(no subject)
My cousin died last night around ten. I knew it was coming. I mean, I really knew. My mother called at dinnertime to say the procedure didn't go well and they were taking him off everything and Dr. Huh didn't expect him to live through the hour. Andy helped me pack and drove me to Houston, we got here about six in the morning, and now here we are. The visitation is on Wednesday and the funeral on Thursday and I have been on the phone all night with all sorts of military people in Groton trying to get ahold of my brother, and I finally did after speakinf to about five answering machines, the naval police, and the duties officer on his ship, and so by the time Brady actually called me he knew what it was about. Then he had me call the red cross up there to give them all the information so they could verify the death and try to get him leave for the funeral and I'm so ___________ I hardly know what to say. My mother asked me to tell my brother, because she felt it would be better for him to hear from me, so he would have someone he was more comfortable talking to to talk to if he so chose. I think that's mighty considerate of his feelings, but not considerate at all of mine. Yet again I get to be the neglected middle child because everyone else is grieving and I just need to be accepting and placating. It's not that I mind talking to my brother and being there for him, but it seems too much stress to put on your kids, you know? I tried all night last night to reach my brother, and it turns out I had te wrong phone number, so today I called the sub base, and the military boys were so nice, and I could hardly talk to the police officer without sobbing because I didn't know what to do or who to talk to to get ahold of my brother and I had been trying to reach the chaplain. This is such a weird situation.