Am I a bitch, or are you just annoying?
Of course I'd like to think that it's the latter.
If you're doing something that's irritating the hell out of me, aren't I within my rights to bite your head off?
No?
Oh c'mon!
I contend that we all have certain things -- perhaps more than a pet peeve -- that get under our skin, make us lose our cool, and we really don't think we should have to apologize for it.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
August 18, 2014
August 11, 2014
The Time I Accidentally Pissed Off a Crazy Person at the Playground
The year I started blogging was the same year we bought our house: 2010. Spring, to be more specific. The weather was improving and the kids were playing outside a lot, especially when we were here painting before moving in.
As one of these pre-move-in days was winding down, I walked over to the neighborhood playground to get the kids.
AJ was only 4 years old (Camryn was 9 1/2) and not yet adept at sliding down the pole, so he asked for my help. Other little kids noticed a mom was helping with the pole and a line formed. So there I was, helping kid after kid slide down the pole....
Then there was this one little girl. And then her mother.
I wrote about this incident when my blog was a baby. It had a whopping 10 views, so I thought I'd refresh and re-share because it is something that still sort of bothers me, and I think about sometimes.
As one of these pre-move-in days was winding down, I walked over to the neighborhood playground to get the kids.
AJ was only 4 years old (Camryn was 9 1/2) and not yet adept at sliding down the pole, so he asked for my help. Other little kids noticed a mom was helping with the pole and a line formed. So there I was, helping kid after kid slide down the pole....
Then there was this one little girl. And then her mother.
I wrote about this incident when my blog was a baby. It had a whopping 10 views, so I thought I'd refresh and re-share because it is something that still sort of bothers me, and I think about sometimes.
August 7, 2014
The View From Here: I Want to be a Monster
This week my BFF who runs a weekly recipe blog came to me saying:
"I have a submission for your guest series if you feel so inclined."
And I said YES, thankyouverymuch because I failed to have
anyone signed up for this first Thursday of August!
It's like she knew.
For future reference, you guys can totally hit me up like that.
Her name is also Jennifer and her blog is Mom Rocks Mealtime.
Her post for me, though, has nothing to do with food.
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I Want to be a Monster
The city in which I live, the town in which I was born, the place I have chosen to raise my children has turned into the Thunder Dome.
It all started a year, maybe two, ago when I noticed people no longer returned my smile and wave when I give them the right away to cross the one lane bridge by my house. Soon, that bridge was covered in graffiti.
June 20, 2014
Pissed Off at the Douchebags of the World
I am feeling so very fed up right about now!
Those who read me regularly know the general crap I deal with. My husband's chronic illness crap.
That could be enough to piss me off. Daily. BUT, you get used to things over time. We've been together for 20 years, so I've adapted for the most part.
I'm not claiming that I don't still get thrown for a loop by Mark's health problems. You know I do. But that is ever-present, not something I can change and if I were to sit here and stew in angry juices over how unfair all of THAT is.....?
Well, I'd be miserable. You can't live like that.
There are the other shitty life things, however, that get thrown at you, that when you are ALSO weighed down by poor health, make you want to throw things and shout expletives.
Those who read me regularly know the general crap I deal with. My husband's chronic illness crap.
That could be enough to piss me off. Daily. BUT, you get used to things over time. We've been together for 20 years, so I've adapted for the most part.
I'm not claiming that I don't still get thrown for a loop by Mark's health problems. You know I do. But that is ever-present, not something I can change and if I were to sit here and stew in angry juices over how unfair all of THAT is.....?
Well, I'd be miserable. You can't live like that.
There are the other shitty life things, however, that get thrown at you, that when you are ALSO weighed down by poor health, make you want to throw things and shout expletives.
June 8, 2014
February 1, 2013
Lingering Anger
One month from today will be one year since Mark's arrhythmia near death experience.
And I gotta say, there is still some unresolved anger regarding how everything went down.
Things should not have happened the way they did, and it's something that continues to bug us.
There have been only a couple of times over the years of dealing with Mark's health problems when we felt like he was receiving inadequate care. Like, his doctor(s) was taking a half-assed approach, not dotting all the Is or crossing all the Ts.
Unfortunately, we feel that the episode last March was one of those times.
You know how unsettling it can be when you discover that someone isn't who you thought they were? That you made an error in judgement, a mistake in trusting them? It rattles you, makes you feel unsure about YOURSELF. Makes it difficult to know who you can trust.
Mark's cardiologist did that to us. He had been Mark's doctor for over eight years prior to the arrhythmia. He had seen Mark through angiograms, stents, two heart attacks and bypass. 'Course, knowing what I know now, I wonder if he tried a little too hard to avoid bypass....
I feel like I'm being vague, so here's the thing: We are still angry at Mark's former cardiologist for seemingly writing him off. For basically refusing to call an arrhythmia specialist into Mark's hospital room to physically SEE him, pour over his chart and make a first-hand diagnosis.
He spoke with an electrophysiologist over the phone only. That guy was merely fed info from Mark's doctor.
And Mark's cardiologist gave us the distinct impression that he had no hope for Mark. He gave up.
I can understand how that could be an easy thing to do. When you list out all of Mark's problems, it is overwhelming and looks logically like he shouldn't be able to survive so much.
It honestly wasn't hard to convince Mark's entire family that he was at death's door.
But they were wrong. Not just wrong that Mark wasn't going to die yet, but wrong about his diagnosis!
If it hadn't been for Mark's plucky and steadfast kidney doctor (nephrologist), we may have never known the truth and Mark may not have received the correct treatment, which very well could have led to his death.
That is not dramatics; it is the truth. Mark's cardiologist diagnosed him with Atrial Fibrillation when it was actually Ventricular Tachycardia, which is much more serious. When we finally got Mark to an electrophysiologist, he told us that if he had treated Mark in the hospital, he would not have left without an implantable defibrillator, and his walking around without one was very dangerous.
Two weeks before meeting the specialist we had gone to see Mark's regular cardiologist for a post-hospital follow-up. I asked him point blank if Mark's problem could possibly be anything else. He gave me a definitive NO. But when Mark's shiny new electrophysiologist called the cardiologist at my tearful request (because I was hoping to get everyone on the same page), he said, "Oh yeah, I suspected V-tach all along."
WHAT?? You lying liar!
Up until then I had been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, while Mark had already decided this guy just didn't care about him anymore. I was all, "No, that can't be. How can a doctor do that?"
Apparently they can. Not only that, but so did other doctors in that hospital last March. It was a bit insane. They saved his life the first night he was there, but then endangered it with "hospital acquired pneumonia", and continued to endanger his life by not calling in a specialist. Mark had to be intubated twice because his heart wasn't responding to treatment because they weren't treating the right problem!
Because of all of this, we had to talk about hospice and other end-of-life issues. Mark even signed a DNR at one point because he thought he didn't want to be shocked again! It was a nightmare.
All of which could have been avoided if the necessary specialist had been called to Mark's bedside to make a completely informed diagnosis. Arrhythmia is a tricky thing. Why the cardiologist thought a phone consult was good enough I will never understand.
It is any wonder Mark did survive it. I give credit to his nephrologist for stepping up to advocate for Mark when I was too bewildered to. Everyone who loves him flocked to Mark's side and buoyed him, giving him strength for the fight. And he, Mark himself, decided he wasn't done. All the doctors treating him for those 13 days really did was fuck up.
It is so disheartening to feel this way, to feel like the next time Mark has to be hospitalized I will have to be hyper vigilant in making sure the doctors are doing their best for him. It is already exhausting to deal with a hospitalization, let alone have to also question everything you're told. And to not know if you can trust these people who have your loved one's life in their hands? Awful.
I know Mark has myriad problems. I get how taking one look at his chart could overwhelm a doctor or nurse. But dammit, you don't just throw your hands up and decide he's a goner. You fight for his life until he takes his last breath. You fight for his family and children. You sure as hell don't play God, deciding you know what's best all on your own. If you're not 100% sure of a diagnosis, you seek another opinion. And not just over the phone. A person's life is worth more than an obligatory phone call.
Now I know to ask for more, to demand it if I have to. I hope anyone who reads this will remember it, and do the same for their loved one.
July 28, 2012
Angry Jennifer!
Things that make me angry include:
- Mother Nature jerking us around - all I want is 2 little months of sun. Why is that so much to ask?
- Whiny children - why can't you just speak in a normal voice?
- Spills - the child spills something, but it's mom who has to clean it up.
- Pimples - especially at 38 years old. This is making me angrier and angrier. I mean, my face is behaving better lately, but who knows when it will freak out again, and don't even get me started on body acne!
- Completely inconsiderate people who won't give their seat to a pregnant woman.
- Parents who stubbornly refuse to leave a public place with their screaming child.
- When my children won't acknowledge that I've just spoken to them.
- Lying (except for little white lies; that's usually just being nice)
- When things don't work the way they're supposed to.
- Entertainers who completely mess up their lives and waste their talents.
- When a TV show I love is canceled without a decent ending.
- Looking forward to eating something only to discover that someone else got to it first.
- The phrase "I can't".
- Anything negative (intolerance, war) in the name of God.
- When a restaurant takes my favorite dish off their menu.
- People who complain all the time.
- Those who think they're better.
Inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.
Edited and linked up for:
Edited and linked up for:
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| Stasha, the #1 sound I hate the most is the sound of my phone ringing in the middle of the night when Mark is in the hospital. |
What makes you angry?
June 13, 2012
Stupid PTSD or Grief or WTF-Ever!
I've been feeling kind of angry and cynical lately.
But I don't want to admit it. I don't know if I want anyone to actually see that side of me.
Everyone says such wonderful things about how I handle the struggles in my life. And I feel so proud that I'm able to be that kind of person.
It makes me angry that I still get angry, if that makes any sense at all.
I remember the night of Mark's bypass when his heart stopped the first time. After going in to see him, I emerged from his room and walked directly into my friend's arms. She held me as I began to cry. But then I pulled away from her, balled up my fists and stamped my foot in anger.
I didn't fucking want to be crying! I didn't want to feel afraid. I didn't want to be a mess.
I have to be strong.
I don't want to get lost in feelings of despair and hopelessness. What good does that do? Whom will that serve? There's nothing to be gained by wallowing.
But Goddammit! I also don't want my husband to be sick, and I sure as hell don't want him to die!
I love being married. I don't want to think about being a widow. I don't want to think about losing my very best friend and I don't want to think about being a single parent.
I do think about those things. A lot. Too much.
And if one Goddamn person makes any stupid judgments about how I should have known these things were possible or maybe we shouldn't have had kids, I will punch them in the face!
Because that is pure bullshit. No one should go through life not grabbing onto the things they want, their heart's desires, for fear of the maybes and what-ifs.
That is not a life well lived.
My cynicism comes out when someone very sweetly and innocently says something like, "Praying it will be smooth sailing from here on out." I think, that's nice, but not likely. Yes, we experience calmer waters, lulls in the chaos, but there is always something else on the horizon.
And I just can't, even for one minute, hope that that's not true. I'm too practical.
There is a battle going on inside my head right now between the part that is grounded, positive and grateful, and the part that is scared, angry and tired.
I'm so tired. But you can't take a break from chronic illness.
My nerves are raw and frayed.
I'm hardly laughing.
::
And then I start to get fed up with all the above and somehow....some miracle happens where I can feel my feelings starting to shift. Something that brings me back to the NOW. And I say, "All that there? That's the bullshit, and it's robbing me of my joy."
But it takes a lot of work on a DAILY basis to do that. It takes effort to push away the scary thoughts all the time.
And so I'm still tired.
I suppose that probably won't change.
But I don't want to admit it. I don't know if I want anyone to actually see that side of me.
Everyone says such wonderful things about how I handle the struggles in my life. And I feel so proud that I'm able to be that kind of person.
It makes me angry that I still get angry, if that makes any sense at all.
I remember the night of Mark's bypass when his heart stopped the first time. After going in to see him, I emerged from his room and walked directly into my friend's arms. She held me as I began to cry. But then I pulled away from her, balled up my fists and stamped my foot in anger.
I didn't fucking want to be crying! I didn't want to feel afraid. I didn't want to be a mess.
I have to be strong.
I don't want to get lost in feelings of despair and hopelessness. What good does that do? Whom will that serve? There's nothing to be gained by wallowing.
But Goddammit! I also don't want my husband to be sick, and I sure as hell don't want him to die!
I love being married. I don't want to think about being a widow. I don't want to think about losing my very best friend and I don't want to think about being a single parent.
I do think about those things. A lot. Too much.
And if one Goddamn person makes any stupid judgments about how I should have known these things were possible or maybe we shouldn't have had kids, I will punch them in the face!
Because that is pure bullshit. No one should go through life not grabbing onto the things they want, their heart's desires, for fear of the maybes and what-ifs.
That is not a life well lived.
My cynicism comes out when someone very sweetly and innocently says something like, "Praying it will be smooth sailing from here on out." I think, that's nice, but not likely. Yes, we experience calmer waters, lulls in the chaos, but there is always something else on the horizon.
And I just can't, even for one minute, hope that that's not true. I'm too practical.
There is a battle going on inside my head right now between the part that is grounded, positive and grateful, and the part that is scared, angry and tired.
I'm so tired. But you can't take a break from chronic illness.
My nerves are raw and frayed.
I'm hardly laughing.
::
And then I start to get fed up with all the above and somehow....some miracle happens where I can feel my feelings starting to shift. Something that brings me back to the NOW. And I say, "All that there? That's the bullshit, and it's robbing me of my joy."
But it takes a lot of work on a DAILY basis to do that. It takes effort to push away the scary thoughts all the time.
And so I'm still tired.
I suppose that probably won't change.
Linked up with Pour Your Heart Out and Yeah Write.
February 16, 2012
There will be swearing...
I don't write posts from a place of anger very often. But man, I'm doubly angry right now!
Josh Powell. Things just went from bad to worse with this guy and I wish he was still alive so I could kill him!
I'm not sure how much national or world airtime this story has gotten. Unfortunately it is a HUGE local story.
On Sunday, February 5, this bastard killed himself and his two little boys by blowing up his house.
If that's not bad enough, he first told his son Charlie that he had a surprise for him and then took a hatchet to the two boys before setting the house fire that killed them all.
That last part, about the hatchet, makes me want to hurl.
Josh Powell had lost custody of his children in the aftermath of his wife's disappearance in Utah 2 years ago. What ultimately led to his losing custody was his father's interest in child porn, whom Josh and the boys were living with.
The boys' mother's parents had custody of them, but that day was a scheduled supervised visit. A social worker took the boys to see their father, who let them in and then slammed the door before the social worker could enter the house. The poor woman heard crying and was helpless as she witnessed the explosion and fire.
Before he set his plan in motion, Josh Powell left messages with family and friends expressing that he just couldn't do it anymore and couldn't live without his boys.
This is where I get real angry.
Why the f*ck does this mean you need to take those beautiful boys with you? What the f*ck gives you the right?
Nothing gives you the right. Murder is wrong and a crime. You can't handle the way you've f*cked up your life? Go ahead and be a coward and kill yourself. But you leave those babies alone!
You selfish, ego-maniacal sonofabitch! I hope you rot in Hell!
What he was really worried about was that his sons were starting to remember things about the night their mother went missing. They remembered that she was with them when they left for a camping trip, they made a stop, and then she was in the trunk. One of them drew a picture of it.
This is one of the most God-awful, family tragedies I've ever heard.
And then. AND THEN!
Fred Phelps, Jr., stupid-ass, hateful founder of the Westboro Baptist Church got the bright idea to picket Charlie and Braden Powell's memorial service in protest against the pending legalization of gay marriage here in Washington state.
What the what? What the eff does one have to do with the other? And what a terrible, awful, disgusting lapse in all things decent! The only thing that stopped the protest from going forward was an interview that was granted to the church founder in order to placate him, in exchange that his group would not show up at the service.
I have been so angry about all of this. I don't give a crap what you're going through, there is NEVER a reason to harm innocent children. There is also no reason to callously use their memory for your own agenda.
Fuck you, Josh Powell. And fuck you too, Fred Phelps, Jr.
In closing, I would like to suggest that Child Protective Services have male social workers take children to supervised visits with their fathers. Perhaps if a man had been there he might have had enough strength to break the door down. I don't mean for that to sound sexist, but how many women do you know who could break a door down?
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2.) Just when you didn’t think things could get worse…how did they get worse?
(inspired by Confessions of a Semi Domesticated Mama)
Josh Powell. Things just went from bad to worse with this guy and I wish he was still alive so I could kill him!
I'm not sure how much national or world airtime this story has gotten. Unfortunately it is a HUGE local story.
On Sunday, February 5, this bastard killed himself and his two little boys by blowing up his house.
If that's not bad enough, he first told his son Charlie that he had a surprise for him and then took a hatchet to the two boys before setting the house fire that killed them all.
That last part, about the hatchet, makes me want to hurl.
Josh Powell had lost custody of his children in the aftermath of his wife's disappearance in Utah 2 years ago. What ultimately led to his losing custody was his father's interest in child porn, whom Josh and the boys were living with.
The boys' mother's parents had custody of them, but that day was a scheduled supervised visit. A social worker took the boys to see their father, who let them in and then slammed the door before the social worker could enter the house. The poor woman heard crying and was helpless as she witnessed the explosion and fire.
Before he set his plan in motion, Josh Powell left messages with family and friends expressing that he just couldn't do it anymore and couldn't live without his boys.
This is where I get real angry.
Why the f*ck does this mean you need to take those beautiful boys with you? What the f*ck gives you the right?
Nothing gives you the right. Murder is wrong and a crime. You can't handle the way you've f*cked up your life? Go ahead and be a coward and kill yourself. But you leave those babies alone!
You selfish, ego-maniacal sonofabitch! I hope you rot in Hell!
What he was really worried about was that his sons were starting to remember things about the night their mother went missing. They remembered that she was with them when they left for a camping trip, they made a stop, and then she was in the trunk. One of them drew a picture of it.
This is one of the most God-awful, family tragedies I've ever heard.
And then. AND THEN!
Fred Phelps, Jr., stupid-ass, hateful founder of the Westboro Baptist Church got the bright idea to picket Charlie and Braden Powell's memorial service in protest against the pending legalization of gay marriage here in Washington state.
What the what? What the eff does one have to do with the other? And what a terrible, awful, disgusting lapse in all things decent! The only thing that stopped the protest from going forward was an interview that was granted to the church founder in order to placate him, in exchange that his group would not show up at the service.
I have been so angry about all of this. I don't give a crap what you're going through, there is NEVER a reason to harm innocent children. There is also no reason to callously use their memory for your own agenda.
Fuck you, Josh Powell. And fuck you too, Fred Phelps, Jr.
In closing, I would like to suggest that Child Protective Services have male social workers take children to supervised visits with their fathers. Perhaps if a man had been there he might have had enough strength to break the door down. I don't mean for that to sound sexist, but how many women do you know who could break a door down?
2.) Just when you didn’t think things could get worse…how did they get worse?
(inspired by Confessions of a Semi Domesticated Mama)
December 21, 2011
Climb Aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster!
I posted this on Facebook on Monday: Climb aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster! Sit down & buckle up. Our ride begins with a broken chest wire, we will pause for just a sec to remove it, there will be several very fun loops and things during a perfectly normal weekend and then we will end by heading back to the station (hospital) for IV antibiotics. Enjoy the ride!
I am so witty online!
For those of you who don't know, my husband Mark had heart bypass surgery a little over a year ago and they use wire similar to piano strings to hold the chest plate together for healing. Well, Mark broke one of them, possibly by sneezing hard, it got infected and he needed to have it removed.
And now....
My husband is in the hospital with a staph infection requiring IV antibiotics after he tried to get himself treated before it got to this point.
I am angry, frustrated, bummed and completely OFF. I just wrote last week in a post about my priorities how when something is not OK with one of the four of us, everything feels off, and here we are.
I know I remind the world all the time of Mark's health conditions, but it seems to be necessary, even to the medical professionals who care for him. He is a Type 1 Diabetic, has been since the age of 9, with a 6 year reprieve when he had a successful kidney/pancreas transplant. He is 43 now and since losing his transplanted organs, has been back on insulin and dialysis for nearly 10 years.
These things make him extra susceptible to infection. Last year when heart bypass was required it was discovered that he had pericarditis, a septic staph infection SURROUNDING HIS HEART.
People? Mark may have survived that, but this is not a man we take chances with!
So yeah, I and just about everyone we know are pretty frustrated that Mark's doctors dragged their feet on this. That might be a bit of an understatement for me. Because a staph infection could KILL MY HUSBAND!
I don't think this is just me being melodramatic. Or maybe it is....buuuuuttt it happened to my uncle. It happens all the time. It could happen to Mark.
On the other hand, I do think PTSD from "the night from hell" is rearing its ugly head right now. I am having to force myself to see this as a separate thing. I am having to force myself to not think about death.
And it's really hard to do.
This infection was caught early, in spite of the initial bumbling efforts of the doctors. This will be OK. Mark will be OK. EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.
This is just another hiccup, bump in the road, minor inconvenience...yada, yada. I feel like people think I should just be used to this. That these things happen with Mark and we just have to deal them. Well yes, that's true, but "these things" are actually serious, and they suck.
I'm allowed to hate it, aren't I?
I'm allowed to hate taking my kids to see their dad at the hospital. I'm allowed to hate all that Mark has to deal with. I'm allowed to hate what I have to deal with, what our parents deal with, and our friends deal with. That there are perfectly healthy people out there who have no flipping idea how good they've got it! I hate it all.
When you've been traumatized the way I have it can be hard to be OK with the little hiccups. They tend to all feel like big, scary things.
It's almost Christmas. Mark had his first heart attack on Christmas Day of 2008. Such lovely timing.
I'm sorry if this post is rambling and doesn't totally make sense to anyone else. Just gotta get it off my chest.
We're hoping he will be able to come home today and we can get on with Christmas....
(This post was linked with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can't Say.)
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Update 12/27/11: Mark did come home that day, but it was difficult to "get on with Christmas". He was really tired and bothered by the wound vac they sent him home connected to. We were both very tense and on edge all the way up to Christmas Eve. But Christmas Day was great! We had fun, the kids loved their gifts, we saw extended family and had a fantastic dinner in spite of a power outage. Yesterday, at the Wound Ostemy Clinic where Mark has his dressing changed, the nurse said his chest is healing so well and so quick he may not need the wound vac much longer. This I believe is due to all the care and concern from both and near and far, and I am grateful. Oh, the roller coaster!
I am so witty online!
For those of you who don't know, my husband Mark had heart bypass surgery a little over a year ago and they use wire similar to piano strings to hold the chest plate together for healing. Well, Mark broke one of them, possibly by sneezing hard, it got infected and he needed to have it removed.
And now....
My husband is in the hospital with a staph infection requiring IV antibiotics after he tried to get himself treated before it got to this point.
I am angry, frustrated, bummed and completely OFF. I just wrote last week in a post about my priorities how when something is not OK with one of the four of us, everything feels off, and here we are.
I know I remind the world all the time of Mark's health conditions, but it seems to be necessary, even to the medical professionals who care for him. He is a Type 1 Diabetic, has been since the age of 9, with a 6 year reprieve when he had a successful kidney/pancreas transplant. He is 43 now and since losing his transplanted organs, has been back on insulin and dialysis for nearly 10 years.
These things make him extra susceptible to infection. Last year when heart bypass was required it was discovered that he had pericarditis, a septic staph infection SURROUNDING HIS HEART.
People? Mark may have survived that, but this is not a man we take chances with!
So yeah, I and just about everyone we know are pretty frustrated that Mark's doctors dragged their feet on this. That might be a bit of an understatement for me. Because a staph infection could KILL MY HUSBAND!
I don't think this is just me being melodramatic. Or maybe it is....buuuuuttt it happened to my uncle. It happens all the time. It could happen to Mark.
On the other hand, I do think PTSD from "the night from hell" is rearing its ugly head right now. I am having to force myself to see this as a separate thing. I am having to force myself to not think about death.
And it's really hard to do.
This infection was caught early, in spite of the initial bumbling efforts of the doctors. This will be OK. Mark will be OK. EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.
This is just another hiccup, bump in the road, minor inconvenience...yada, yada. I feel like people think I should just be used to this. That these things happen with Mark and we just have to deal them. Well yes, that's true, but "these things" are actually serious, and they suck.
I'm allowed to hate it, aren't I?
I'm allowed to hate taking my kids to see their dad at the hospital. I'm allowed to hate all that Mark has to deal with. I'm allowed to hate what I have to deal with, what our parents deal with, and our friends deal with. That there are perfectly healthy people out there who have no flipping idea how good they've got it! I hate it all.
When you've been traumatized the way I have it can be hard to be OK with the little hiccups. They tend to all feel like big, scary things.
It's almost Christmas. Mark had his first heart attack on Christmas Day of 2008. Such lovely timing.
I'm sorry if this post is rambling and doesn't totally make sense to anyone else. Just gotta get it off my chest.
We're hoping he will be able to come home today and we can get on with Christmas....
(This post was linked with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can't Say.)
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| #37 |
October 26, 2011
Grief
This may be short and sweet. It may get long. I really have no clue because my thoughts and feelings are very jumbled at the moment.
At the moment? Try for the last 5 days since my uncle passed away.
I am not the one who is hurt most by this sudden loss. He was not my father, partner, brother or son, connections that bind tighter than uncle and niece. Still, I feel so much.
I feel extreme empathy for my family members. For my dad, aunt and uncle who lost another brother. For my grandmother who lost another son. For my cousins who last their dad, and my uncle's partner who lost her love. And simply for the tragedy of it happening so suddenly and sooner than anyone was prepared for.
And right now, as I type this, I feel anger. His death has been confirmed as a heart attack. I just stopped crying over this. Too many heart attacks around me. They seem to be my nemesis. My husband has had two, my father one and now this. Oh and there have been others. The way I remember it as a child, my great-grandfather had one while driving which caused his death.
*Deep breaths* Reeling myself in before I start going off and dropping F-bombs and shit. Oops. Oh well. Fuck it.
Grief. There are stages and phases, it wanes, it waxes. There is no prescribed amount of time it should last and everyone reacts to it differently. I know these things. I also know I don't have any answers. I find myself simply shaking my head a lot, in utter disbelief with only an nth of understanding about how these things happen.
This is very hard for me because I always want to know WHY? But I can't know. Not about the complexities of life and death. It's not for me to know. It's not about me. It's about God and universal flow and Karma and all that jazz. I am but a spec. My uncle is but a spec. And I get that. I am actually somehow comforted by this because I know it's not up to me. God's got it covered, whether any of us can comprehend it or not.
Well, my uncle wasn't a spec to us. He was a good uncle. He was someone I've known my entire life. His girls are at least 9 years younger than me and I helped take care of them when they were babies. He bore an uncanny resemblance to my father, so much so that it actually creeped me out a little when I was a kid. Yet on the other hand, their resemblance made him all the more familiar and safe.
Uncle Mark made the trip down to California for my wedding, and since we've returned to Washington, he's been there for many things. He helped us move, he attended a couple of my kids' birthday parties and he always gave my kids a little something for Christmas. Last year when my Mark was recuperating from bypass surgery, uncle Mark helped my dad take care of our lawn. He was the guy we knew with a large enough truck to haul a couch, which he did for us twice.
I have always admired my uncle for following his passion for music. He was a good musician and singer, beloved locally by many. And he managed to make a living at it. I am ashamed to say that my only experience seeing him perform live was exactly one week before he died. Interesting thing is, I felt pushed to go to the Hometown Hootenanny that night. We had been invited to come several times before but I had blown it off for one reason or another. I am so glad I listened to the little internal voice telling me to go.
Mostly for me, I am rocked by the fact that another of my father's siblings is gone. This is a huge thing to try to get used to. It's always been the FIVE Hibbert siblings, Scott, Mark, Renee, Randy and Clay, in that order. And I've loved them all. Now Mark and Clay are both gone and I kinda don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to process that this is happening out of order. Not only among the five of them, but also that they've gone before their mother. It doesn't make sense, and it sucks to feel like you're counting down the people in your life.
And then there's the fact that I had to ask my dad to talk with me about his plans and wishes for when his time comes. I want to know exactly what to do, no questions. I need my mother and step-father to do the same.
This fucking sucks.
11/1/11: Linking to Lovelinks!
At the moment? Try for the last 5 days since my uncle passed away.
I am not the one who is hurt most by this sudden loss. He was not my father, partner, brother or son, connections that bind tighter than uncle and niece. Still, I feel so much.
I feel extreme empathy for my family members. For my dad, aunt and uncle who lost another brother. For my grandmother who lost another son. For my cousins who last their dad, and my uncle's partner who lost her love. And simply for the tragedy of it happening so suddenly and sooner than anyone was prepared for.
And right now, as I type this, I feel anger. His death has been confirmed as a heart attack. I just stopped crying over this. Too many heart attacks around me. They seem to be my nemesis. My husband has had two, my father one and now this. Oh and there have been others. The way I remember it as a child, my great-grandfather had one while driving which caused his death.
*Deep breaths* Reeling myself in before I start going off and dropping F-bombs and shit. Oops. Oh well. Fuck it.
Grief. There are stages and phases, it wanes, it waxes. There is no prescribed amount of time it should last and everyone reacts to it differently. I know these things. I also know I don't have any answers. I find myself simply shaking my head a lot, in utter disbelief with only an nth of understanding about how these things happen.
This is very hard for me because I always want to know WHY? But I can't know. Not about the complexities of life and death. It's not for me to know. It's not about me. It's about God and universal flow and Karma and all that jazz. I am but a spec. My uncle is but a spec. And I get that. I am actually somehow comforted by this because I know it's not up to me. God's got it covered, whether any of us can comprehend it or not.
Well, my uncle wasn't a spec to us. He was a good uncle. He was someone I've known my entire life. His girls are at least 9 years younger than me and I helped take care of them when they were babies. He bore an uncanny resemblance to my father, so much so that it actually creeped me out a little when I was a kid. Yet on the other hand, their resemblance made him all the more familiar and safe.
Uncle Mark made the trip down to California for my wedding, and since we've returned to Washington, he's been there for many things. He helped us move, he attended a couple of my kids' birthday parties and he always gave my kids a little something for Christmas. Last year when my Mark was recuperating from bypass surgery, uncle Mark helped my dad take care of our lawn. He was the guy we knew with a large enough truck to haul a couch, which he did for us twice.
I have always admired my uncle for following his passion for music. He was a good musician and singer, beloved locally by many. And he managed to make a living at it. I am ashamed to say that my only experience seeing him perform live was exactly one week before he died. Interesting thing is, I felt pushed to go to the Hometown Hootenanny that night. We had been invited to come several times before but I had blown it off for one reason or another. I am so glad I listened to the little internal voice telling me to go.
Mostly for me, I am rocked by the fact that another of my father's siblings is gone. This is a huge thing to try to get used to. It's always been the FIVE Hibbert siblings, Scott, Mark, Renee, Randy and Clay, in that order. And I've loved them all. Now Mark and Clay are both gone and I kinda don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to process that this is happening out of order. Not only among the five of them, but also that they've gone before their mother. It doesn't make sense, and it sucks to feel like you're counting down the people in your life.
And then there's the fact that I had to ask my dad to talk with me about his plans and wishes for when his time comes. I want to know exactly what to do, no questions. I need my mother and step-father to do the same.
This fucking sucks.
11/1/11: Linking to Lovelinks!
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