growing curious

hope

This morning, E and I went up to my mom's house to bring her some pumpkin soup.  After all of the Halloween hoopla, E decided to wear her new special holiday dress and her new cowboy boots to show Grandma.

E twirled and stomped.  My mom couldn't get enough of her and almost lept from her watching spot to give E a big hug before we left.  That was more emotion -- emotion of any kind -- than I've seen from my mom in years. 

burning journals

Tonight I burned 35 years of paper journals, letters, and articles from newspapers and magazines that had an immediate association with me.

It felt good.  I burned tortured and stupid letters.  I burned the beautiful journals full of pain and pictures (crayon) that I made with my left hand (nondominant) while I was doing really hard therapy.  I burned the pages where the hidden parts of me and memories first emerged.

Tonight I set fire to pages and pages that screamed I WANT TO BE RELEASED FROM THIS PAIN.

The great thing about tonight is that the candles remained lit through the rain and wind.  I set up candles and incense in each direction and put the main Kali candle in the North tonight.  There was rain and wind, but all of the candles kept their fire for more than an hour.  Outside.  In the garden.  While the wind blew around.

I felt heard by the Universe as I let go of all of this tortured stuff that weighed me down.

Done with it now.  Done. 

memories, dreams, reflections

D and I just watched Adventureland, which was way more intense than I was expecting.  It threw me back to that gaping, yawning void of my early 20s.  Everything was so hugely meaningful back then or entirely empty of connection/meaning.  For the last two hours, I have felt lost and scared in that young adult way again.  Very weird. I felt a lot of empathy for the characters.

I wonder how it would be to watch Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Dazed and Confused, and Adventureland over a long weekend with some friends of a similar age?

Last night I watched part of the Let's Spend the Night Together, the Rolling Stones documentary that Hal Ashby made of their 1981 Tattoo You tour.  I didn't see them that tour, but I wore out their albums around then and had my first-of-many, fun Mick Jagger dreams before I went off to college.  (That first dream blew my mind because I was always a little afraid of Mick's energy, and it was oddly freeing to dream myself so close to that energy.  He has appeared in many dreams since then, and I recognize now that he represents a naughty Pan figure in my subconscious so I always take note when he shows up.)

If you've read here for awhile, you know that my therapist used to be a beloved college professor of mine, so she has a long view into my life and my relationships with family members.  Today she reminded me of a heartbreaking episode that occurred with my parents back in 1983.  It's funny how similar the dynamics then were to what's been going on the last couple of weeks.

(I'm rarely this specific here in order to protect my family members, but let's just hope/trust that I don't cause harm here.  I need to talk about this and figure it out.   I'm trying to be as kind as possible to my family... and to myself...)

K and I talked about how -- except for the day when I bought a recliner for my father when he was dying and in pain -- my mother can't acknowledge anything I do in a favorable way, even when I do exactly as she asks.

I've spent my life trying to please her, bring her happiness, make her proud.  I've even gone against my own heart when she was so adamant that I do something or behave in some way to honor her and the family. 

As I said earlier, when I talk about my own interests and plans, she gets agitated, and it's not long before she tells me some version of this lie:  everyone will stop loving me if I pursue my dreams.  She told me a version of that lie last week at her birthday celebration and again on the phone a couple of days later.

This is more than just normal mother/daughter stuff.  When blame pointed squarely at my father, she blamed me.  In order to maintain a sense of "family" and to keep honoring the light that shines inside of her, I have kept tring to please, humor, and delight her.

But I can't anymore.  The people who really do love me suffer when I try to please her.  It's time to work on my own dreams.

I have a lot of catching up to do...

bbq

Tonight I asked my mother if we could borrow her BBQ for a party we want to have later this month.

She said we could borrow it, keep it, and she was glad.

The BBQ was my dad's domain.  I can understand her relief in giving it to us, but it feels awkward to discuss the specifics outloud.

father's day

This is the first father's day since my father's passing.  I'm feeling many things.

Tonight my mother asked me why my brother and I are so fucked up as to need therapists and medication, and I had to swallow my response three times in order to say something warm and supportive in response.

I was just reading this on Salon:  Feminism Meets Father's Day.  I think it's great.

Clark-Flory references this post by Clio Bluestocking, which is just truer-than-true and so smart:  Daddy Issues.  Read it.

still weird

Nothing is easy over here right now, but things are okay on the surface.  I mean, no one's dying this week, at least.  I'll take it.

My mom has had some pretty hard days, but she seems grounded, self-protective, and alert.  She finally is able to get some sleep so her physical health is improving, even if she's tired mentally and emotionally.  My brother is not taking care of himself and has been very down.  Today he and I took my mom to lunch, and I was much more worried about him than my mom based on what he's told me and how he acted today.  (It was my mom's request that we go out, away from the house, and I took that as another sign that she's aware of what she needs right now.)

Since everyone else seems to be in some sort of emotional pattern, I'm letting myself feel some feelings.  I'm always the last person to do this, and I imagine people think I either don't have feelings or must have processed them already.  But really...  I'm the last to go...  so my shell is cracking finally.

D and his mom watched E for big chunks of last weekend so that I could rest.  I was numb then and just rested and didn't think.  Tomorrow I will have three hours when E is at school to be by myself.  I have a million things to do, but I think there's a good chance I'll just come home and sleep more. 

I've been really snotty with D.  I suck.  He was not snotty with me when his dad died.  He's just more spiritually-evolved than I am.  Right now I'm just impatient and self-centered.

no logic in grief

I feel free, worried, angry, empty, sadder but more fine that I imagined.  Little things make me  feel annoyed and helpless. 

I want to go on a grand adventure.  I want to re-arrange my closets.  Part of me wants to eat beef, which I haven't done in thirty years.  I want to just leave for a couple of weeks without a destination.

I can't imagine accompanying my daughter and her class on a field trip to the fire station tomorrow morning.  If I go, I might wear a sign that says, "Please don't talk to me."  The noise and lights at Fred Meyer today overwhelmed me.

I don't get the cycle that is grief.  There is no logic.  It's not like I think a sad or real thought and then plunge into despair.  Mostly, as I also found with my cousin's recent death, there aren't clear antecedents for the must-go-lie-down-now moments.  They just swoop in, and I must comply. 

Actually, when I think real thoughts about what has happened, I feel some ease.  And that's disturbing, too.  My dad died in the wheelchair he had received the day before...  oh, it must have been emotionally hard for him to sit in it...  oh.

And then I'll make lunch and have normal conversation with E and D and then crash.

My mom is going through something similar, I think.  Up and down and up and down.  Sometimes she seems more centered than I've seen her in years, and I feel relief that she's so lucid and self-aware.  Then she devolves over something important but mundane -- yet refuses any comfort or help.

How much can a heart break?  But the dishes and laundry still have to get done.

denial or acceptance

I ended up not going up to be with my mom today.  I kept trying to see through the words she said to me on the phone, and I couldn't find a single entry point through her armour.  She really wanted to be alone.

I decided to stay home and do my own thing. D asked if I wanted to dig into the pallets of cottage stone we had delivered this week?  Yes.  Building a new raised bed sounded like a brilliant plan for the day.  I brought the phone out with me in case Mom called.

We were outside in the sun all day long.  E pretended the brick structure was a pirate ship.  She climbed our other planting beds, made fairy houses, and cooked "stew" for the bugs.  She entertained herself all day.

We made more progress than I anticipated.  I think we can finish the new raised bed tomorrow morning. 

While heaving the stones around, I felt a lot of anger and shame that my dad had died almost 24 hours ago, and I still wasn't "allowed" to be near my mom.  Sometimes I hate my screwed up family.  D said his mother was "flabberghasted" to hear I was outside moving cement blocks and not at my mother's side.  But I worked it through.  It doesn't matter.  It's not about me.  I learned a long time ago that I have to take care of my own needs in matters like this.  Whatever my mom wants right now is how it needs to go down.

As I was putting away my tools this afternoon, my mom called:  "Would you bring over sandwiches tomorrow afternoon?  After the meeting at the funeral place?  Maybe we could all gather here then.  I think I'll be ready then.  I just needed this day alone."

I felt relieved to hear a clear message from her, and I also heard a more familiar tone in her voice.

I received her permission to call my cousins so they could tell my dad's sister.  It hadn't even occured to my mother that anyone else should know that he died.  My cousins -- still grieving the loss of their dad and their brother this year -- gasped and sighed and laughed as I shared what had been going on.

After the cow my mother had last month when she found out that my dad's sister's children might know that he was ill, I just kept it all inside.  Today, P was surprised that I still hadn't been over there.  She asked about plans for a service...  Tender subject?  Ummm...  yeah...   I told her I truly did not think that there would be one, but I would let her know if anything is arranged. 

She sounded sad.  Sad for me.  Sad for my parents.  I explained that I kept getting pushed away during this whole journey.  My parents wanted to do for themselves, wanted no help.  Even a hug from a child felt like too much fuss.  I told P that it had made me feel pretty crazy -- to be denied the opportunity to love and attend to my parents as one of them died.  So I realized a month or so ago that I would have to be very creative and figure out how to have my own "service" for my father, and I was okay with that.

"So, you know, P...  since I'm such a creative lady, I've been making up my own pretend 'ashes' to scatter when the time comes because you and I both know that my mother won't let me see or touch the real ones."

"Hey, Cathy...  I have Dad up in the closet, and S has R up in her closet -- waiting for the family service later this year...  we have some ashes you can borrow!"

We cracked up.

So my dad died.  I feel okay.  Today I feel relieved.  His pain is over, and he is released.  Mom is a tough nut to crack, but I'm just going to keep admiring the hard contours of her shell instead of trying to get at the center ("Wow...  look at this marvel of engineering!  It's waterproof!  It requires a sledge hammer to crack.  Go mom!") 

I'll just bring sandwiches and keep heaving cement blocks around.

And I will wander through my own grief stages -- rage, denial, shame, worry, acceptance, joy and freedom -- in my own way.

gone

Two days before my dad died, my mom finally asked for help.  His hospice nurse recommended a recliner for him so that he could elevate his feet and legs, which were causing him excruciating pain. 

I had visited them that day before the nurse arrived, and Dad couldn't get comfortable.  When my mom helped him shift his legs, he yelped.  He said, "I need Mom to move my legs more, but it's going to make me scream.  I'm going to scream!" 

Was he warning me?  Or asking permission?  I said, "Dad, screaming is good.  Get it out.  It's okay."

Later that day, when D and I brought over the chair, it was terribly hard to move him into the new chair.  Despite the morphine, the pain just shot through him.  But immediately upon landing in the chair, he felt some relief.  He was in shock and exhausted from the effort.  He said, "Please don't laugh at me.  Please don't laugh at me.  Please don't laugh at me."

"Dad, there's no laughing happening here.  Just loving."  I went behind the chair and put my hand softly over his heart.  I was avoiding hugging him because hugs were making him angry.  But I put my hand on his heart -- from behind, so that he didn't have to see me.

He died yesterday afternoon.  In the wheelchair that they brought over for him Wednesday.  My mother wouldn't let my brother or me come up to be with her.  She kept saying, "He died in the wheelchair. It doesn't look happy.  I don't think you want to see this."

I wasn't worried about what I would see.  I wanted to be there for her.

Later, my brother had a last phone call with her -- after the funeral people came to pick up his body.  She told him again that she wanted to be alone.  She said that my dad died in a peaceful moment when there weren't people fussing over him, and she was grateful for that.

I'm not sure what I feel.  Part of me has grieved enough -- for a long time -- so I'm feeling some ease that his struggle is over.

It does make me very sad to witness how difficult it is to show love in my family.  My parents' pride has made this journey very lonely for all of us.  But recently I became aware of how foundational their pride and stubborness really is.  There would be no melting of it.  Even in his last days, they were ever more vigilant in doing it all themselves and not allowing us kids (44 and 41) to see any pain or mess.

This morning my mother said, "You can come over today, Cathy, but I need to warn you that I am not at my best."

Duh. 

When is it going to be okay to just be?  To feel feelings?  To just accept what's going on and be in the middle of it without shame?  My mother truly would prefer to just be alone for the rest of her life, I think.  It's painful for her to be near people who love her.  It's painful when things aren't perfect and the house is messy.  She can't handle having any one help.

Should I stay away so that I don't cause her any more pain?  Or do I go up and just be with her because I want to?

no funeral

When my dad dies, there will be no funeral, obituary, or memorial -- per his request.  He will be cremated, and his ashes will be scattered at sea by the Neptune Society.  My mother, brother, and I won't even be on the boat that goes out to scatter them -- per my parents' request.

(Of course, that does not limit what I do, privately, to honor his life.  A very appropriate plan has revealed itself to me in the last couple of weeks, and it will give me an opportunity to tie some important threads together and put some hard things to rest.)

When I told my childhood friend P about my parents' wishes, she said, "Your mother will not have a funeral or marker for your father...It's almost like your parents don't think they deserve to be here at all.  They try to remain so anonomous and invisible. No bother, no needs.. almost like they do not exist."

This feeds into a phone conversation my dad and I had today.

Of course, I cancelled the trip to Boise.  When I did so, I had to tell my cousin a little bit about why I wouldn't be able to come.  She understood and wondered if she could bring her mother out to say goodbye to my dad.  I told her I'd ask my parents the next time I saw them in person.  I did that yesterday.  I said, "No pressure, but J would really like to see dad."

Today my dad called to ask what he should do.  Should he call his sister?  Should he call his niece?  Who the fuck is he supposed to call?  What would his sister understand (she has some stroke-related dementia, and she has aphasia which makes impatient people like my father think she understands less than she really does)? 

My dad had a complete tantrum on the phone with me -- angry that I told them anything about his health, angry about being put in a position to have a real conversation that might involve feelings, angry at having to admit the truth.

I said, "Dad, they love you..."

Get this...  he said in snarly, sing-song voice, "Oh, well isn't that nice!  Ugh."  (Sort of like the Church Lady, actually -- really over the top.)  It was as if it offended him that they would debase themselves enough to have feelings or attachments to him.  And he felt inconvenienced to have to communicate directly and tell them he didn't want visitors.

There was so much there in that conversation.

He can't stand feelings.  He does not honor the different relationships other people might have -- with him and with one another.  Relationships inconvenience him.  This is all about his privacy being invaded.

His sister has lost her husband and son this year, and now she is going to lose her only brother.  Minor dementia or no, can't my father see that it would be a human thing for him to do to at least have a telephone conversation with his own sister?

Once I asked my therapist, "So what's wrong with my dad anyway?  Does he just not care what happened or just not care about my life? Is he a narcissist?"

She told me that there is a narcissistic personality type that is somewhat different than when someone moves in and out of narcissistic behavior.  She thinks that my dad is truly incapable of caring about anyone because -- on deep levels -- we don't exist as separate from him.  Things work well, and he's happy when we're all moving around him to serve his needs.  As soon as we do or think something independently, his rage comes out.  (And I have the scars to prove that.)

That was a helpful conversation, and it lets me just watch some of what's going on right now without feeling too hurt or angry.  It's almost amusing -- in a sad, sad way. 

It's sort of like abject narcissism...  and I think he fantasizes that he will just -poof!- and be out of here when he dies, and there will be no feelings or attachments left behind.  No marker.  No funeral.  No obituary.  Gone.

 

the dying again...

A firm diagnosis.  My dad will live another month maybe.  Hospice comes tomorrow for the first time.  My mother was wordless.  My dad said, "No long faces..."

And that's that.  Now it begins, and I wonder if I will be allowed to say goodbye or much of anything.  I will stand ready to help, but I will not offer help because it makes them angry when I do.

bald, real, bare, honest

Long ago, a spontaneous art project emerged from my own healing journey.  I began to paint pictures of bald women.  People asked me why, and I told them it was because bald women are strong, fierce, raw, alive. 

This week has been big and difficult for Cynthia at The Sandwich Life. Cynthia wrote a piece earlier this week about bareness, and she also has posted pictures this week of Judi near the end of her life -- bald, glowing, open. 

I think...This life here on earth is magnificent and treacherous.  How do we cope with the intense loving we do?  Our hearts break over and over again just like the waves crashed against my feet yesterday.  There is no let-up.  Gloriously brave or stubbornly stiff with fear, we just keep loving.  We keep trying to cope with whatever each day brings us. 

Cynthia struggled over whether she was live-blogging her sister's illness and death.  I'm so sorry she felt any worry about that.

Learning about Judi, coming to know Cynthia over the last year or more, watching her family meet life with humor and love...  it's been a gift for me.  Because my parents can't face the truth or don't want to me present with my father as his life ends...  I get to see a little of what it might be like if there were some bareness in my family.

I think it's a devotion, a service, or a practice to share honestly about real life.  I get no vicarious thrill or drama from reading Cynthia at The Sandwich Life.  I receive connection and feel some hope for my own life.

Sometimes I'm so grateful for the human connections that come from sharing here.

again, grief denied

Yesterday, my cousin P (sister of the cousin who died) and I had a routine e-mail check-in about life, our families, etc.  After I mentioned that my father is still struggling and was recently assigned a new specialist who acted like "a zombie" (my parents' term), my cousin wondered if we had considered asking another cousin of ours for help.  He is someone who talks to medical specialists all day long in his work, and he has been helpful to my cousin as she has tried to sort through the noise she's heard from the doctors treating her brother, father, and mother. 

   

I knew that my parents hate to ask for any kind of help, but I have sensed a new level of overwhelm from them so I called my mom and asked her,“What do you think about…?”

 

She went ballistic and threatened me.  She was horrified to think that anyone (including my cousins who saw him in November) might know about my dad’s situation.  She would never, ever take advice or help from any of my cousins.  “You don’t know what *those kids* did to us!”  Blahblahblah

 

Angry, she ordered me to tell my cousin that my dad is doing just fine, in fact -- better than ever.

 

I said, “Mom, he’s dying.”

 

“It’s wrong for you to think that, Cathy.”

 

“But you told me two weeks ago that ‘this can’t go on much longer.’  What did you mean by that if it wasn’t that he is in the process of dying – however long that takes?”

 

“If your dad knew that you had been talking about his situation with anyone, he’d be very, very angry at you.” (said in the sadistic, horrifying tone I remember from my youth)

 

There was more, but man…  what a big mess…

 

I meant no harm.  My cousin meant no harm.  I actually haven’t given out many details about my dad to anyone.  I certainly don't write freely about this situation here, despite how much I long to open up about my grief and confusion. 

 

People who see him (including my cousins) know he’s sick.   How could they not?  His whole presence has changed, and he can barely move.   E knows no details but can see that he just sits uncomfortably in a soft chair.  Sometimes she asks me, "What will help Grandpa be able to get out of the chair?"  

 

But this revelation that my cousin might know that my dad is ill...  my mom became so unglued that you can't imagine...  We "kids" are all middle-aged now.  I can't imagine what purpose it serves to hide the truth or to keep catalogues of perceived transgressions that happened 30 years ago or more.  (As if a 13-year-old child or a 21-year-old adult  -- for example --  could have plotted a purposeful slime against my mother anyhow?)

 

I kept wondering, “Is she crazy?  Or am I?”  She feels this all so strongly.  Maybe I'm blind and wrong.

 

It reminded me so much of growing up with them.  I would understand something to be the truth based on what I was observing and intuiting, and when I would say that truth aloud, I’d get slammed (sometimes physically) and told that the truth was the opposite -- or whatever served my parents at the moment.  (Reality shifted frequently.)

 

Also, I don’t understand why it is so wrong to ask for help.  I remember asking my parents many times as a child if I could please talk to a counselor because I didn’t feel well in my mind, and they would twist it around so that I was doing something to hurt them, and it was out of the question for me to talk to anyone.  I never, ever wanted to hurt or blame them.  I just wanted some sanity so that I could cope better.

 

So I called my cousin last night and told her that I had been mistaken.  My dad actually is doing GREAT!  Better than ever, in fact.  And her sister S (who lives here) and I have booked plane tickets for a weekend visit to cousin P's mountainous state later this month.

 

I'm not sure if I'll spill much "truth" during the visit because I do feel some obligation to honor my parents' (obscene, unhealthy) need for privacy.  However, I won't be lying, and it will be a pleasure to hang out with two relatives who aren't afraid of reality.

 

On the phone with my mom, I wanted to scream, "Hey, I know he's your husband, and you have this system together where everything is okay even when it's not, but do you know what?  My dad is dying, and I have some feelings about that."

 

But I've had enough therapy to know that a sentence like "My dad is dying" would be used as an example of my extreme selfishness.  How dare I use the words I, me, mine or my anyway?

 

Someday (after quite some time), I may share here about what happened when I was 10 or 11 and tried to explain to my dad that I  (<--unacceptable pronoun) felt a little differently about something than he did. 

 

Dear Goddess, how did I get this far -- however broken you find me in this moment?

 

ohmy(buckwheat)god.  I am so tired.

 

 

not okay...

I'm feeling sad and lost.  My dad is dying.  My kid needs way more of me than I have to give.  My husband tries to turn up the volume and drown me out because he doesn't like the way I close off and take time to myself after E goes to sleep.

All I do here is clean up snot, poop, pee, and dirt. Tonight during dinner, little E said, "Woman, give me more milk."  We spent some time explaining how her wording was not nice, but -- really -- that is my function for her.

I am so tired of this life of cleaning, cooking, paying attention to every little thing.  I need another fucking weekend at the coast.  Or I need my family to go away.  All of them.  Is it so wrong for a 44-year-old stay-at-home-mom to a preschooler to go absolutely ape-shit once in awhile over these soul-sucking constraints?

When I most need help reclaiming my esteem here, I find it impossible because of the kid.  If it were just me and D, I'd beat him to a pulp and then take what's coming to me.  Having E there always changes what he and I can work through together.

I love E.  I love D. I love me, but I hate my life right now.  Maybe when the garden goes again I'll feel better, but I think something is not quite right. 

grief is...

grief is a truck that hits you and makes you want to sleep.

grief feels like walls.  or smoke.

grief feels like dark blankets over things that could bring hope and pleasure.

I felt proud and connected when my mom told me that my dad was home again and eating some of the applesauce I made.  It's rare for either of them to enjoy something that I made.

But he will die soon anyway and doesn't want any fuss or forthright connection.

That applesauce may be the last intimate, meaningful connection I have with my dad.

Maybe that explains why I went searching for apples to buy so that I can make more sauce to last the rest of the year.  We are down to our last four jars because I gave the rest away with love.

Sometimes I give so much away with love.

Whatever happens, I'm glad that my dad had some applesauce.

more dying

My father is in the hospital again.  My mother shook off her usual evasiveness to be more direct:  "We all need to understand that this can't go on much longer."

That was a huge shift in her communication.  She was saying -- in her particular way -- that my dad is tired of these treatments and will choose to do without them soon.  She was saying that he'll die soon.

Last week my naturopath and I talked about all of the grief I've been experiencing (cousin, father).  She said that her dad also had been dying for years before he really died, and it's a really weird experience to watch a parent die for such a long time.

It feels strange that, even though I have been expecting his death for some time, I feel the wind knocked out of me from my mother's phonecall.  There's anticipation, and then the reality, I guess.

I was just beginning to feel renewed energy, more creativity, clearer thinking, and some hopefulness for the future.  I don't know what I will do if I sink back into a gray, dark place.  I wonder how the grief will come for me?  I wonder if there will be a sense of liberation?  I probably should make an appointment with my old therapist/mentor.

okay...

...so I was right...  the grief is happening in unpredictable ways for me.

My cousin died on Saturday, surrounded by his siblings.  His family was supported by people experienced with end-of-life issues and others who had cared for my cousin for some time.

I had a pretty quiet day today cleaning the house and making soup because my m-i-l took E away for three hours of shopping to give me a break.  It was very nice of her to do that.

But I still feel tired.  I need a long break.  (Can you imagine the day when I write here about not being bone-weary tired?  I promise that it will happen, and I will share the triumph with you.)

I feel grumpy. 

Grumpy about soup.  Grumpy about cleaning.  Grumpy about having to explain why my dead cousin wasn't married and then hearing about my m-i-l's relative, who was always "a little strange -- even as a child."  Grumpy about having to defend my child's right to sing Joy to the World her way...  because Grandma kept telling her the traditional words over and over because Grandma needed to be right instead of listening to E sing "The Lord is fun!" at the top of her lungs.  Come on, Grandma!  I raced in there to protect my child's imagination, but it was too late.  E was singing the traditional lyrics to please Grandma, accomodating Grandma with some nuance for her young years.

I want someone else to clean my house and cook for a few days.  That was why I worked so hard to make the soup -- because I wanted something nourishing in the fridge for when I fully digest all that has gone on during the last few months and I crash completely...like pretty much now.

And I really, really need my kid to keep singing "Joy to the World" her way.

do i laugh...

...or cry?    

This morning I had coffee with my cousin and said goodbye.  He will die on Saturday morning.

While we were standing in line at the coffee shop, he braced himself on his oxygen tank.  An old co-worker of his wandered in and hugged him, asked him how he's doing, and then pointed at me and asked, "Is this your mom?"

My cousin was so flustered that he called me his aunt.  Everything felt so surreal.  I told her, "I'm actually his cousin and younger than him, but I feel very old today.  Thank you."

There has been a mountain of unbloggable stuff happening in my life lately.  I'm trying to figure out how to package up bits of it so that I can share here.

I'm very, very, very tired.

dying

Today I watched my cousin say goodbye to my parents and begin his last hour with his mother (who was on her way to get on a plane with her daughter).  Earlier, two female cousins bounced E on their knees and sang her some of the songs my Grandma sang to us -- songs I could never remember well enough to sing to her myself.  I watched my dad and his sister sitting on the couch, together for the first time in years and maybe for the last time -- not knowing what to say to one another (because of misunderstandings), not being able to hear one another (because of age-related deafness), and perhaps not being able to understand very much on a verbal level anyway (because of dementia).  But they sat together.

In quick conversations in the kitchen, I learned more about my cousin's plans for exercising his rights according to Oregon's Death with Dignity Act.  More acurately, I learned what his siblings will be doing during the last weekend of my cousin's life -- for themselves and for him.

For a family fraught with tension and judgement, today's gathering went better than expected.  It may have been the easiest time I've had with my parents and brother in many years.  Maybe because words weren't used.  Maybe because it was hard for all of us -- or bigger than all of us and our petty misunderstandings.

Life is so precious.

I'm so tired, though.  I'm tired of everything.  It's a gift and a curse to know that time with a loved one is limited.  Every request takes on extra urgency -- including an unexpected trip to find smoked ham hocks (harder to find in Portland than in other places) during a busy week, but I'll do it, of course.  How weird to know the real, scheduled time when my cousin will hasten his dying.

Everyone grieves differently.  In this situation, I've been so focused on the limited time I have left with my cousin -- helping him get places, helping him be more comfortable -- that I haven't grieved much.  It's been a busy several months.  He has so much ornery *life* in him that it used to be hard to see how much pain he was experiencing.  Not anymore.  He still has the ornery and the humor, though.

I just have this feeling that I'm going to crash pretty hard later this month.  I think my grief will be more unpredictable after he's gone -- especially since there has been a scripted element to the physical aspects of his death.

And then I will pick myself up and figure out how to be helpful to his siblings... and to my family.

In case the universe is listening, I could use some ease, understanding, and some get-out-of-jail-free passes for the next season or so.