Gorillabuns

unlucky numbers

2013-05-07T08:06:02-05:00

We managed to get through the funeral with only 1/4 of the Xanax needed to be coherent. (I'm quite proud of myself if I do say so myself.) I don't know what the other half was doing but they seemed to be in their own world to manage. I would expect nothing less. Truly. The whole scene is even more sad, daunting and well, more in the dark than it was two weeks ago.

Since we last left off, I have received subsequent dialing for dollar calls of support, an all-knowing grief connection, turning into the expert of anything and everything - landing on I'm more grieved than the anyone in the free world and you are just here, to listen to me spout. Because this is my job in life. To make everyone feel better. I'm not quite sure when I turned into Julie, The Cruise Director, of grief and dysfunction but, somehow, I was awarded and missed the big fanfare of a meeting. A post I would have surely turned down if I were given a voice or choice.

Even more special: unexpected geysers of emotion are quite rampant in my world.

I don't do spouting well. Misplaced anger, guilt and craziness should really go to someone else. Some more equipped to deal with the dysfunction. One who might actually accept it.

We've buried a kid, had a birthday, two tooth fairy visits and a wedding anniversary come to a dust devil like existence around here.

All have been met with such fanfare and glitter it would make your head spin except for the latter.

After very detailed conversations of anxiety, grief and feeling so unappreciated and unacknowledged, I have done met my match in the emotionally unavailability department. I always knew it but the realization is more than I really can accept at the moment....

I feel quite bereft and well, so fucking done with partnerships. OF ANY KIND!!! Because truthfully? I don't have one. Haven't had one in many years. and it is quite sad.

All I want is to be acknowledged. To not be dismissed. To feel valid when I don't feel so. at. all.

And to sound trite? Cherished. and loved.

Please tell me one good thing that happened in your relationships this week. Anything and everything. Give me some motherfucking hope that after all is said and done: A man will care about what the fuck happens to me. to you. to someone other than himself. Because I won't believe it if you don't tell me.

4 X 10

2013-04-24T01:21:03-05:00

I started a few posts in the past few weeks to only abandon them because they seemed well, stupid and insipid.

Don't worry. Stupid and insipid will return shortly. I can't seem to help myself.

We, hell, I mean, ME, managed to get through yet another anniversary intact. Felt pretty good that no one died and my husband and I didn't divorce during this time. Believe me, it's been hard. Real hard.

Until yesterday.

I received a call from one of my sister-in-laws that one my nephews was in surgery and they didn't think he would make it out alive. At that moment, I knew. The curse of death was once again surrounding us. Trying to play a childish game of duck-duck-goose with our lineage.

After I calmly prepared my girls for the day and safely deposited them off to school, I rushed up to the hospital to do what? I am not sure. Support another grieving person(s)? Who am I to do such a thing? I was met with a room filled with crying and deep, deep sadness. An all too familiar enclosed room, full of remnant grief pouring out of it's plaster walls. A strangling feeling I once vaguely remember having in such a room once upon a time.

My eighteen-year-old nephew did what other kids his age does. He snuck out of the house to play. Unfortunately his play ended up in tragedy in which he died on the operating room table from a massive fall. A horrific and unfortunate end to willful whims.

A fucking 'fall' while running in the streets and curbs of nightfall. At least this is what has been re-told by other eye witnesses.

After many a familial strife in which I found myself being yelled at by my Father-in-law while trying to keep the peace and calm while awaiting the final news - in the end I found myself trying to comfort another woman who lost her child. Another woman with whom I have had many a passive-aggressive battle with. Another woman,who at that moment, I felt none of these previous malice feelings for but those of her grief. As a mother who has lost a child feels.

I saw all of the tale-tell signs of Chaplains nervously pacing. Clinical coordinators asking about other siblings. The knowing looks between staff members of WTF? But it wasn't my place to try to prepare her of the inevitable. I didn't want to be the one who made her give up hope. Even if hope was fleeting.

Isn't hope all we have anymore?

In the end. When the news was announced. I stood in the corner with my arms folded. Expressionless. I don't think. Wailing, angry and mournful words stifling the room while more stupid shit from my FIL ensued. I still stood motionless.

Was this how I looked when I was told my son was gone?

Was this how the waiting room looked when everyone realized my son was gone?

Did the doctors say the same thing to me with the same passionless tone in their voice?

How the hell did I survive this bullshit without imploding? Surely there has been a case of implosion of grief somewhere documented in the record books. I need to get on that research. Oh, wait. I hate research.

I still stood there. Quietly reliving my own private shit-storm. Wanting to be ANYWHERE but here. Looking at her husband as he comforted her and feeling jealous that I didn't have the same comfort from mine then and now. Did I fail to share Rich is out of town until tomorrow. Don't even get me started on him at this point. Because there really isn't any point.

I left before the hysteria rose to a crescendo that I could no longer handle. I murmured, "I am so sorry,"and bolted.

Four years and tens days before, I was there. I didn't want to relieve it again. I simply can't hoe this road for them.

I just can't.

I haven't finished tilling this path because this path is full of weeds and dangerous undergrowth. I find it cuts me deeply when I go in without looking or protecting myself. I'm looking for simple Barbie bandages to cover up the wounds that so openly bleed within my most insular home.

I really thought I/we took one for the team with the death of our son. Remember my law of probability and averages? I really thought we covered everyone from further future loss of our children in our family.

But I guess someone has other plans in store for us.

Friday, we bury another one of our clan. Another future extinguished.

April can go fuck itself.

say something

2013-04-09T21:48:06-05:00

I know I should say something about anything but I don't feel like it right now. I'm funkafied. Have been for sometime. I think my state of mind might be permanent. I'm cool with it.

Thank you all for you kind words of love and caring. These words aren't taken trivially or without care. These words and thoughts really mean something to me. Thalon is not forgotten, I'm not forgotten - the girls are not forgotten. And yes, I do believe I deserve that golden star next to my name when my time comes. I put myself to the back burner for my girls. I hope they never suffer as a mother. Kinda like if you know someone who has cancer or their child dies? The laws of probablity goes way down due to association. Maybe it's just me and how my warped mind thinks but I do like to think I took the brunt of all that is shitty so others don't feel the same shitty McShitterson.

I know. I am one eloquent fool.

As we prepare for round two of getting through the day, I'll be the chick/proctor sitting in the corner of your child's homeroom while they take their state testing. I may or may not be playing Candy Crush Saga while also reading a trashy novels. I do love me some smut. Escapism at it's finest. I promise to not share my literary selection with your child.

I do have to say, three hours of pure uninterrupted silence is great, except when my stomach has a gas bubble from the late night binging I am apt to consume. Nothing says "awesomesauce" when a gaggle of 5th graders turn and stare at you as you try to cough off the innard gas bubbles shooting forth your bowels.

Yea, I am glad Celia was not present for me to mortify her with her peers.

Alas, don't get me started on this STATE testing. It's for the birds. The school, the teachers and the kids are so bundled up with anxiety to pass these said tests, that they have forgotten what the real reason for school is..... to learn, explore and enjoy.

I am sad kids can't be kids and learn with enthusiasm and wonder while being allowed to fail because this should be the "wonder years" of their learning. Instead, they are drilled to an inch of their life for the past month with 6 pages of "review" homework a night for the past month. Because higher up douches say so.

No wonder the Chinese are totally overtaking our shit. Because we are failing our youth and their intelligence.

**and scene of my rant**

I probably don't know know what I'm talking about.....