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.