Until your breathing stops forever
I'm home in Atlanta. Thank fuck. Lord willing and the crick don' rise, I will never have to back to Florida(please please please G-d). The funeral was...I gave the eulogy. When I wasnt giving the eulogy, I was livetweeting the funeral. I wish I was kidding but I'm not. If you're curious, search for #livefromthefuneral because oh my god it was just - ugh. No. Just no. The parts of me that are involved in grieving were not engaged.
Also my mom and sister kept telling me how I should behave. What the actual fuck. I'm one of the primary mourners. So you cry hysterically. Thats okay but my hysterical laughter isnt? It's releasing the exact fucking emotion, mine just feels better. I was, by the way, hysterically laughing in the limo - I kept finding Archer references to things [i.e. the trip to the cemetery was "so boring and forever taking"] and discussion of how much we(my mother and I) dislike the Boca Raton area. The conversation went as follows:
Mom: Welcome to Tamarac formerly-
Me: -known as the everglades. Ugh.
Mom: Well, you know, some people like it? I guess? That's a nice drainage ditch over there...
Me: If I had to choose would rather die in Somalia by a gunshot wound to the head from a warlord and be buried there than die and be buried here in south Florida.
Mom: Nope. No Rachael, I'd rather be here with my ex-husband AND my ex in-laws than in Somalia with a warlord.
*cue hysterical laughter on my part because oh my god you guys, you dont understand how much she dislikes my dad now and how badly his parents treated her - you really dont*
Me: No I think you missed part of it. I said I'd rather die there than die in south Florida. And I definitely would rather be buried there than here. I've got no active desire to go to Somalia at the moment.
Mom: Oh well. *shrug* Okay then.
Me: Well I've got nothing against Somalia itself, unlike this place, and it's got a lower chance of sinking into the ocean like Atlantis when the glaciers melt and also I've heard its fairly mineral rich. Also, it's not south Florida.
Mom: No it is not.
Me:Point of this is - don't bury me down here.
Mom: Don't bury me down here either.
Other death and dad related things - did you know my mom went to a lawyer and got it in writing that if all 4 of us were to die all at once, she was NOT to be buried next to my dad? She got in the same writing that I was to be buried the FARTHEST from him? She got both of these things written and set up because, she said, she didn't want her and I to be next to him so he could torture us for eternity but my sister can handle him which is why she'd go between him and my mom. OH THE THINGS YOU LEARN.
Burying my grandmother was kind of strange too, although I'm glad she wasn't cremated. It's not the Jewish way for one but for another, it means she gets to be next to Papa forever. That's how it should be. The burial itself though... everyone was just - again this is just not where my heart is for grief. I live on gallows humor so someone - my aunt I think - noticed that the coffin had a tag or something on it. The 3 of them(mom, aunt, d-bag uncle) started to get upset and I go "Grammy worked in retail her whole life. She'd love that it has a tag." so they dont freak out but also because I think its funny and I think its true. Like I said, that's not where my heart lives.
My heart lives in the fact that I'm doing the walk back to the car - which in Jewish tradition has a GAUNTLET OF CONDOLENCES - and this man who was in my mom/uncle/aunts youth takes my hand and goes "I'm so sorry for your loss. You gave a lovely speech. I'm ______. I went to high school with your dad. I mean your uncle." Yeah, I got into the limo to lose my shit over that because all of my family is broken but of all of our shattered and missing pieces - my father is the only piece out of my family because he treated me so badly for so long. I have never met any of his friends from high school. I couldn't call him when she died. I can't call him on father's day because it'll open the door for me to get hurt more. I hurt over him at Grammy's funeral which, to quote Hyperbole and a Half - no....she wanted the opposite of this. Like I said - woman had no saliva and spit on him in her last days and told me not to listen to or care for him. Yet there I was, crying over him being missing at HER funeral. Argh. Frustrating.
I also find myself mourning harder for Dolores every time I think of Grammy. They knew each other. They liked each other a lot. Dolores should've fucking outlived Grammy. How did she NOT outlive Grammy? When grief hits me over my grandmother, it kicks the Dolores grief back on because the "dying peacefully in her sleep with her daughter and granddaughter with her in her sleep at 82" death makes sense and is something I can cope with but "dead by her own hand at 24 leaving behind a daughter with no mother" is fucking insane and I can't deal with it. I get thrown there every damn time too. So there's THAT to deal with.
Anyway. So. She left me all her movie den and movie stuff yes? I mentioned that. Well I really lost it when I walked into the movie den and saw this room that was basically Grammy in a nutshell. I had to call for my mom because I lost it so hard. Things like that are where I cry - not funerals.
My goodbye was not the funeral. My goodbye was much earlier. We found her passport in a lockbox with her money and important papers etc so we could pay bills and such. My mom, my sister and my cousin Caty(who is a nurse and who was caring for her too) are looking through the things and I asked "Can I have her passport? I'm going to go put it under her pillow. I mean, you know, last trip." because those of you who have been around me for awhile know that I have a strong wanderlust. Theres nothing like getting a new stamp in those pages. You're somewhere else, somewhere new, you've moved and have the passport to prove that you have and more importantly - that you CAN get up and go. I wanted her to have that with her - sort of like coins on the eyes for the ferryman almost. Putting that under her pillow and saying goodbye like that was it for me. I went into the bathroom(because zero space or privacy) with my ipod and phone and just cried in the semi-dark for awhile.
I got a lot of her clothes though. Most of them werent really things I want - she was 80! most of the retro stuff was given to her kids when she moved back in '03. But I got a lot of her skirts for work when work returns and I got the sequened tops I used to play dress-up in with my sister and cousins when I was a very little girl. They fit in a sexy way now, which is hilarious but I have them and I have her movies. Her fandom. Okay, I've started crying but you guys, oh god, it was five DVD racks, plus the four shelves on 2 tv stands of DVDs. God, there were also books and a hefty John Wayne keychain.
The last day she was REALLY coherent - not the last day she was alive but the last day she still had SPARK - we watched Blood Alley with John Wayne and then she fell asleep before the end. After that she didnt wake up long enough to finish it. I have it in my bag. I keep trying to figure out when is the right time to watch it because I have to know how it ends you know? I have to. Point is, I packed her fandom up and I'm taking it into my home and adding it to my own fandom.
My family - they dont really get it. My mom tries but she doesnt have anything she's fannish about(Game of Thrones a little but not like this) - they didn't get it. They knew she loved it, they knew it was her passion but I dont think they got it, the way it infiltrates your life, the way it holds you up and keeps you breathing. Her family was with her, and so was the Duke and her musicals and I just- I can't deal with how huge a deal that was. It makes me both love fandom more and more scared of it. She & I started loving these things we love at about the same age - 12/13 - and she was still loving them fiercely when she died. It's huge and it makes me ache so much.
In the interim between that and me getting home - there were isolation issues because my mom and sister were Busy Being Mourners, and I was at a hotel, and I was out watching hockey and drinking when my family was at the Douchebag Uncle's because I'm not welcome there. That's what happens when you point out that someone's grandiosity is nearly delusional, they're overbearing, and that they're disingenuous(not in so many words but thats basically what happened at The Worst Thanksgiving Ever). So D-bag Uncle was running the show and I was not part of the cast or crew. Right after I left the D-bag Uncle apparently went BATSHIT CRAZY(no seriously, my aunt/his sister got scared of him and LEFT) and that story will come later.
Now I'm home and able to see where things are fraying. I'm dissociated for long stretches. I'm compulsive eating again. The biggest thing? I'm having A(ctivites of)D(aily)L(iving) issues. I'm having problems getting out of bed for a start which isn't a surprise. Thats standard with grief/depression. No, what's freaking me out is that I'm having shower/bath issues. I dont know why but it takes a lot to actually make myself get in the fucking shower or bath. It's a hygiene issue that is BIG and is one of the MANY reasons why I'm still in treatment and on so many meds. Basically I'm listening to the Black Parade for comfort(and Cancer on repeat when I need a good cry because jesus fuck MCR. You don't hit any less hard with time. God I love all of you so much. So fucking much) and Save Rock&Roll, reading a lot of fic and poking everyone I know online for company. It's all I've got.
There'll be another post soon I imagine. Dolores' birthday is in 3 days. My birthday is in 6 days. On that day I lose my health insurance. Woo. I imagine I'll have some some sort of post by then. Maybe I'll figure out something to do? I dont know. Even my online friends are busy on Sat the 15th. Father's Day's the 16th dont you know. So. Yeah.
Plus side, I get to go back to regular therapy now that I'm home. Thank fuck.
Also my mom and sister kept telling me how I should behave. What the actual fuck. I'm one of the primary mourners. So you cry hysterically. Thats okay but my hysterical laughter isnt? It's releasing the exact fucking emotion, mine just feels better. I was, by the way, hysterically laughing in the limo - I kept finding Archer references to things [i.e. the trip to the cemetery was "so boring and forever taking"] and discussion of how much we(my mother and I) dislike the Boca Raton area. The conversation went as follows:
Mom: Welcome to Tamarac formerly-
Me: -known as the everglades. Ugh.
Mom: Well, you know, some people like it? I guess? That's a nice drainage ditch over there...
Me: If I had to choose would rather die in Somalia by a gunshot wound to the head from a warlord and be buried there than die and be buried here in south Florida.
Mom: Nope. No Rachael, I'd rather be here with my ex-husband AND my ex in-laws than in Somalia with a warlord.
*cue hysterical laughter on my part because oh my god you guys, you dont understand how much she dislikes my dad now and how badly his parents treated her - you really dont*
Me: No I think you missed part of it. I said I'd rather die there than die in south Florida. And I definitely would rather be buried there than here. I've got no active desire to go to Somalia at the moment.
Mom: Oh well. *shrug* Okay then.
Me: Well I've got nothing against Somalia itself, unlike this place, and it's got a lower chance of sinking into the ocean like Atlantis when the glaciers melt and also I've heard its fairly mineral rich. Also, it's not south Florida.
Mom: No it is not.
Me:Point of this is - don't bury me down here.
Mom: Don't bury me down here either.
Other death and dad related things - did you know my mom went to a lawyer and got it in writing that if all 4 of us were to die all at once, she was NOT to be buried next to my dad? She got in the same writing that I was to be buried the FARTHEST from him? She got both of these things written and set up because, she said, she didn't want her and I to be next to him so he could torture us for eternity but my sister can handle him which is why she'd go between him and my mom. OH THE THINGS YOU LEARN.
Burying my grandmother was kind of strange too, although I'm glad she wasn't cremated. It's not the Jewish way for one but for another, it means she gets to be next to Papa forever. That's how it should be. The burial itself though... everyone was just - again this is just not where my heart is for grief. I live on gallows humor so someone - my aunt I think - noticed that the coffin had a tag or something on it. The 3 of them(mom, aunt, d-bag uncle) started to get upset and I go "Grammy worked in retail her whole life. She'd love that it has a tag." so they dont freak out but also because I think its funny and I think its true. Like I said, that's not where my heart lives.
My heart lives in the fact that I'm doing the walk back to the car - which in Jewish tradition has a GAUNTLET OF CONDOLENCES - and this man who was in my mom/uncle/aunts youth takes my hand and goes "I'm so sorry for your loss. You gave a lovely speech. I'm ______. I went to high school with your dad. I mean your uncle." Yeah, I got into the limo to lose my shit over that because all of my family is broken but of all of our shattered and missing pieces - my father is the only piece out of my family because he treated me so badly for so long. I have never met any of his friends from high school. I couldn't call him when she died. I can't call him on father's day because it'll open the door for me to get hurt more. I hurt over him at Grammy's funeral which, to quote Hyperbole and a Half - no....she wanted the opposite of this. Like I said - woman had no saliva and spit on him in her last days and told me not to listen to or care for him. Yet there I was, crying over him being missing at HER funeral. Argh. Frustrating.
I also find myself mourning harder for Dolores every time I think of Grammy. They knew each other. They liked each other a lot. Dolores should've fucking outlived Grammy. How did she NOT outlive Grammy? When grief hits me over my grandmother, it kicks the Dolores grief back on because the "dying peacefully in her sleep with her daughter and granddaughter with her in her sleep at 82" death makes sense and is something I can cope with but "dead by her own hand at 24 leaving behind a daughter with no mother" is fucking insane and I can't deal with it. I get thrown there every damn time too. So there's THAT to deal with.
Anyway. So. She left me all her movie den and movie stuff yes? I mentioned that. Well I really lost it when I walked into the movie den and saw this room that was basically Grammy in a nutshell. I had to call for my mom because I lost it so hard. Things like that are where I cry - not funerals.
My goodbye was not the funeral. My goodbye was much earlier. We found her passport in a lockbox with her money and important papers etc so we could pay bills and such. My mom, my sister and my cousin Caty(who is a nurse and who was caring for her too) are looking through the things and I asked "Can I have her passport? I'm going to go put it under her pillow. I mean, you know, last trip." because those of you who have been around me for awhile know that I have a strong wanderlust. Theres nothing like getting a new stamp in those pages. You're somewhere else, somewhere new, you've moved and have the passport to prove that you have and more importantly - that you CAN get up and go. I wanted her to have that with her - sort of like coins on the eyes for the ferryman almost. Putting that under her pillow and saying goodbye like that was it for me. I went into the bathroom(because zero space or privacy) with my ipod and phone and just cried in the semi-dark for awhile.
I got a lot of her clothes though. Most of them werent really things I want - she was 80! most of the retro stuff was given to her kids when she moved back in '03. But I got a lot of her skirts for work when work returns and I got the sequened tops I used to play dress-up in with my sister and cousins when I was a very little girl. They fit in a sexy way now, which is hilarious but I have them and I have her movies. Her fandom. Okay, I've started crying but you guys, oh god, it was five DVD racks, plus the four shelves on 2 tv stands of DVDs. God, there were also books and a hefty John Wayne keychain.
The last day she was REALLY coherent - not the last day she was alive but the last day she still had SPARK - we watched Blood Alley with John Wayne and then she fell asleep before the end. After that she didnt wake up long enough to finish it. I have it in my bag. I keep trying to figure out when is the right time to watch it because I have to know how it ends you know? I have to. Point is, I packed her fandom up and I'm taking it into my home and adding it to my own fandom.
My family - they dont really get it. My mom tries but she doesnt have anything she's fannish about(Game of Thrones a little but not like this) - they didn't get it. They knew she loved it, they knew it was her passion but I dont think they got it, the way it infiltrates your life, the way it holds you up and keeps you breathing. Her family was with her, and so was the Duke and her musicals and I just- I can't deal with how huge a deal that was. It makes me both love fandom more and more scared of it. She & I started loving these things we love at about the same age - 12/13 - and she was still loving them fiercely when she died. It's huge and it makes me ache so much.
In the interim between that and me getting home - there were isolation issues because my mom and sister were Busy Being Mourners, and I was at a hotel, and I was out watching hockey and drinking when my family was at the Douchebag Uncle's because I'm not welcome there. That's what happens when you point out that someone's grandiosity is nearly delusional, they're overbearing, and that they're disingenuous(not in so many words but thats basically what happened at The Worst Thanksgiving Ever). So D-bag Uncle was running the show and I was not part of the cast or crew. Right after I left the D-bag Uncle apparently went BATSHIT CRAZY(no seriously, my aunt/his sister got scared of him and LEFT) and that story will come later.
Now I'm home and able to see where things are fraying. I'm dissociated for long stretches. I'm compulsive eating again. The biggest thing? I'm having A(ctivites of)D(aily)L(iving) issues. I'm having problems getting out of bed for a start which isn't a surprise. Thats standard with grief/depression. No, what's freaking me out is that I'm having shower/bath issues. I dont know why but it takes a lot to actually make myself get in the fucking shower or bath. It's a hygiene issue that is BIG and is one of the MANY reasons why I'm still in treatment and on so many meds. Basically I'm listening to the Black Parade for comfort(and Cancer on repeat when I need a good cry because jesus fuck MCR. You don't hit any less hard with time. God I love all of you so much. So fucking much) and Save Rock&Roll, reading a lot of fic and poking everyone I know online for company. It's all I've got.
There'll be another post soon I imagine. Dolores' birthday is in 3 days. My birthday is in 6 days. On that day I lose my health insurance. Woo. I imagine I'll have some some sort of post by then. Maybe I'll figure out something to do? I dont know. Even my online friends are busy on Sat the 15th. Father's Day's the 16th dont you know. So. Yeah.
Plus side, I get to go back to regular therapy now that I'm home. Thank fuck.