Apparently I'm living in a Southern Gothic telenovella. Which way to the exit?
Right. First things first: this may be triggery as hell for people. If you have issues with parents, skip this. Just read the tl;dr summary at the end. Also, the longer Dragon update will be in the next entry. Which will be tomorrow, looking at how long this one has gotten.
Okay. The short form is that Dragon is recovering very well. To the point that on Thanksgiving, he went back out to the site of his fall to look it over. His dad was right; it was at least an 18 foot/6 meter fall. We're still going, 'Holy shit, that didn't kill you?' Then we went to a deer stand that was still up and Dragon insisted on going up the ladder and into the stand. So. That was Thanksgiving: a lot of reminders of intense stress and a lot of not-killing of the in-laws for various reasons. (I may go into them later, but probably not, even in a friends-locked post.)
So. I thought things would calm down about then. They did -- for about a day. Then I found out my father, AKA, the Parental Imposter, was in the hospital again. (Go read the linked entries if you don't know why I call him that. It'll explain a lot.)
Apparently he'd been in and out of ICU the last few weeks, including, at one point, having hallucinations from the meds they put him on. Then he got worse. Saturday night, I got a text (sent late evening; received when I went to bed, since my phone was on the charger) that he'd had a massive stroke. Bad enough that the neurologists were saying it was irrecoverable. The text also said they were going to take the man off life support but hadn't decided when yet. I assumed it was because my out of town siblings needed time to get here.
They did, but they came in late Saturday/early Sunday. So on Sunday, despite my personal inclinations, I went up to the hospital to be moral support for my siblings. ::wry:: I pretty much got thrown right back out.
The stepmother did not want me there. Which, fine, I meant to ignore her; I assumed she'd want to ignore me, too. But tossing me and Dragon out wasn't fair to my siblings. I might not be much support, but I haven't had a father for 20+ years, so I've done most of my grieving. They haven't. However, in my experience of her, fairness has not been a concern of hers. I can't say I was entirely surprised, but I was pretty cranky about it.
My older brother told me it was 'probably okay' for me to come to the memorial. No mention of whether it was okay for me to attend the funeral. Big brother also cleared the stepmother out to make sure I had a few minutes to make my peace with my father.
Mind, I think he was projecting what he'd have wanted. It sure as hell wasn't why I'd come or even a concern of mine. I'd been leaving when he sent little brother to come get me and wave me in when the stepmother was out for a break. But it did let me have a few minutes with my father to tell him to his (unresponsive, unoccupied) face that he was a stupid bastard who'd been far too good at throwing things away, including me and my mother. ::shrugs:: Might not be everyone's peace, but it was honest and it was mine.
But I spent Sunday texting siblings and mother to make sure they were okay and offer help they either didn't need or couldn't accept.
Monday, big brother let us know that Dad had made it an hour off life support, but he was gone.
Tuesday and Wednesday were spent in a waiting pattern, really. With some depression about being stuck in limbo and isolated from my siblings yet again (which is pretty much a leit motif of my family life) and some advice from friends and family. Thanks for the list of 'things you may feel,'
devohoneybee ! And much, much thanks to
jimpage363 for all the good advice and comfort.
samjohnsson and
tarshaan both kept giving me other POVs, which was highly helpful while I was figuring out what to do about the funeral.
The obituary came out Wednesday and it was... Okay. For the record, guys? I don't think even I could make some of this shit up. My right hand to gods, the obituary listed Dad's surviving relatives by bare minimum names, listed his charitable involvements... and then spent more space and words on his bull dog and the folksong from which the dog got his name (quoted, I might add) than on all the rest of it put together. Dad built a housing subdivision around a PGA-level golf course. ETA: He also built the damn golf course. Brought in the pros, designed it, and built it. They're still playing tournaments there to raise money for St. Jude. None of that was in the obit. I got nothing.
Thursday... Thursday, the day of the visitation and memorial, I woke up angry. I mean, I kept looking down to see my hands flexing like a cat wanting to claw things. (Knew I was gonna regret growing my nails back out.) And I knew why I was angry. No one in the family had supported me in staying away from him. If he'd been hitting me with fists, everyone would have been with me and would have understood why I wanted closure. But he used words, so no. I said screw it and went to get my hair trimmed to make sure I looked decent for the visitation, and then bought black boots for further armor and waterproofing against the rain.
As usual, at least in my experience of these things, the visitation portion of things was basically a family and old friends reunion in the aisles of the funeral home. I saw cousins I haven't seen in almost three decades, met kids, heard who was living where, got compliments, gave compliments and actually enjoyed a lot of it. I also introduced Mary/Merewyn, who'd come along as moral support, to my brothers, whom she had never met, and several cousins.
The memorial -- well, for starters I sat with one of my cousins, my mom's side of the family, rather than up with my siblings. ::wry:: Didn't feel like setting off the stepmother again. The gospel singer had an amazing voice, even if I'm not really a gospel fan. The religious portion of things... for a man who claimed to have known the deceased for 12 years, it was a very impersonal, evangelical 'come to Jesus' sales pitch. Seriously, he worked from my father having been a veteran and having carried an armed services-provided Gideon New Testament to deliver a rambling, boring sermon that was also theologically incorrect. (What? I'm a pagan, not an illiterate.) But that was as much as he talked about the deceased, which seemed wrong.
The eulogy, delivered by my older brother, was well done if too long and... inaccurate in places. Sorry, but no, the stepmother has never been the epitome of class and dignity, even before she tried to keep me from coming to this. The closing song was Johnny Cash's "Walk the Line." And yes, my father loved country music -- and had everything to do with why I can't stand much of it -- but given the way he divorced my mother, the lyrics annoyed me. Right up until my brain started countering with Cash's "God's Gonna Cut You Down." (As I told Dragon a couple times during the service, I didn't get to laugh and he didn't either. But the inner jukebox made it a little tricky.)
After the memorial, it got really weird.
There was barbecue at my older brother's house, family only, and not enough of the family at that. (My first cousins on the other side really should have been invited, but oh well. At least he did invited the maternal first cousin who'd spent his high school years living with us.) So we're chatting and everyone's visibly relaxing, with and without wine.
Well, I finally managed to pin down my sister-in-law to find out when the funeral is. I wanted to go, watch from the car, and make sure the bastard stayed buried. Imagine my surprise when I find out there won't be a funeral. That was it. The memorial, with the body there and the flag over the coffin, was it. Thank God Merewyn and I locked the old bastard down from haunting anyone during the memorial!
First thing I did was leash my temper, because I was not fucking amused to hear they'd debated whether I should be allowed at what little closure ceremony there was. Then I found out he was being cremated, and that he apparently wanted his ashes mingled with his dog's, to be scattered over Arizona because 'he'd always wanted to live there.' (Why he didn't move, I do not know.) So second thing I did was not blurt out, "He's being cremated right now and y'all served barbecue?'
But, guys -- there were almost no floral arrangements at the funeral home. Seriously, maybe five? Despite the pews largely being full? And at the visitation, and after the memorial, and during and after the dinner... no one talked about him. My older brother's mother-in-law brought up points from the eulogy a few times, trying to give us time to talk about the deceased, but no one took the opening. The closest anyone came to talking about him was me going, "Um, yeah, he talked about his military service to me." Which got me a startled look from my sister.
So... yeah. I've been living in a Southern Gothic telenovella, and I want out. Honestly, I'm ridiculously grateful that, for me, this is over. I haven't had a father since I was 23. That's when he wrote me and told me he wanted nothing more to do with me. Apparently he did the same to my sister, at the least, and I think he did the same thing to both my brothers, too. They chose to forgive him. I chose not to give him the chance to do that again. But I lost my father 22 years ago and I finally got to close things off yesterday.
It's amazing how much of a relief it is to be mostly done.
Okay, relatives still have to leave, and I'm sure there'll be trouble over something, somewhere, in the will/probate. But until then... done, baby, done. And the mental jukebox has been playing "God's Gonna Cut You Down," and "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" and that's not even starting on what iTunes has been playing. (On the random shuffle, mind!) "Cell Block Tango," "In the Air Tonight," "Lunatic Fringe," "Everybody Knows," "Neighbors Remember Serial Killer as a Serial Killer", "Original Sin, "Comfortably Numb," "Crazy Love," and tonight, "Don't Pay the Ferryman." It's been terrifyingly appropriate in title if not song as well.
But really? See the icon. Are we done yet?
TL;DR version: this year is past fired; I'm putting out a hit on it. Dragon's getting better, but this week, the man who was supposedly my adoptive father (and hasn't acted like it in two decades) died suddenly. And even by my standards, it's been Twin Peaks levels of weird around here throughout the process of death and funeral. This is, by the way, the explanation for my complete lack of posts and fic of late.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.
Okay. The short form is that Dragon is recovering very well. To the point that on Thanksgiving, he went back out to the site of his fall to look it over. His dad was right; it was at least an 18 foot/6 meter fall. We're still going, 'Holy shit, that didn't kill you?' Then we went to a deer stand that was still up and Dragon insisted on going up the ladder and into the stand. So. That was Thanksgiving: a lot of reminders of intense stress and a lot of not-killing of the in-laws for various reasons. (I may go into them later, but probably not, even in a friends-locked post.)
So. I thought things would calm down about then. They did -- for about a day. Then I found out my father, AKA, the Parental Imposter, was in the hospital again. (Go read the linked entries if you don't know why I call him that. It'll explain a lot.)
Apparently he'd been in and out of ICU the last few weeks, including, at one point, having hallucinations from the meds they put him on. Then he got worse. Saturday night, I got a text (sent late evening; received when I went to bed, since my phone was on the charger) that he'd had a massive stroke. Bad enough that the neurologists were saying it was irrecoverable. The text also said they were going to take the man off life support but hadn't decided when yet. I assumed it was because my out of town siblings needed time to get here.
They did, but they came in late Saturday/early Sunday. So on Sunday, despite my personal inclinations, I went up to the hospital to be moral support for my siblings. ::wry:: I pretty much got thrown right back out.
The stepmother did not want me there. Which, fine, I meant to ignore her; I assumed she'd want to ignore me, too. But tossing me and Dragon out wasn't fair to my siblings. I might not be much support, but I haven't had a father for 20+ years, so I've done most of my grieving. They haven't. However, in my experience of her, fairness has not been a concern of hers. I can't say I was entirely surprised, but I was pretty cranky about it.
My older brother told me it was 'probably okay' for me to come to the memorial. No mention of whether it was okay for me to attend the funeral. Big brother also cleared the stepmother out to make sure I had a few minutes to make my peace with my father.
Mind, I think he was projecting what he'd have wanted. It sure as hell wasn't why I'd come or even a concern of mine. I'd been leaving when he sent little brother to come get me and wave me in when the stepmother was out for a break. But it did let me have a few minutes with my father to tell him to his (unresponsive, unoccupied) face that he was a stupid bastard who'd been far too good at throwing things away, including me and my mother. ::shrugs:: Might not be everyone's peace, but it was honest and it was mine.
But I spent Sunday texting siblings and mother to make sure they were okay and offer help they either didn't need or couldn't accept.
Monday, big brother let us know that Dad had made it an hour off life support, but he was gone.
Tuesday and Wednesday were spent in a waiting pattern, really. With some depression about being stuck in limbo and isolated from my siblings yet again (which is pretty much a leit motif of my family life) and some advice from friends and family. Thanks for the list of 'things you may feel,'
devohoneybee ! And much, much thanks to
jimpage363 for all the good advice and comfort.
samjohnsson and
tarshaan both kept giving me other POVs, which was highly helpful while I was figuring out what to do about the funeral.
The obituary came out Wednesday and it was... Okay. For the record, guys? I don't think even I could make some of this shit up. My right hand to gods, the obituary listed Dad's surviving relatives by bare minimum names, listed his charitable involvements... and then spent more space and words on his bull dog and the folksong from which the dog got his name (quoted, I might add) than on all the rest of it put together. Dad built a housing subdivision around a PGA-level golf course. ETA: He also built the damn golf course. Brought in the pros, designed it, and built it. They're still playing tournaments there to raise money for St. Jude. None of that was in the obit. I got nothing.
Thursday... Thursday, the day of the visitation and memorial, I woke up angry. I mean, I kept looking down to see my hands flexing like a cat wanting to claw things. (Knew I was gonna regret growing my nails back out.) And I knew why I was angry. No one in the family had supported me in staying away from him. If he'd been hitting me with fists, everyone would have been with me and would have understood why I wanted closure. But he used words, so no. I said screw it and went to get my hair trimmed to make sure I looked decent for the visitation, and then bought black boots for further armor and waterproofing against the rain.
As usual, at least in my experience of these things, the visitation portion of things was basically a family and old friends reunion in the aisles of the funeral home. I saw cousins I haven't seen in almost three decades, met kids, heard who was living where, got compliments, gave compliments and actually enjoyed a lot of it. I also introduced Mary/Merewyn, who'd come along as moral support, to my brothers, whom she had never met, and several cousins.
The memorial -- well, for starters I sat with one of my cousins, my mom's side of the family, rather than up with my siblings. ::wry:: Didn't feel like setting off the stepmother again. The gospel singer had an amazing voice, even if I'm not really a gospel fan. The religious portion of things... for a man who claimed to have known the deceased for 12 years, it was a very impersonal, evangelical 'come to Jesus' sales pitch. Seriously, he worked from my father having been a veteran and having carried an armed services-provided Gideon New Testament to deliver a rambling, boring sermon that was also theologically incorrect. (What? I'm a pagan, not an illiterate.) But that was as much as he talked about the deceased, which seemed wrong.
The eulogy, delivered by my older brother, was well done if too long and... inaccurate in places. Sorry, but no, the stepmother has never been the epitome of class and dignity, even before she tried to keep me from coming to this. The closing song was Johnny Cash's "Walk the Line." And yes, my father loved country music -- and had everything to do with why I can't stand much of it -- but given the way he divorced my mother, the lyrics annoyed me. Right up until my brain started countering with Cash's "God's Gonna Cut You Down." (As I told Dragon a couple times during the service, I didn't get to laugh and he didn't either. But the inner jukebox made it a little tricky.)
After the memorial, it got really weird.
There was barbecue at my older brother's house, family only, and not enough of the family at that. (My first cousins on the other side really should have been invited, but oh well. At least he did invited the maternal first cousin who'd spent his high school years living with us.) So we're chatting and everyone's visibly relaxing, with and without wine.
Well, I finally managed to pin down my sister-in-law to find out when the funeral is. I wanted to go, watch from the car, and make sure the bastard stayed buried. Imagine my surprise when I find out there won't be a funeral. That was it. The memorial, with the body there and the flag over the coffin, was it. Thank God Merewyn and I locked the old bastard down from haunting anyone during the memorial!
First thing I did was leash my temper, because I was not fucking amused to hear they'd debated whether I should be allowed at what little closure ceremony there was. Then I found out he was being cremated, and that he apparently wanted his ashes mingled with his dog's, to be scattered over Arizona because 'he'd always wanted to live there.' (Why he didn't move, I do not know.) So second thing I did was not blurt out, "He's being cremated right now and y'all served barbecue?'
But, guys -- there were almost no floral arrangements at the funeral home. Seriously, maybe five? Despite the pews largely being full? And at the visitation, and after the memorial, and during and after the dinner... no one talked about him. My older brother's mother-in-law brought up points from the eulogy a few times, trying to give us time to talk about the deceased, but no one took the opening. The closest anyone came to talking about him was me going, "Um, yeah, he talked about his military service to me." Which got me a startled look from my sister.
So... yeah. I've been living in a Southern Gothic telenovella, and I want out. Honestly, I'm ridiculously grateful that, for me, this is over. I haven't had a father since I was 23. That's when he wrote me and told me he wanted nothing more to do with me. Apparently he did the same to my sister, at the least, and I think he did the same thing to both my brothers, too. They chose to forgive him. I chose not to give him the chance to do that again. But I lost my father 22 years ago and I finally got to close things off yesterday.
It's amazing how much of a relief it is to be mostly done.
Okay, relatives still have to leave, and I'm sure there'll be trouble over something, somewhere, in the will/probate. But until then... done, baby, done. And the mental jukebox has been playing "God's Gonna Cut You Down," and "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" and that's not even starting on what iTunes has been playing. (On the random shuffle, mind!) "Cell Block Tango," "In the Air Tonight," "Lunatic Fringe," "Everybody Knows," "Neighbors Remember Serial Killer as a Serial Killer", "Original Sin, "Comfortably Numb," "Crazy Love," and tonight, "Don't Pay the Ferryman." It's been terrifyingly appropriate in title if not song as well.
But really? See the icon. Are we done yet?
TL;DR version: this year is past fired; I'm putting out a hit on it. Dragon's getting better, but this week, the man who was supposedly my adoptive father (and hasn't acted like it in two decades) died suddenly. And even by my standards, it's been Twin Peaks levels of weird around here throughout the process of death and funeral. This is, by the way, the explanation for my complete lack of posts and fic of late.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.