Sweet Sue, Part Two

Life is indeed a wild, wild trip. Last night I was baking cookies for a holiday cookie exchange party (via USPS mind you), when out of the blue I received a text from a number I did not recognize, however, I immediately knew who it was (the husband of my dearly departed friend Susan).

In between putting trays of cookies into the oven, and pulling them out 12 minutes later, the following is VERBATIM what transpired via text with him.

Full disclosure: I am full of hostility towards him for an assortment of things, however, primarily his selfishness and general asshole-ishness I've known for years, first hand from Susan. 

Another layer of my hostility is knowing that my friend drove HERSELF the 5 hour drive out to Mayo Clinic. She drove herself, while in agony, as she couldn't take opiates and be behind the wheel of the car. Driving in agony as the heel of her foot was surgically amputated as it was riddled with cancer--yet the local wound care center botched every damned thing, and was treating her as if it were a garden variety diabetic foot ulcer and not an aggressive skin cancer with a 5 year mortality rate.

And then there's another layer to my hostility: when she was rushed to the hospital the final time, and then rushed to hospice, and then when she ultimately died, not once did it occur to him to text me. Rather, Susan's son texted me to let me know she entered hospice, and then a few days later, Susan's cousin texted me to let me know she died--and a few days later, she gave me the run down on just how awful he was to everyone.

Mind you, he is Egyptian and English is a second language. As painful as it is, I typed it out EXACTLY as it appeared in text form weird spacing and phrasing etc. At times I added notes for a bit of context or nuance. Also I'm highlighting in red shit he repeats.

Him:
Hello
You might know who I'm, after that time of getting many shocks by Susan's death on my hand.
If you want this ti be the last time I talk to you or I'm not welcome, it makes no difference as I got that way from all Susan's family.
I'm ****.

Me:
Not sure what to think of this text--and of course it JUST HAD TO BE YOU.

Him:
I just wanted to purify Susan's heart to you and make everything very clear, I know you both loved each other dearly.
They all ignored me and they did not even read your beautiful message you sent the day before the funeral, they abused me after the funeral, all of them
Do you want to know more, or I go away

Me:
and yet it has taken you TWO WHOLE MONTHS to reach out to me.

Him:
I was her faithful husband for 12 years and I was watching how they all tortured that beautiful angel
Well I was scared

Me:
When she went to the hospital that final time--when she entered hospice--Susan's son R called me and her cousin texted me to let me know Susan died.

Him:
I saw mr R. talking to you, how so gentle fake

Me:
Susan treated everyone far better than I would have under the circumstances

Him:
At the same time all stopped me STOPPED me from holding her hand, rubbing her hair, reciting any spiritual verses from what supports her soul going to God
Susan's mom stopped me from gentle reading Quran, then I moved to the porch silently scared still reciting quran in myself to help Susan
They turned on loud songs close to her bed

Me:
Everything was not as it should have been.
"I" suggested to R.  playing music as it was something Susan loved

Him:
It is long misery broke Susan's heart as you probably knew
Yes her soul needed loud music (Note: I suspect he was going for sarcasm here)
That was why they turned loud songs to poor Susan who was dying (Note: she wasn't dead yet)

Me:
I am not sure what the purpose of this text is--is it to make ME feel better or make YOU feel better? She was a presence in my life for 21-22 years. I still wait for her daily texts that no longer come.

Him:
I said I'm purifying Susan from all the mess was hanging on her

Me:
Actually, no, you are trying to control the narrative.

Him:
As she wrote a year ago, a power attorney (I guess he means Power OF Attorney) to her brillian  son, M. that she dies on Islam and her usband is her Eman (chaplain)

Me:
And YET she was embalmed and put on display like a doll.

Him:
I'm trying to control nothing, I'm so very proud of my wife

Me:
You have to make your peace with what happened. I do not need you to purify anything for Susan on my behalf.
We all failed her, and we all need to sit in discomfort of that knowledge

Him:
What are you talking about me trying to control, I did not control any, until I knew I must do her wish to die on Islam (the word that bothers everybody)
No sorry, I did not fail her till today or forever, I go every few days to read what goes to her soul.
In the funeral
her mom started crying loud talking about OOO my daughter was born Christian. But I felt I must do her wish not her mom's or any body

Me:
We ALL failed her

Him:
I'm just telling you that all those people failed Susan for so long time,

Me:
You failed her too, whether you want to believe it or not.

Him:
You knew when we were in Minnesota, how she was crying and crying and how that R. told her she never cared about her

Me:
I do not need to know all these details. you DO realize she and I talked about EVERYTHING

Him:
I was her husband and not going to discuss about me
Poor Susan ,

Me:
I don't need to know these details. It was bad enough to know how bad everyone treated her when she was alive.

Him:
Poor Susan, Bless her soul
Correct, how could you tell me I failed her ,
I really wish she never came back to America on 2009

Me:
Your wife was dying and you were angry with her for sleeping when you came home from work

Him:
Me angry

Me:
I am not going to argue.

Him:
Do you not know what husband means

Me:
I know what it means TO ME

Him:
Angry? Shame on the teller and the believer

Me:
So i've asked this twice and this will be the third time--what was the purpose of texting me two months after she died.
I owe you nothing. Your wife was as dear as a sister to me for nearly half my life.

Him:
I told you I was scared from what happened by all those people
They stopped a husband to relieve his wife in what she wanted to die with ISLAM
They turned loud music to a dying person ,where is her brain or heart to feel the music (Note: she was still alive)

Me:
I am nothing to you. You reaching out to me TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FACT because you have run out of people to dump your anger onto

Him:
Also no respect to me and I do know why and I do not really care,
I'm left alone in a funeral issues were chosen by her mom and grand daughter and then left me with the cost  (NOTE: Emphasis mine)

Me:
And what--are you going to ask me to contribute?!?!?

Him:
And you knew she was a moslima
You knew her husband was taking off work for taking care of his wife (Note: Bullshit!  See my comments above regarding who drove her 5 hours one way to the Mayo Clinic)
You knew I stayed with her any where she went ,anytime

Me:
She is dead now and with her God, and what exactly? you are trying to put the squeeze on me for money to pay for her funeral arrangements?

Him:
I told you I'm purifying Susan side out of all her family
I even asked them the funeral to read that wonderful message you sent to Susan's cousin
They did not

Me:
Keep telling yourself that. You're trying to control the narrative, controlling people's perceptions of you.

Him:
Control and control
Please
Yes it should be my control from the beginning

Me:
I am not soft hearted and accepting like Susan was. I have my own opinions on the matter. (Note: Subtext--I'm a bitch! :))

Him:
But she was a mom ,she was a daughter , and she was a friend

Me:
Anyway, go sell crazy someplace else--we are all stocked up here.

Him:
Well, I think I adored Susan and she got married to me
Good luck to you, and I did told you about what I felt to tell you,I do not care what you think or whatsoever, I'm just giving respect to Susan as her husband ( remember that )
Bye
You all played on Susan, who give you permission to tell anybody to turn loud songs to a married dead wife ,youdo not respect her choice,? God how those people deal with...please I'm not going to say sorry I talked to you, I will block your number, simply you are swimming with the same circle

Me (My final reply to him wherein I lowered the boom):
anyway--I am sure you texted me to see if I would contribute to Susan's final arrangements. I was a friend of SUSAN. I am nothing to you. Perhaps if you didn't lose jobs due to your anger issues you would be a better provider and wouldn't be shaking down strangers via texts for money. Perhaps you should get your "special lady" who you were trying to live with to chip in on the funeral expenses.*

*The same day Susan died, he asked her youngest daughter (his step daughter) if she would go halfsies on the rent. She doesn't live with him--and there is some suspicion of him abusing her though her cousin and I don't have any firm details. And when her daughter declined he huffed and puffed and said something about how he'll get his "special lady" to live with him. 

I will never know if Susan knew he was cheating on her with another woman; and I'd say that knowledge was more than enough for me to be angry on her behalf. Part of me hopes she never knew. And another part of me is sad all over again that my dear friend is gone.

The Silence Is Deafening

 It is now six months since mom died. I still cannot believe it. And yet at the same time, in my head, I am remembering her not as she was in the last ten years of her life, fading away after dad died, but I am remembering her when she was more vibrant--I am remembering her at the age I am now, on her 30th wedding anniversary party. Smiling, and hair and make up both done, with her great laugh. It was a good day.

All those calls, trying to get my aunt to manipulate me into doing something for mom--all the calls and texts between me and my siblings--all that is gone too.

Death during normal times is difficult enough, but during a pandemic it has broken me in a way I cannot articulate. 

I am now finally starting to feel regret over everything--every unfinished task and every unfinished conversation. COVID took mom so quick, I had no idea my last phone call, which she rushed me off the phone--would be my last.

I am sure she wanted more than I was willing or able to give her, and I am sure she did not understand why I am the way I am; however, at the bare minimum, I hope she knew I wanted the best for her. I hope however I was able to show her I loved her, that it was enough.

Add to this, my dear friend Susan has been gone now a month--and her presence is missed daily. 

Thanksgiving is in a few weeks. Sadly no one we normally host can be trusted to be vigilant with the protocols, and as a result we won't be hosting our big dinner. 

I am so fortunate to have my husband, as if I had to endure all of this in complete solitude and isolation, I probably would have had more of an emotional breakdown than I already have had.

Mom and my friend Susan are gone--where does all the love go? Right now, it feels like it's all been sucked into a black hole.

Sweet Sue

Note: I started typing this post at 5:30 p.m., on October 7, 2020. I was going to post this to my food blog, as this post does touch upon a lovely bread kit my cousin sent me, and baking the bread bear served as a distraction for me as well as a segue for me to memorialize a dear friend--I decided to post it herein as there's a lot of overlap, especially regarding losses, and most especially, my dear friend had a family just as dysfunctional as my own.

After mom died in May, my mom’s first cousin Diane reached out to me for my mailing address. Within a week, I received a very thoughtful gift—she put together a teddy bear kit (similar to what I saw on this site today: ). The bread recipe was a variation/pared down recipe of my mom’s.

Inside the homemade kit was a ziplock bag containing the dry ingredients, a piece of parchment paper, a little zip lock bag with raisins, and the recipe/assembling instructions, as well as reflections on my mom. 

Mom passed away in May due to COVID19, and her remains were interred in June. It all happened in a blur, and was so upsetting, and neither closure nor comfort was gained with mom's final arrangements. 

With the exception of mom's cousin Diane (and on occasion my sister or one of mom's brothers), I don't hear from anyone anymore--mom's legacy to me, the result of her telling half truths and horrible stories to all who would listen to her, about being abandoned or neglected. People see what they want to see. My friend Susan, despite being ravaged by cancer, saw me through the first few months after mom passed.

I received the teddy bear kit in late June or early July when it was too hot to bake. Today, I finally baked my bear, as a distraction from more devastating news. 

I have told this story to a few of my close friends, to include my dear friend Susan. Susan and I met in a MSN chatroom 22 years ago. We have never met in person—and this has bothered me for years if not decades. All the traveling I have done, no amount of begging or cajoling could convince my husband for us to make a trip to Illinois to visit her. I am not comfortable traveling solo, so this has always been an unwinnable fight between me and the Maharajah.

Despite the geography that separated us, Susan and I were in near constant contact. Initially we communicated via emails, then phone calls, and care packages. We were always in regular contact, with her dropping off my radar from time to time, as she was working every possible moment she could. Truly, when she was healthy, she was ALWAYS working--but that is one of the hazards of working from one's home, no delineation between work time and YOUR OWN TIME. Once she was diagnosed with her cancer, we were texted nearly every day—most times multiple times a day. 

Our friendship was forged at a time when each of our first marriages went belly up, with each of us struggling to recover, both emotionally and financially. During that time frame, she and I were so destitute due to our ex-husbands, we took turns sending each other a $20 bill for bread and milk or a half a tank of gas for our cars. Things were THAT dire, and we supported one another as good friends do.

After months of struggling with a lesion on her foot, which we thought was a diabetic foot ulcer, she was diagnosed in August 2019 with an aggressive form of skin cancer known as Acral Lentiginous Melanoma, a type of skin cancer that isn't from the sun, and has a genetic component to it. From date of diagnosis, the life expectancy is about 5 years, +/-.  At the time of her diagnosis, she probably had been struggling with this lesion for about a year. 

A month after getting the stark diagnosis, I asked her the same question I asked my great Aunt Millie when Aunt Mil, in her mid-80s, declined to have heart surgery and was given 6 months to live: "What have you managed not to do, which you would like to do?" Soon thereafter, Susan bought a sewing machine and an electronic keyboard. 

Susan made me a few gifts she had sewn herself; and she sent me an audio clip of her playing piano, which she loved. Sadly, I cannot figure out how to upload that clip herein.

Given how lacking her medical care was out in what I'd call "corn country," that part of Illinois that is just across the river from Davenport, Iowa, she eventually started going to Mayo Clinic for her diagnostics, infusions, chemo, etc, often times driving herself the five hours there, and five hours home.

The last week of September, the Maharajah arranged for us to go to a cabin with a view of Lake George for a few days to get away, and do not much of anything in particular, and yet be socially distant from others, but with a considerably better view than our home, where Maharajah has been cooped up since the shut down in mid-March. 

The last text I received from Susan was on Tuesday, September 29th, wherein we both were mentioning how much we both feel we have aged during the pandemic. Her last words to me that day were, "Yes, very old." 

No matter how much loss I have gone through since August 2019 to current writing, it is indisputable, how much harder were for Susan during that time frame too--so much worse than my own suffering, as she was literally fighting for her very existence--yet she always made time and space for me.

I hope I was, at a minimum, a distraction from her suffering.

Around 6:30 on October 6th, I received a call from one of Susan's sons (who lives on the west coast), informing me she was now in hospice. I sent her son a play list of songs I knew were dear to Susan's heart, and said to her son how at least if she isn't alert and able to speak, she can still hear music which was so important to her. It remains a mystery if the son played any music at all for his mom.

After the call, I spent the greater portion of the remainder of the week just sobbing.

Around 5:30 October 7th, I decided to distract myself and make the teddy bear bread, which my cousin Diane sent to me. The photo is shared above. If Susan weren't in hospice and heavily sedated, she would be the only person, other than my cousin Diane, who would want to see that photo.

Mid-day October 8th, while on a work related phone call, I checked my phone, as I received a text from Susan's cousin Diana (odd, isn't it--the Diane/Diana connection?), who informed me Susan passed away the night before at 11:30 p.m.

Even typing this, tears filled my eyes. 

For the ENTIRETY of the 22 years I knew her, I bore witness to how she struggled very hard, first with work to provide for her kids and pay for household needs, struggled through the failure of her second marriage, struggled more and gave up on life in the US for a while and went to Egypt to live with her third husband and his family. She struggled when she returned to the US when her 6th child, her 1st and only with her third husband, died not long after birth. Then the death of her brother and eventually her father.

Besides the heartbreak of watching my friend grieve for her youngest, she endured many struggles with her five remaining kids. Her eldest is profoundly autistic and now is thriving in a group home; her second oldest has cut her off completely. Her middle child was always verbally and emotionally abusive. And her second youngest was verbally, emotionally, and most horrendously--PHYSICALLY abusive to her. 

After Susan had her leg amputated this summer, she was fearful of this child visiting her, as she was afraid of being attacked in her wheelchair. Meanwhile, I know that the son (who called me) was emotionally damaging to her, too. Some of the last texts from her regarding that son she told me how she was trying to tell him that she got her leg amputated, and rather than show shock or concern, he brushed her off, saying how he had to go to work.

Pretty typical of abusive relationships, her mom and her kids (and no doubt her husband) all have very distinctly different ideas about what Susan's reality was. Her final days were filled with agonizing physical pain and despair, and feeling like nothing more than a punching bag half the time, and a human ATM the remainder of the time. 

Her youngest is now 18. All her kids are grown and onto their own paths. NOW should have been HER time to follow HER dreams, whatever they would have been. Unfortunately, just trying to survive took all her focus and energy and what resources she had.

Her viewing and burial were yesterday, and from what her cousin tells me, it was a shit show, with her husband controlling everything, making it all about HIM, and turns out, he was cheating on her with "someone special," a detail that just made my heart sank, and makes me glad Susan isn't here to endure one more indignity, one more loss. In so many ways, those closest to her, failed her.

Through the years, she held my hand (as best as one can do without being physically there), through all of my own travails, and especially all my difficulties with my mom. 

I hoped one day, I'd be there one day to hug her, perhaps have one perfect afternoon going to her favorite sandwich shop, perhaps go to a Frank Lloyd Wright house, sit and laugh. Just enjoy being in her actual, physical company. This is my solitary regret.

I am thinking of her as I listen to this song, a song my grandfather used to sing to me too. However, between Susan and myself, I think she was the sweeter of the two of us. 

I missed you before you were even gone, Susan. I love you, sweet Sue.

Two Months Later (and some Dayenus in there, too)

 Here it is, two months since my last blog post. Not much to tell.

I survived my first (of many) birthdays without the annual birthday calls. First the call the day before, forgetting that my day was the following day, then the call/s on the day. Then the calls thereafter to see if I got my card.

Why was I so hard on her (in my head)? I never let her know how she was driving me crazy with all her calls. But that is the rub, more like a CHAFE, of dealing with someone who had so much emotional baggage: I couldn't tell what was an obsessively sweet gesture, making sure I wasn't forgotten on my birthday, versus someone trying to control me or demand more attention from me. 

I'm trying to do in death what I was unable to do in life, and try to sort it out, try to be the adult, and try to remember the good.

Also, had I known with any certitude whether she had some cognitive deficiency, or some known pathological issue or mental illness, I don't know if I would have reacted differently. I just don't know. She's gone and I'm left with all these questions. 

Meanwhile, today, a very dear friend is shredding herself for forgetting my birthday. And I'm now sitting at my desk sobbing. I didn't realize it at the time she forgot my day. This has been such a horrible, overwhelming year, it truly is no wonder my friend forgot. 

To be honest, I was so distracted with 2020's awfulness, I hadn't noticed I was forgotten. But now I realize in this moment I was forgotten by my friend, and I'm remembering mom's not here, and even as crazy and challenging as our relationship was, we always spoke on our birthdays--though her telephone fuckery with her cell phone made that an unnecessary challenge. At least I know that mom's final birthday was a good day--she even left a cheerful voicemail to that effect. A voicemail I managed to save--as well as a few others, from Christmas 2019, right on through until April 9th when she let me know everyone was alerted that COVID19 was in her nursing home. Needless to say, I've freely forgiven my friend--she's truly beating herself up over it--and I feel awful about it. There is so much more going on in the world for me to be angry and upset about.

Had Trump been elected, that would have been awful enough--Dayenu.
Had COVID19 happened--Dayenu.
Had mom died--Dayenu.
Had 190,000+ others died of COVID--Dayenu.
Had 50 Million people lost their jobs--Dayenu.
Had the murder hornets and volcano sharks and fire tornado happened--Dayenu.
Had the entire fucking west coast be ablaze with wildfires--Dayenu.
Had the endless protests regarding police brutality weren't enough--Dayenu.
Children in cages, families separated... the list goes on. Sadly it goes on. Dayenu.

Had just, merely any ONE of these things happened and none of the others--DAYENU... it would have been sufficiently awful enough, but to have a single year where all of these things are happening simultaneously, it is devastating. 

And on top of all this, is the knowledge that despite every thing I just typed out, despite the enormous shit-heap that 2020 is, and despite how very unsafe it is to do so, much like having mom's burial in June when we couldn't comfort each other in our grief, or sit down and share a meal and fond remembrances of mom--my cousin hosted a retirement party for mom's sister. There were 30 people there, and no, I did not attend.

How could they all act like nothing happened? The tragedy of mom dying alone and terrified, and neglected by hospice? This plague is still going on, and we will surely see a surge in cases as the weather cools down. I think it was reckless to have a party now.

Sometime this week will be a retirement luncheon for a (now former friend) co-worker. Our agency has a mandate to social distance. And no. I am not attending this party either. 

Each social engagement I decline, I am filled with rage, not that I feel I must decline, but filled with rage that people are risking so much for something that can wait. 

I know that anger is one of the stages of grief, but I don't have mere anger--I am filled with rage. 

Even from a young age, I wanted justice for mom, and even at the age of 12, I stood up to dad's mother on mom's behalf. Justice from her abusive father. Justice from those who humiliated her due to her weight. And as she was on the verge of actively dying, I tried to get justice from the department of health and other agencies/entities, and all they did after the fact was shrug and say, "The facility is in compliance now." Not even an "I'm sorry for your loss" was uttered. 

So all that said, I suppose, whatever justice I will get for mom will be second-hand. Perhaps safeguarding myself and my husband could be justice. Staying safe and healthy for as long as I can. Even as she lay in her room motionless and dying once she was loaded with morphine and ativan, the last thing she would have wanted would be for her kids to hold her hand, knowing how very risky it was for all of us. But part of me feels some measure of guilt or shame or responsibility that somehow I should have made that happen. None of that is useful now. And even if I made a valiant attempt, if she had the ability to speak, she would have talked me out of it.

Pretty "On Brand" For Mom: Discussion With My Uncle

I had a nice conversation with the older of mom's two brothers. This uncle is my god father--though to be honest, I hadn't had all that much to do with him prior to his move to Florida back in the 1980s; and only in the last couple of years had we started texting on our phone.

He told me a story of the day mom introduced him to my dad. At the time, my uncle had lost a lot of weight. He took a shower and put on some loose pants without a belt and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mom and dad were in the kitchen and when my uncle walked in, mom introduced him to dad. As she said, "And this is my brother--" she yanked my uncle's pants down (and yes, my uncle was COMMANDO under his pants).

I couldn't even laugh. I blurted out, "My god, you HAD to have been mortified!" and my next words were,"Pretty predictable for mom!" 

The remainder of my conversation with my uncle was very nice, and he talked about how much he really enjoyed my dad--and I like to think my dad enjoyed this uncle, as they had so much in common.

The fact that mom "pantsed" my uncle does make me wonder what on earth would make her think that was acceptable, or what OTHER equally mortifying things she did or were done to her while she lived with her parents. 

WHO DOES THAT?

Paperwork Part Deux

Not much to report other than:

1. Health Department contacted me via phone and stated that Shady Pines is NOW in compliance--and I guess I don't have any other recourse through the Health Department.

2. Joint Commission contacted me via email and stated that Shady Pines didn't get their accreditation through them--so there's no recourse through them.

3. I am still waiting to hear back from CAR-F.

My sister is now to the point where she doesn't want to talk about mom, and while I do understand it, this also means unless she (and our brother) choose to participate, the idea of me seeking any kind of damages from Shady Pines for an untimely death etc, will be an uphill battle, and I don't have it in me to go through this if I have to fight with them regarding it.

I have set a Google alert for the name of Shady Pines + class action law suit hoping that at some point, at least two of the 30 impacted families (at last count) will take the initiative to initiate a class action law suit--unlikely as it may be.

Lodging complaints won't bring mom back. A class action lawsuit won't bring her back either; however, a class action law suit would be a very very dilute bit of justice: justice from Shady Pines for their negligence; and justice regarding getting some kind of restitution for my parents' thievery. It's more than a bit ghoulish to think of restitution, and perhaps what also keeps me from acting on the impulse to try to sue is appearing as if I were trying to exploit mom's death for my financial gain.
 

And Now The Paperwork

Oh,no. Not her estate or will. All that's been tended to--which is to say, there isn't an estate to speak of, as Shady Pines cost about $11K a month, and that pretty much used up every red penny from the sale of her home and liquidation of what physical assets she had.

No no no. Today's "paperwork" is the lodging of complaints. I lodged complaints on the phone around April 10th, and now, I've circled back and lodged complaints with the NJ Department of Health, as well as The Joint Commission and CARF International, the latter two handle accreditation of long term care nursing facilities.  

I'm more than a bit defeated at this point, as I did call and lodge verbal complaints early in April, back when mom let me know the virus was in the building but before she became infected. 

On or about April 10th, I called first the Long Term Care Ombudsman, as well as the state AG's office, and both instructed me to call that state's Department of Health, who informed me they were aware of the issues going on at the facility, and that the facility was instructed regarding using temporary agencies for staffing shortfalls. 

My calls to authorities did nothing to slow down or prevent mom getting sick, as COVID19 was like a tsunami ramming its way through that facility.

My mom was a resident there from August 2017 to May 4, 2020 (date of her death), and in all that time she never left the facility, and rarely if ever left the confines of her room. She didn't go out to catch it. And given the facility was quarantined from February and March, which meant no visitors IN, she clearly caught this from those who were tasked with caring for her.

What an odd choice of words, "caring for her." Wouldn't "caring for her" also include taking very basic and necessary precautions to prevent her from getting sick? It's also not outlandish to presume that a good lot of people in long term care facilities are immuno-compromised, so even basic hand washing between tending to each resident SHOULD have been a protocol to be followed.

My mind still reels, and I'm still zigging-and-zagging through this stage of disbelief that she's really, truly, physically GONE. I thought I had mentally prepared and steeled myself for when the time ultimately came for her, and I'm far more distraught than I thought I would be. I thought I had accepted it, the possibility of her death, with each passing crisis. And though I always believed I was daddy's little girl and much closer to him than with my mom, I am distraught. 

I don't remember at what point after dad died, when he finally reached out to me from "the beyond," and let me know "I know what you've been up to." And here I am a month and a half after mom passed, and waiting for further contact. I had a faint sensation she reached out to me last week, and thought I heard or felt her say, "I'm sorry I had to go." It still resonates in my ears and my heart. 

But I suppose even with her death, I want what I always wanted from her in life: MORE. 

 

Irony of Ironies

No matter how difficult or complicated my relationship with mom was, she wasn't completely heartless.

I remember the day her mom died, and as I arrived at the hospital, when mom saw me in the hallway, she flung her arms around my neck and hugged me and we both sobbed.

Here I am grieving,  a lot more intensely than I anticipated, sitting at my desk in my vacant office, sobbing almost to the point of hyperventilation as I type this, wishing to be comforted by my mom, in the way that mothers know how, even as broken as she was, the one person I want to comfort me right now is her.

When dad died, I felt like my world exploded--and yet in many ways it had not; however, now that mom has transitioned elsewhere in the ether, I feel like the last dregs of illusions that remained regarding "family," have dissipated along with her.  

In so many ways I feel as if she had two distinct personalities--perhaps even more than that. I lived with the highs and lows of her being charming and hilarious, to emotionally and verbally destructive. I saw the bright eyed woman who was quick with a laugh steadily ebb away to a dull eyed woman withdrawing from us and the world around her. Pushing us away, and clinging and pulling us towards her, almost simultaneously. 

I wish I got my shit together twenty-two years ago after my divorce. I wish I were stronger and had better coping skills. I wish I could have helped her more--I was too busy being distracted by reacting and insulating and licking my wounds. I wish I saved more of her voicemails than I did, but glad I managed to save the last couple years' birthday messages, and her Christmas message this year, and a message sometime after her birthday in March telling me it was a good one. 

I resented the dynamic. I wished we could have had a healthier relationship. Perhaps it was better than I thought it was? I'm trying not to entertain too much self doubt. We both were adults. She participated in this too.

All that time I was pushing her away, and now all I want is to pull her back in for another hug, and feel the soft warm fat on her arms surround me. 

Eighty-five days since the shut down and I've been working remotely. Forty-seven days since my last conversation with her--the same day her older sister died seventy-two years earlier. Thirty-seven days since she took her last breath.  

And now I sob.

Almost a Year of Profound Losses

Last May, (what I thought was) my friendship with someone with whom I had cultivated a friendship for 17 years went tits up. It took me THAT long to wake up and realize I had inadvertently gravitated to someone with the same hurtful, carelessly cruel characteristics my mom had.

Last August saw three more losses: my dear friend Dennis died, and my favorite "Bossman" went out on disability, and my great aunt (with whom I had become cozy after my grandfather died in 2012), passed away.

Between the now-former friend's cruelty, Dennis' death, and Bossman's departure, I've been reeling those losses, as they all (well, two of them at least) were part of my support system at work, and my great aunt was a dear comfort to me, personally.

Then my dear friend Susan got diagnosed with a particularly challenging form of melanoma--acral lentiginous melanoma, which doesn't have necessarily a "good outcome," however, she is still in the land of the living ten months later. Every day I worry for her.

Then September, my therapist of nine months took a new job elsewhere, leaving me a bit in a lurch, as I was making progress. And this derailed my personal care. Here it is ten months later, and I'm still without a therapist, navigating things on my own until open enrollment starts in November and I can sign up for new insurance for 2021. 

Then mom passed away last month.

Soon, my friend Taryn will be relocating to another state, and that's one fewer person in my immediate circle of friendship and support. 

Experiencing what I did at mom's burial this weekend has left me more than a bit raw. 

Part of my CBT training is to try to feel my feelings and be aware of my thoughts. But I think to be upset right about now is an acceptable thing. Yet, I remind myself of my good fortune to have friends near and far, near and dear, and the idea that I am alone or unloved is a thought I need to put aside, as that's just irrational emotions bubbling up from within. I'll let the tears come and go, and let them fall where they may.

Also, the state of the world we are now IN, both, with the pandemic AND from a political standpoint has further fractured things where family as well as friends I thought I had are at a polar opposite standpoint than where I am currently. There is no middle ground. 

There is no having a free exchange of ideas when each side thinks they know everything, or they believe everything they hear or read rather than employ critical thinking.

The world is a sadder, more dangerous place than it was a year ago. 

The Eulogy

Even though I am not a religious person, I always found this passage from Romans 5:1-5 particularly useful, if not comforting: 

Speaking to character and perseverance, one could read this passage and view our earthly sufferings as an exercise in “character building,” however, the core theme of this passage is to appreciate and accept our burdens, as it’s our burdens that lead us back to God. 

Regarding character, mom was a quite the “character.” Most of us, I’m sure, have crazy stories involving her. 

Regarding perseverance, her life was a mix of stubbornness and determination—perspective is everything on this. 

As our mother, she was aware of (most of) the burdens her children carry; and conversely, and we, her children were acutely aware of the burdens she had to carry in life. I am sure it wasn’t easy for her to be Ann. 

Today, I’m accepting my burden of grief; and hope that mom is liberated from her burdens and is on her way back to her God, and that her suffering is over.

The Eulogy: The Preamble

 I trembled and choked up as I read the eulogy I prepared. It didn’t help that my aunt recited a poem my great grandfather wrote, a poem he wrote after my great grandmother died. 

This poem hung in my grandparents’ home (with a photo of my great grandmother beneath it—a photo from when she was young and her beauty still in tact) until my grandmother died in 1990. Now the poem and photo hangs in my aunt’s dining room. 

It was sad for me to grow up thinking of him alone, living in a boarding house, crying whilst  writing that poem, and for him to die alone, just as mom did. 

I stepped into the center of the memorial garden and immediately was wrought with nerves and sadness. As I spoke and got choked up, my sister stood behind me, out of my view, turning her back as she sobbed along with me. My brother stood silent and emotionless holding the box of remains. 

Had I had the chance to speak first, I probably could have kept it together, rather thank choke back tears in front of an audience who didn’t give a shit about me. 

Yet again, someone else was more important than me or my siblings, her children, her next of kin. 

Still Unpacking Details From The Burial

Worthwhile mentioning, I didn’t whisper what I said, when I told my uncle off, and even managed to get an atta-girl from my sister and my niece and my DH all who heard it.

Additionally both of his daughters showed up without masks. The gravity that we were all there burying mom WHO DIED OF COVID was lost on them. Their misconstrued ideas of what they think their constitutional/inalienable rights are is disgusting.

Mom’s sister, aka Flying Monkey #1 couldn’t hear my eulogy as we were outside and cars were driving by, I handed her my hard copy. Several hours later I texted her to see what she thought of it (see? I should have known better), and she brushed me off, and she actually said she didn’t have time to text me.

Mom’s BFF was there too and wasn’t her normal cheery self. She didn’t bother to get out of her car as she was afraid of falling, and her daughter was up in the memorial garden with us.

When she attended dad’s funeral 12 years ago, even despite the somber day, she was a bright spot. Yet, I couldn’t escape the distance bordering on frostiness from this person who normally was cheerful all my life.

I asked my sister if she sensed it too, and she agreed, and she came to the same conclusion that I did: who the hell knows what lies and downright awful stuff mom said to her.

Everyone who showed up certainly didn’t do so to comfort us, the next of kin, and I doubt if social distancing weren’t paramount, it still would have looked the same—each little click huddled amongst themselves—entirely NOT social distancing.

Neither comfort nor closure were experienced on Saturday, and I was reminded that mom’s legacy to me and my siblings is the unsettling uncertainty that she slandered us all to everyone she knew.

Interment of Her Ashes

Today was the interment of mom’s ashes. 

I told off my uncle (the asshole, mom’s youngest brother, aka Uncle Pedo). 

He tried to be GLIB and make a joke about wearing masks and started to say how he didn't think they worked. I told him anything else he has to say about masks, the pandemic or social distancing will be met with nothing but hostility from me. 

I also told him to back the fuck away from me as he got too close to me. I told him off and I certainly didn’t whisper it. Several people who matter to me heard it, and gave me “atta girl!” afterwards.

Additionally both of his daughters showed up without masks. The gravity that we were there today burying mom WHO DIED OF COVID was lost on them. 

Their misconstrued ideas of what they think their constitutional/inalienable rights are is disgusting. Their willful stupidity is their right up until the point where it can potentially harm another person. Their ignorance is dangerous.

My aunt said she didn’t hear my eulogy, so I gave her my hard copy. Several hours later, I texted her to see what she thought of it, and she brushed me off saying she didn’t have time for me. 

It brings me a great measure in comfort that mom’s burial was perhaps the last time I will encounter and deal with these assholes. Perhaps if I attend my aunt and her husband’s funerals at some time in the future, that might be the last time; however until that time comes, I won’t have anything more to do with these people. 

I’ve said it once before; however, I will say it again, the relatives on mom’s side of the family—descendants of mom’s mother’s family—all are damaged goods. Neither closure nor comfort were accomplished today. 

More Family Fuckery

So, my cousin left this nugget over on mom's memorial page online:

My curiosity was piqued, so I texted her to inquire what was the advice, specifically, that my mom told her in order to have a better relationship with her mom (my aunt).

And rather than say, "I'm sorry for your loss.." and then start in with the text, she just brushed me off and said how she's not into texting as people tend to take things out of context, and suggested I call HER.

No thanks. Not interested in taking that bait. I am of the mind that PHONE CALLS are where the REAL conflict with context comes in. Words on a screen remain as they were typed; whereas, phone conversations, specifically the memory aspect of who said what etc, tends to get really distorted. So no. I don't feel like calling her.

It just would have been useful to know what insights mom dispensed, which she wasn't applying towards her own relationship with her own daughters. 

I guess I'll never know.

I just found it off putting that my cousin would share this bit on a public space, if it were too private to share in depth. 

FUCK HER. 

"Today is a gift and tomorrow isn't promised, and no argument is worth losing each other." It's kind of sad. We were lost for so long, and now there's no turning back.

Regrets--We All Have 'Em

I am now at the point of my grief process where I'm really in touch with my anger. I let it come and wash over me, and I try to let it go just as quick as it comes upon me.

I'm angry that we all (me, my family) wasted too much time REACTING and INSULATING ourselves to/against the hurt and anger and abuse, etc etc. Reacting rather than acting from a place of love or understanding.

I'm full of regret that we all didn't spend more time asking for forgiveness and actually FORGIVING one another. We were all trapped in the cycle of abuse and just trying to survive it. 

May 4, 2020: Earlier That Day

Given that I'm considered an essential worker, initially I was going to the office several days a week for two hours each day to handle tasks which cannot be managed remotely: checking the voicemail on the main switchboard, receiving/processing/distributing mail and the like.

A caller left a voicemail about his mother, who passed away early in March, whose body was MIA until April 9th. I made a point of calling him back, as I didn't want to add to his grief by delaying a response. I called and he was on the phone with his doctor on his landline, and I was calling I guess on his cell phone. He couldn't manage both calls at once and wanted me to call him back. 

I said I'd be back in the office two days later--he said please call me. So, once I arrived home, I sat in my car and called him. Turns out his mom died of COVID19, and was in a nursing home. Yet the nursing home couldn't provide any type of paperwork for her body. There were several weeks he had no idea where his mother's body was and out of the blue a funeral director reached out to him. So turns out the nursing home released the body but somehow doesn't have the paperwork? Funeral homes have licenses and most will require paperwork--a death certificate as well as some release forms from the nursing home or hospital before they will receive a body.

This was the same day when we were all seeing articles online and on the news about the backlog caused by so many deaths--and there was that one funeral home in Brooklyn which had a non-refrigerated U-Haul outside their building loaded with rotting corpses. A horror show to read--I can only imagine how hellish it is for family members.

I told the caller about my own mom who was diagnosed and I told him what I did--contacted the NJ State AG, NJ Health Department, as well as the NJ Longterm care ombudsman. I wasn't sure if there was an ombudsman in NY, but gave him the best advice I could give--from personal experience.

The call was at 7 p.m., roughly 4.5 hours before mom died. 

This pandemic has us all social distancing and isolating, and yet, those of us immediately impacted by it are holding the hands of others while we all go through this.

As of the time I was notified of her passing, I checked the stats (I may have already mentioned this--it's all a blur, and my mental unpacking of the chain of events is not a linear path at this point), and she was the 69,921st person to pass away from this dreaded disease.

Family Fuckery Continues

So--without even so much as extending condolences to me and my siblings directly, a cousin of mom's decided to take it upon her to arrange a "mass" on Faceb**k. Not sure how that works exactly. Also--mom wasn't catholic for the last 52 years of her life. This cousin did not consult with any of us. I probably wouldn't be as upset if mom's sister decided to do this, because well, my aunt was more actively involved in mom's life than this cousin.
Additionally, this blue haired old bitty discovered Faceb**k, she stopped communicating directly with me via emails

Mind you, this cousin decided when dad died in 2008 that she wasn't going to come back east for any more "sad occasions." The last time I saw this cousin in person was perhaps in 2004 or 2005.

Mind you, I went to her exhusband's wake/viewing, as well as his mother's, to support this cousin's sons, of whom I had always been close. Her sons also managed NOT to show up at my dad's funeral too--a detail that truly hurt. The last time I saw the oldest of her sons was in July 2008 when I was in New Hampshire for a conference--and it hurt they couldn't be bothered to support me when my dad died.

This has nothing to do with showing support for us, as we were the children of the person that passed; and it also is presumptuous to think we aren't doing anything to mark her passing--and will do so once the church receives the remains. Again, that would require someone to actually COMMUNICATE. I cannot help but view this with a jaundiced eye, and as yet one more indication mom's mother's family all don't know how to communicate and also have issues with empathy and boundary issues too.

 Also, for someone who writes for a living, I find her use of quotes around the word "comment" to be confusing. She writes for a local rag the farmers read--it's not as if she writes for the NY Times.

Today marks 15 days since mom passed--no personal family condolences extended. Though I have been blessed with extended relatives who check in from time to time--even my acupuncturist sent me a lovely card with heartfelt sentiments written within it. 

So Many Layers

All I can do now is just ruminate. 

I’d be remiss f I did not acknowledge that mom had some measure of cognitive decline, which went largely dismissed by me or my siblings—as the signs were in keeping with a lifetime of her behaviors of demanding much more attention—the neediness. The constant calls. Perhaps awful things said to outsiders, forgetting if she had conversations with us or visits with us. The calls forgetting our birthdays or probably more accurately—what day of the week it actually was. 

I had gotten to a point with her where I was bold enough to acknowledge to her that I knew she was depressed. We had a couple conversations about happiness and how it is a choice. I wish I had been bold enough to ask her about her memory. I knew it all along, I saw signs, but no one else wanted to acknowledge it. 

Another problem, like I said in a previous post, about the final analysis is I don’t know who she was. She was inconsistent and kept me so unbalanced for so long. It was very much like psychological warfare at times. And then she’d be so sweet out of no where. This is what made it especially sad for me, that she did have it in her to be loving and engaged, and then she’d withdraw into reading her books. 

At her best, she had a perverse sense of humor. My best memories will be of her laughing. But sadly her lack of boundaries would often lead to carelessly cruel comments, or laughing at someone’s expense. 

At least if she were cruel all the time it might have been better, then we would have been able to better prepare or protect ourselves. But she had these moments of profoundness that just makes my heart ache—why couldn’t it always have been good? Things were always challenging with intermittent moments of good. 

An example of the good:

One time mom told me that her favorite time of her life was when she was pregnant with us kids. At times she would refer to herself as the incubator, and other times she’d refer to herself as the cocoon waiting for us, her butterflies to emerge. I think upon this now, as she has gone through her own transformation and flying off, hopefully to dad. 

I don’t put much belief in a hereafter. In fact, no. I am afraid of it. Life was difficult enough to survive, I cannot imagine ETERNITY and being reunited with the people whose job was to protect me as a child and did not. However, if there is such a thing as eternity and afterlife—I hope it involves another reality where we are all reunited HEALED and WHOLE. 

I just wish she weren’t so stubborn and afraid—things could have been a lot different. 

I think we both did not understand each other. 

Churning & Frothing

Death doesn't bring with it closure. What it does bring with it, is the finality, the lack of further opportunities to get things right. The fact that, I have to just accept things as they are. Just a note: I haven't gotten to that point in my grief experience yet. 

I have; however!,  gotten in touch with my anger. Everyone thus far has said how funny or sweet or pleasant mom was, and I must bite my tongue because I don’t want to shit all over their memories of who she was to them.

I am angry because of the continued expectation that I participate in the cycle of abuse (EVEN NOW), the expectation that I remain silent about WHO SHE WAS TO ME, the expectation to remain silent because other people’s thoughts or opinions or feelings matter more than mine.

I am angry because I do not know who the REAL PERSON my mom was. We ALL play different roles depending on our audience at the time; however, she was an entirely different person to me, versus how she was to outsiders. Me and my siblings all carry those scars SILENTLY.

Initially, I went through and listened to what voicemails and read what emails I managed not to delete, and then go and read her public facebook comments—each one was SWEET, and the Facebook comments, in particular, are problematic for me, because it only gives the readers one side of who she was.

Now I have progressed to remembering (what memories I have not repressed) every single hateful, emotionally destructive thing she has said to me, and remembering physical abuse—which in addition to my sister’s REGULAR dinner time stabbings, including my own trip to the hospital to get stitches for a laceration on my scalp mom caused. 

All of that churned up from deep within my psyche, all churned up and now frothing on the surface, and unavoidable. I am at least acknowledging the froth. But I cannot even grieve because I still HURT. 

I am angry, thinking of my sister’s C-PTSD and my night terrors, as well as my brother’s bed wetting into his early teens—all of which are outward signs of fucking trauma.

I am angry and sad about how mom pit me and my siblings against each other for decades—and now here we are—fractured/splintered and dysfunctional.

I am angry that mom never got the professional help she needed, so we all could be WHOLE and functional. The idea of meeting her again, if there is such a thing as an afterlife, I want no part of—unless it involves all of us being HEALED AND WHOLE. But really, the idea of nothingness appeals to me. Still. Silent. Darkness. Finally at peace.

And I'm angry at the people who still remain, and whom my silence is still demanded or expected, as they are unwilling or unable, whether immature or not emotionally equipped enough to look upon the past critically, and at least take some measure of responsibility for not protecting me and my siblings at a time when we were too young or vulnerable to fend for ourselves.