one more sad

Last week was a weird one, I must say. I worked Monday and Tuesday and had the rest of the week off. My company does a lot of things wrong but they do bereavement leave right. Not sure what to make of that.

I went to volunteering on Tuesday night, something I was more than a little worried about, as it is a group for grieving children. I worried about bursting into tears as soon as I walked in, but it was actually the perfect place for me to be. Which in hindsight is a big, fat DUH but my foresight is absolute shit.

I saw my family almost every day last week, which was good, but also cried a lot, which was not so fun, actually. I held it together for most of the viewing, even though I had to go hide in the kitchen (under pretense of water-getting) a few times, and I held it together not at all on Friday at the funeral. I did manage to read this:

The thing about having a grandma is that you think she’ll always be there, because she’s always been there. From the moment you’re born, she’s with you, cheering you on and letting you stay up too late and pretending not to notice when you swipe a peppermint from the candy jar when your parents aren’t looking. She’s just as proud of you for graduating as she is that you didn’t fall down while walking across the stage. So when your grandma dies, you feel it instantly. That person who used to let you win at board games and who totally believed you when you said you were going to grow up to be Mary Poppins is gone.

The hardest thing about losing someone you love is the realization that you’ll never see them again. That all of the memories you have of that person are it, there will never be more. You realize how very little time we actually get and you wish, desperately, for more.

We must remember that the memories we have of Grandma are ours forever. We might feel like we’re losing them or that we don’t have enough of them, but the memories we have of her are like puzzle pieces and each person in this family holds different pieces of the puzzle. Late night card games and camping trips, watching Disney movies over and over and sleepovers on New Years Eve, walking up to Lincoln Park and feeding ducks at the pond, chocolate martinis and Happy Birthday Jesus cakes. We all hold these memories and when we tell stories about Grandma, we’re putting the puzzle pieces together. We’re a family of storytellers, a family that can’t get together without telling stories of times past, and as long as we can share our memories of Grandma, she’ll always be with us.

But only because the eulogies were first and especially only because I ran up to the mic before anyone else got a chance to make me cry. After I sat back down, though, all bets were off. TEARS. EVERYWHERE. But I suppose that's what funerals are for, really, so...whatever.

I feel very whatever lately. Very blah. Very other words for depressed. Things are getting back to normal, I suppose. We watched Chuck last night and walked Max and laughed about stupid things and I read my book and went to sleep and had crazy, crazy dreams.

Which I expected, as I have been having some wicked crazy dreams lately. I've dreamt of zombies at least four out of the past seven nights. The other night, I dreamt that I was in that movie Skyline. Have you seen the preview? It looks pretty run of the mill alien-movie until the last shot, which is of lots and lots of screaming people being pulled into spaceships by a beam of light. Freaked my shit out, that did. Anyway, some other people and I were running from this light, obviously, and we took shelter in a house. Someone realized that the light couldn't pull up people with dyed hair (what?) so we all dyed our hair. Mine was dark, dark black, like Evil!Willow black. We went outside to test it but mine didn't work, the light still came and I started getting pulled away and that's when Robert Downey, Jr. flew over in his Iron Man suit (minus the helmet) and saved me, which was pretty awesome because Robert Downey, Jr. is totally on my list, only I woke up before I could dream-cheat on Joe. Oh well, maybe next time.

(I love you, Joe!)

Anyway. I don't know what all the zombie/alien dreams say about my psyche right now and I don't want to know, thank you very much, I just wish they'd stop.

I am, however, totally OK with the Robert Downey, Jr. dreams. HINT HINT, UNIVERSE.

10/15/2010

On the first day of training to be a volunteer with Oak Tree Corner, we did an exercise where we had to come up with different ways to say someone died. Passed on, passed away, went to Heaven, pushing up daisies, sleeping with the fishes...these are all examples of things people say instead of, "so and so died." Obviously, ones like "passed on" are used more often than "sleeping with the fishes," unless, of course, you're living in some sort of Sopranos world, in which case you might say that a lot. But I digress.

There's a point to the exercise. Kids find death just as confusing as adults, but the difference is, kids are very literal. If you tell a kid that someone who died went to Heaven, the kid might think they're coming back some day. Like Heaven is just somewhere people go on vacation. So we're taught to say someone died, not someone passed away.

After I did this exercise, I began to notice more and more that no one ever wants to say died or dead. It sounds too harsh. Too final. If you look at the obituary page, it's full of "passed aways."

I don't know why I'm talking about all that. Stalling, maybe. What I'm trying to say is that my grandma died on Friday, but I don't want to say died because dead is forever and that, well, that totally sucks.

My mom called me at work on Thursday to tell me my grandma had a fever and they thought she might have pneumonia. Later on, I found out that they might soon be calling hospice in. And I spent the majority of that afternoon running to the bathroom to cry in the stall.

My parents picked Joe and I up Thursday evening so we could go to the nursing home. My aunt and uncle were waiting for us. They'd already been in to see grandma, and since their eyes were red-rimmed from crying, I knew things weren't good. We went back to her room. She was lying in her bed, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't fall out, and she wouldn't wake up at all. She looked so small.

My dad spoke to her nurse and then we met back up with my aunt and uncle. The words, "end of life," were used. My mom called my other aunt, told her to come see grandma, but not by herself. Still, we thought we had days yet, to say goodbye.

Mom called me Friday morning. I already had the day off of work, so I was still lying in bed. She told me that she and Dad were meeting hospice people at the nursing home because Grandma still had a fever and wasn't getting any better.

I got up, got dressed, and was about to take Max out when my phone rang again. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw it was my mom calling. I choked out a hello and knew, knew before my mom even said it, that she had died.

I tried Joe's cell phone, but he was at work so he didn't see it, and I was getting angrier and angrier with myself because I couldn't find his work number. "Idiot," I thought. "Why isn't it in your cell phone?"

Finally, I emailed him and asked him to call me. My phone rang almost instantly and I wondered if I'd even be able to talk. I didn't know how to say the words: Grandma died. But when I answered, all he said was, "Do I need to come home?" and I managed to squeak out a "yeah," and he was on his way.

It was a strange day. I mean, obviously. What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was strange. But Joe came home and I cried. He made me eat breakfast. I cried. We watched The Daily Show. I cried. I talked to my mom and cried and showered and cried and did I mention I cried? My head ached from crying, but by the time we went to my parents', I had mostly composed myself. We met with the pastor to go over the funeral service and we looked through pictures of my grandma. We told stories and drank wine and ate pizza.

Yesterday, I walked in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk and we took my sister to dinner and watched football and drank beer and ate junk food and it was almost like I was a normal person again. Look at me, I'm joking with the waitress and reading my Google Reader and cooking banana bread and watching Jurassic Park and you'd never know my heart broke wide open just two days ago. Don't worry, though, I found all the pieces and I think I remember how they go together. Just might take me some time, is all.

Piv-AT! PIV-AAAAT!

Oh, Monday. I would so very much like to kick you in the headplace. But I won't, because I'm nice.

I keep forgetting to mention this (too busy talking about my lady lumps, obviously) but Joe and I are moving in together in less than two weeks. Because I am an uberplanner, I have already started packing so I'm not up all night the night before the move, throwing random crap into boxes all haphazardly because that makes unpacking an even bigger mess than it normally is.

I'm also trying to sell some of my stuff on Craigslist and, WHOO BOY, but is Craigslist ever a pain in my ass. I ended up putting one thing on the free board just so someone would come pick it up and I wouldn't have to take it to Goodwill myself, but I am having the hardest time ridding myself of my dining room table. So many people have expressed interest and one couple even came to look at it yesterday, but no takers. Keep your fingers crossed that the person coming to look at it this weekend falls in love with it. Platonic love. It would be weird to fall in romantic love with a table. I'm pretty sure that's illegal anyway.

Joe and I are moving into my grandma's old condo and I will tell you why. My grandma moved out of it a couple of years ago when she started having health problems, which I won't go into because A) it would take a looooong time to tell that story and B) it makes me really sad face. She's since moved into a more permanent assisted living facility and so her condo is just sitting there, all lonely-like.

MEANWHILE, Joe and I were searching for a place to live. We decided not to buy right now, for various reasons, and we couldn't find an apartment we liked, which was very frustrating but then! My parents were all, "um, why don't we just rent you the condo?" and I was like, "um, OK, can we rent it for free?" and my dad was all, "no, loser," and I said, "OK, we'll take it!"

We spent this past Saturday boxing up my grandma's stuff and taking it to storage and mylanta, was she ever a packrat. It's good to know where I get it from. I had to eat two chocolate donuts just to keep up my strength. I think one of my cousins might have eaten at least five or six donuts, because every time I looked at him, he was eating another one and I know I looked at him at least five times. I don't understand how he does that. Or how he's so damn skinny. Anyway.

Get this, Internets, just GET THIS. My grandma had had the condo painted a while ago, before she moved out, and according to my aunt, the guy who painted it did a shit-tastic job. I didn't think it was that bad until my uncle moved the china hutch that was in the corner of the dining room and OMG there was a big white patch in the exact shape of the china hutch. Because the painter had painted AROUND the hutch rather than move it. I now hate him. We'd considered painting but now we sort of have to, unless we find something that's the same exact shape as the china hutch which...yeah, that's not gonna happen so now we have to paint. I'm not very good at painting because I'm short so I can't reach all the way to the ceiling and if I'm scared to stand on a ladder on account of all the clumsy, which is apparently genetic because in the span of about 30 seconds both my aunt and cousin tripped over NOTHING and we all laughed and laughed and there was general merrymaking.

I'm so, so excited to move in with Joe but I'm also sad because Heidi and I won't be roommates anymore. It's all very confusing, this having two feelings at once thing. I can't really talk about it right now because it makes me all verklempt.

I'm a businesswoman in town on business

Are you there, Internets? It's me, Jennie. I'm so tired, Internets. So tired. I flew into Baltimore last night, and by the time we got our bags, picked up our rental car, went to the hotel, and ate dinner? It was 11. And then! I stayed up til midnight for some reason. And then I couldn't sleep. And you know what? I sort of hate the Marriott. My room doesn't have wireless internet, the hotel buffet breakfast cost $14, there was a moldy teabag in my coffeemaker (which was hidden in a random drawer), and there's a drafty draft from hell (or somewhere, you know, cold) coming through the window that makes me want to stab Mother Nature in the face.

However. There IS a giant, flat screen TV and the $14 breakfast was pretty good and everyone knows coffee tastes better with moldy teabags in it, so win win win.

I came here for work, to do some training and testing, although the first two hours of work today were spent setting up laptops and getting access to various networks and my head exploded from all the disorganization of it all. And then we started working and OH MY GOD I actually felt like I was accomplishing something, which is a lot different than what happens most days. Most days, I spend my time avoiding irate employees who want to yell at me because I'm mean and won't let them have benefits for free, because I'm totally in charge of that.

The rental car place gave us a Mustang and so far just my boss has driven it, but tomorrow I have to drive it back to the airport and I'm a little scared that I might need to sit on a phonebook to see over the hood. Also, I'll probably get lost at least once, with or without the company-provided Garmin (RECALCULATING) so I might leave for the airport seven hours early.

Anyway. My brain is done working for the day so I'm going to go lie in bed and watch South Park.

Pam, I’m public speaking. Stop public interrupting me!

Hi, Internets! I'm not dead. I don't think. I have just been busy because A) work sucks but B) my life does not suck. Although, I had to miss the Rock Band reunion tour on Friday night because I was sick. But it's OK! Because there will be other reunion tours.

Speaking of being sick, I had a doctor's appointment at lunch and I have another doctor's appointment after work. And when I say doctor's appointment, I mean "doctor's" "appointment." That means I had to wear heels today. My doctor is very strict and says that heels promote leg strength and back pain . . . back pain sounds bad, but really it builds character. I've almost broken my ankle about fifty bajillion times, which probably also builds character, so that's good. I don't think I could wear heels every day because OW my feet hurt. But they make me so much taller. Hmm.

Work sucks mostly because of this massive software conversion we're in the middle of, and I mean RIGHT SMACK in the middle of, and no one knows what's going on and it's all very confusing and off-putting. Did you hear that? I am PUT. OFF. Because I might have to work this weekend. That's right, this hallowed THREE DAY WEEKEND. Anyway, the software conversion gods have provided this test database so we can practice fucking shit up (that is what I do) but the tutorial left a lot to be desired and so again . . . NO ONE KNOWS WHAT'S GOING ON. And even though we're all in the same boat and no one knows what they're doing, especially me because I never know what I'm doing, people keep coming to me with their questions. They're all, "Jennie, how do you do this? What does this mean? Can you come help me? Wash the dishes DO THE MOPPING CINDERELLY CINDERELLY," and then my head explodes and that's messy and who do you think has to clean it up? Cinderelly.

So the moral of the story is, I don't know what's going on and I keep accidentally spreading my ignorance all around the office, which isn't even in my job description.

I got chocolate on my pants

and it looks like poo. Can I go home?