifts.  A shirt or a pillow for my pool chairs, maybe a float or a cute kitchen towel, or lord help – a plant for the back or the flower beds or the porch or god-knows-where.  Momma never showed up without some small gift.  She loved to go shop and find the best clearance deals.  “I got you something.”  No wonder my love language is gifts.  She was always like that. 

There’s just an empty chasm of sadness beside me.  Nothing to be said for it.  Nothing to be done for it.  I thought about scheduling an appointment with my therapist, but what’s the point?  He can’t make me un-sad.  No one can say or do anything to seal this chasm.  I’m not self-harming or life-interferingly depressed.  I’m just really fucking sad.  I’ve honored her memory.  I made a beautiful vase full of rose petals — all carefully saved and dried from the many flower arrangements that were sent as condolences.  Some roses from the funeral, some petals from the corsage I wore.  I sit on her bed and look at her infamous red glasses sitting there on a tray with the book she wrote, a picture she painted, the memorial card from the funeral and a small urn of ashes.  I wear her star sapphire on my right hand.  Mom on my right and my sweet husband on my left (via my wedding ring). My rocks.  It’s like they’re holding my hand when I need a nudge. 

I look at the star in the sapphire when it magically decides to appear.  I’ve had my own sapphire.  I know the magic well.  I bought us each these sapphires years ago when I got my first real job.  The biggest present I had ever given her at the time. I was determined she’d wear another star sapphire – like the one that was stolen in her childhood.  A story she had mournfully told me many times.  Now I wear her stone instead of mine.  The stone she wore so often and that shows up in most of her pictures.  When I see the star I wonder how often she looked at the same star with amazement at the beauty.  Something otherworldly about the stones transformation in the light. 

I called M the other day.  One of my best and dearest friends.  I needed to talk to someone else who lost their mother.  Someone who knows this sadness.  What did he do with it?  How did he cope?  How did he keep going? True to our natures he didn’t bullshit me.  He didn’t cope.  There was no healing.  Only learning to live with it.  Time doesn’t heal wounds it just makes you keep trudging on with your new normal until the pain is almost a numbness.  Simply because there is no choice.  His anger is still palpable and fresh.  As if she’d passed as recently as my own mother.  It was genuinely surprising to me. We were angry and sad together.  We talked for over an hour.  We joked about fake boobs and caught up with each other.  He lives so far away now.  We talked through my drive home, through the pharmacy drive thru and on into my coming home, greeting my cat, and doing my daily Animal Crossing errands.  Mr C did not come down when he heard me arrive.  M’s voice is extremely loud and boisterous, no doubt who I was talking to on speaker phone.  Mr C was glad we were talking, he knew I needed it.  As we wrapped up our conversation I asked him “what do I do?”  And as cliché as it sounds, I shit you not, he told me what any beloved body-hiding-friend would say.  He said “you call me, and we’ll be sad together.”

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.