Grappling

Right now, I'm still grappling with my anger/rage issues towards my parents. I was able to be more honest with my dad while he was alive, but only to an extent. And well, with mom? I was never entitled to express anything negative, much less express anger towards her. 

The relationship was always unbalanced with me doing the bulk of the emotional heavy lifting, self-censoring as a form of survival to avoid her wrath. 

Death does not provide any great resolution or closure--it merely provides a cessation of the active nature of verbal and emotional abuse; however, all those entrenched neural synapses and pathways don't magically reroute or heal themselves after a half century of repetition. That's mom's legacy.

It all has made me a distrustful skeptic, incapable of embracing change (unless I am the one initiating change). 

And if that weren't enough, the pandemic has been sadly illustrative of the true nature of too many people, frothing their recklessness and selfishness right on the surface, unashamed and self unaware--and this has made me withdraw even further away from in-person socialization. This will be COVID's legacy--in addition to the 600+K people who have perished--many of whom could have been spared an early, painful demise, scared and alone like my mom was.

35 Years Later, I'm Still Furious

April brings with it many things. Right now, mom's anniversary is almost upon me. Right now is a week before her death, and is also the anniversary of the final week of silence before her death.

April also brings with it a tremendous amount of unresolved anger over how much was stolen from me, by both of my parents, but my dad in in particular. The anger is all frothing to the top.

I am reminded of April of 1986, a couple short months before graduation, when I realized all my school mates were getting their acceptance letters for college. I remember inquiring about the four years worth of "room and board" mom insisted I kick back from my summer jobs, all with the promise she'd hold it for safe keeping so I'd have something when I graduated. Or the little bit of money nana set aside (perhaps enough to pay for books or a semester's tuition at a community college). or the 33 shares of AT&T stock aunt Jean left for each of me and my siblings.

I was two months away from graduating, and I came to the fast conclusion that I was fucked. I had no plan, and I had no hope of ever leaving my parent's home. Add to that, mom interfered with every single relationship of mine, so she also ensured I'd be behind the 8-ball, and wouldn't be able to have kids, either.

April brings with it a tremendous amount of anger and sadness--mostly with the awareness I never have lived up to my potential.

I remember them refusing outright to give me their income tax info so I could see if I qualified for student loans. And when in desperation I joined in the military, both parents had to sign off on my enlistment packet because I wasn't yet 18--mom soon had changed her mind, and was trying to get our family priest who was pretty well connected at the time, to reverse my enlistment. Why? I don't have a clue, but I can only deduce it was because she was losing control of me.

I will be 53 in August, and I am still processing this. I don't know how to accept it. I don't know how to move on from it. I feel like I am fighting a singular battle in a tissue paper bag. Should be easy enough to extricate myself, and yet the 18 year old version of me is still in there, fighting the good fight, and demanding justice.

I have gotten closer to dad's sister in the last couple years, and this was an ice breaker to her (after she mentioned something about how nana's house was to be the inheritance for her and her sister), "I don't know what I hope to come of this, but you do realize dad stole from ALL of us, right?"

I went into detail of big things and small things, of the time my sister came home from school to discover mom and dad sold the antique bed which was in her room--and they did not even have so much as an army cot for her to sleep on when she came home. 

I told my aunt, "it got so bad, I knew at a very young age not to let dad know if I had money, because if I had two nickels, he'd try to screw me out of one of them."

My aunt is further along in her journey than I am. Everything I said was nothing new to her. And what she shared next, well, it did not surprise me. Sadly. She informed me when she was little and nana gave them money for birthdays or holidays or special occasions, she could keep a bit, and then her parents would say she had to "save some." Turns out, her father (my grandfather) used it to buy booze.

I am just so angry and sad and disgusted at both of my parents. I think of mom's plaintive question, "I was a good mother, wasn't I?" And my god, how the fuck was I ever supposed to answer that one honestly?

I think of every shitty thing I've done, there's a lot to be ashamed of. There was a alot I did before I even discovered this thing called self esteem or self worth. I'm sure I shared it before, but people like me made the shitty decisions I've made over the course of my life because I did not have the resources, support, or esteem which my parents should have instilled in me. I came to that realization maybe 2-3 years ago, and it still resonates with me.

Everything I am is MINE. No one groomed me. No one gave me support. These people who squeezed me and my siblings into this shitty world they didn't give me shit other than LIFE. A life I did not ask for. A life I struggle with regularly.

I have come so far from those days in April 1986--and yet at the same time, I still feel like a failure, and a parasite. That anything I have or have accomplished is because of my husband, not of my own determination. 

I am so sad and angry--and hate my parents right now. I'll never get justice. And it's just as well that neither one of them have visited me in my dreams because all I'd tell them is to go fuck themselves.

Litany of Losses, Resilience, and Appreciation

To suffer one loss is bad enough and tests one's resilience; however, from May 2019 until present moment, my personal support system has really taken a battering.

At the end of May 2019, I had a traumatic injury where I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk unassisted again. This was met with a startling lack of empathy from someone I had considered a friend for 17 years.

August 2019 hit me with several one-two-punches. First my favorite "bossman" went out on disability super quick. Then my great-aunt died. Then my friend Dennis died. Then my friend Susan (I posted other blog posts about her) got diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer.

September 2019, my therapist, with whom I made some good progress, took another job elsewhere, too far for me to continue our weekly sessions. 

Somewhere's in the mix, I realized my mom's sister was engaging in their family's favorite pastime--spreading rumors (this time about me). This devastated me as I always thought we were close. How close can people be if jealousy is involved?

December I saw mom for what was our very last visit.

January was a flurry of usual daily chaos, plus we traveled to Las Vegas for a get away. Mom was sick, so I didn't visit--we were social distancing for years as a family long before the nightmare of COVID.

February mom was sick again. Same with March. And the nursing home was quarantined as they thought they were dealing with the flu.

Early April mom got notified the virus was in fact in the building. By the end of the month, first she was terrified and inconsolable, screaming out for my dead father. Then she fell silent, heavily sedated, waiting for the sweet release of death.

At the beginning of May 2020 she died. October 2020 Susan died. November yet another friend retired. My circle of support getting smaller, and the pandemic robbing me of a proper way to deal with my grief. 

Soon it'll be mom's birthday, and then Easter and Mother's Day. And hopefully not too long after that we'll all be vaccinated against this plague; however, for me, as of this moment, I doubt I'll snap back. I feel changed, broken.

Though my circle of trust/support system has taken some hits in the last 21 months, I am super appreciative of the friends that do remain and help me as best as they can. Each friend has their own gifts/strengths to share. I am a lucky person to have them in my life.

New Year, New Wrinkle

As I was driving to the office today, I had to turn off the podcast I was listening to, in order to allow the thought bubble to percolate right at the tippy top of my temporal lobe. 

The thought that had been marinating ever since my sister and I reconciled in late July 2017--a reconciliation mom went to her grave not knowing about: 

What if my sister only reconciled with me, knowing she needed a lot of help to empty mom's house out to be sold off, with the proceeds to go to Shady Pines? 

Here it is nearly 3.5 years after we reconciled, and I guess I can only deduce that on a subliminal and perhaps other cognitive levels, I don't trust the state of things.

I hardly hear from her (same thing with her kid who turns 19 in a couple weeks). The mind riddled with grief and the void left behind with mom's death really does a number on me.

In so many ways, I feel as if mom's family has forsaken me (with the exception of a couple first cousins-once-removed. I hear from no one--and that includes her sister, who for the majority of my life I *thought* was an ally, only for me to realize in 2018 how jealous and petty and manipulative she truly is). Christmas and New Year's came and went without even so much as one of her superficial texts full of emojis and zero depth. No card. No nothing. I wish I could say it doesn't hurt.

Same thing goes for that friend, or "frenemy," or whatever you want to call that former co-worker who retired the end of September. I ate lunch with her for 17 years, and actually gave far more of a shit about her than she has about me. I can't tell if the lack of a text or card was because she finally got the hint that I'm done with her, or that she's just following her modus operandi of putting zero effort into relationships. And I'll say it again, I wish I could say this doesn't hurt, too.

The pandemic isn't making any of this easier. All the things I'd normally do to distract myself (visits with friends, lunches out, shopping, self care like pedicures or deep tissue massage etc) are shelved until this plague is under control. 

My life these days is just alternating working in the office and working from home, and my only outings are for groceries, or a weekly laundry drop off/pick up, and a Sunday night dash to pick up dinner from a restaurant. Maharajah is the entirety of my socialization, and save for hugging a coworker who retired right before Thanksgiving--Maharajah has been the solitary person I've touched.

A friend/co-worker visited with me in the office today (masked up and at a distance), needing a UPS parcel to go out, and he really is one of the very few people at work who give-a-shit now. We talked about the current state of things. He even managed to get me to laugh--even if it wasn't a sustained, hearty laugh. 

I have this sense of loneliness that I just can't shake. And I'm lucky to have the Maharajah--and some good friends who check in on me (just about) daily. But I have this loneliness or longing for calls I'll never have with mom again--I want to believe we were as good as it was going to get with us; or texts with Susan; or a more profound relationship with my sister. 

As hokey as it sounds, at some point after dad died, he visited me in a dream, and said, "I know what you've been up to." And somehow that still brings me comfort. As of today's date, mom's been gone 8 months, and not a peep from her from the great beyond. 

All of the anger from all of my earlier posts from years ago right up until the virus was in her nursing home is giving way to loads of sadness and regret--and lots of the regret for things outside my control--regret for things MOM should or could have done and had not. 

A dear friend/co-worker of mine of the last 18 years said it best, "You did the best you could, under the circumstances." I wish I had the opportunity to say those words to mom. She wasn't perfect. "Damaged people, damage people." I think on some level she knew that (otherwise why else would she have asked me what kind of mother she was). 

I wish she'd visit me in my dreams, so I could tell her that.

And here I am, yet again, sitting at my desk in my nearly vacant office, sobbing.

So, excuse me if I'm not jolly and wishing people a Happy New Year. I'm not feeling happy or joyful. And, yanno what? I think I need to feel this way for a while.

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.