I just sat and listened to my voicemails that have built up over the last week. Only four this time. I guess it is odd that I avoid listening to voicemail but I don't avoid the phone when I hear it ring. I don't know what that is about really ...

I had saved messages the system wanted to delete, so I had to listen to them too. Then there were the messages that I had somehow skipped instead of saved or deleted. I guess I probably listened to 12 messages total.

It was ridiculously depressing.

Messages are the wake up call from the dull haze that something went wrong ...

I sat there and felt sorry for myself in the same moment that I hated myself. In one fraction of a second, it feels ok to still be upset ... to really not be back to normal ... to think about them and what I wish had been different. In one more fraction, I have such disdain for those feelings ... a hatred that I could be so consumed with something that pales in comparison to what so many others are going through.

I keep telling myself should feel touched that people are calling to see how I am doing and that I have made it home safely ... but that isn't the first feeling I get. I feel tired and heavy, aimless and misdirected, but most of all wasted. Everything I could be contributing to the world is going to waste. The energy I could be putting into my own life is trapped somewhere that I can't seem to find most days.

I want to be me again. I want to be the me that my friends love.
I don't know how to be this person ... but I can't get her to go away.

Posted by: Princess Cat at 11:05 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Having had this whole "death in the family" dealt with four different ways this year, I have come to learn what helps me say my goodbyes and be okay, what certainly does not, and what leaves me just flat weirded out.

There was a viewing for Grandma and a short little speech at a shelter in the cemetery, but I did not see her buried. We were told there could not be a graveside service. I cried over her odd looking body, sharing stories and meeting people that knew her in ways I had never known about. I remember how awful it felt to ride in the limo the next morning as my mom squeezed my hand - all I could think of was how surreal the whole thing was and how proud I was of Leavenworth for the respect they showed our procession. Regular people on the street stopped what they were doing, some cars pulled over, and the Post did a very professional job. But I am still angry that she did not get the funeral a Lt Col's wife deserves.

Aunt J had a memorial I could not attend and a service at the cemetery. I fought tears through the reading and laid flowers on her coffin before they lowered it into the ground. Friends and family gathered at a house and shared stories over a meal more than once. We looked at pictures and books about her life. We celebrated her life and what Aunt J brought into our own.

I couldn't attend anything that was done for Uncle W. I don't know who was there, but I wish I had been one of them. He will forever be gone and there was no goodbye. I will probably always kick myself for not stopping in to see him when I was in town last year ... if I had, I'm sure I would have known he was sick before his time expired. I would have known that "someday" needed to be sooner than I ever made room for it to be.

Aunt F didn't have a service of any kind. No viewing, no memorial, no nothing. No one really even talked about her. The family sat around looking at each other for the weekend. We had sandwiches for most of the weekend as we told stories about our own lives. It was like she just happened to be out of town while we were coming through. She had just poofed away, her clothes packed up, and not a word spoken to cope with it ... like it wasn't an awful thing. It was something weirder than I can even convey.

I've heard relatives say through this that they want what Aunt F had ... nothing. They want to forgo the services and any fuss people would put up for them - 'cremate me and be done with it' is the general attitude. It is making me sick to sit there quietly and listen to it. This past weekend was creepy enough to make my skin crawl at the end of the day.

In my head I have spent the last year screaming. I hate this notion of a 'humble' exit and a lack of 'trouble' or 'attention' brought to the deceased. Funerals aren't for the dead! You have to respect what they wanted but services and burials aren't to make them happy - they are to give people like me a chance to say goodbye in a way that leaves MY heart at ease.

So I've decided a few things about my own exit - I don't want immediate services. I want a reasonable period of time to go by so that my friends as well as my family can be notified and make arrangements to travel if they want to. As awful as people look at their viewing, I want one. I want a memorial service for people to mourn if they need to. I haven't decided how I feel about the burial vs cremation yet ... but I'm leaning toward a burial. When I poof off the planet for whatever reason is mine, I want it to be about the people left behind.

Services, company, food, and stories.
I want an Aunt J goodbye for everyone.

Posted by: Princess Cat at 12:38 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I don't even want to listen to voicemails or read emails anymore. When they are from parents, out of the blue, they just can't ever be good. In fact, I'm not really sure what kind of cosmic fucking joke is going on this year, but I stopped laughing several months ago. Seriously. Not Funny.

Per my mom's most recent message - My aunt is lying in bed, basically catatonic. Won't eat, won't drink, won't respond. She is in the final stages of AlzheimerÂ’s. Hospice has called her time short.

Is this all to teach me that death is nothing to cry over? Because I always will ... no matter how 'used to it' or 'routine' or 'normal' it becomes ... I will always cry. I will always feel like my legs were kicked out from under me. I will always feel cheated. I will always feel like I am crumbling inside as I walk forward to be the rock for someone else.

They ... whoever they really are ... always say, life will never give you more than you can handle. Well, I'm starting to wonder who thought I needed to be given this much at one time. What on earth is it meant to prove? I already felt fairly confident in my strength of character and my ability to carry on in the face of adversity.

At this point, I am just angry. I have turned the other cheek when I have been crossed. I have held my retribution to thoughts, not acts. I have tried to 'pay it forward' in life. What about my life means I deserve to be tested ... and with such maleficence?

I know, I am looking at this through a 'me-me' lens and not a 'they are better off now' mindset ... but at the end of the day when it is me in this house and I am my shoulder to cry on, sometimes it is a valid lens to look through.
Does facing death make healing trust issues easier? No.
Does dealing with multiple losses help soothe abandonment issues? No.
Does a funeral make it simpler to be close to family? No.

I am trying to heal my many past wounds and be a put together adult here ... whoever is running this fucked up little game, you're just not helping worth a damn. I hope you find it funny cuz I sure don't, you evil prick.

Posted by: Princess Cat at 09:45 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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That was the best advice I heard all day ... some random country boy ... quoting some random country song ... but the right words nonetheless ...

I had a rough day. That's all I can say about it.
There are more on the horizon before a break will come ...

Haven't I already been told eight times over that I'm under too much stress?

::: heaving a mug of herbal tea :::

What doesn't kill me, makes me stronger
What makes me stronger, helps me heal
What helps me heal, brings back my smile
What brings back my smile, helps heal others

So in the end, it's all for a good cause ... right?

Posted by: Princess Cat at 05:57 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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