whew

[dragonlady7]

via https://ift.tt/3mZyO2O

been a minute since i was on here.

we escaped a terrible lake-effect snowstorm and made it to Rochester on Saturday, arriving around 3pm. we started drinking and eating cheese, and had much merriment. It just felt– so nice to pretend to be normal. (I’d cleared the mingling of COVID pods with everyone for the occasion.)

We did some Witchering that night, which I’ll write up separately. I felt so reassured. It just felt normal. And it was fun to see the kids and all.

[cut for length; writing from my mom’s house]

The next morning we hung out a bit and then hit the Thruway, in patchy sun, no snow at all, smooth enough sailing the rest of the way. Except at one point, like immediately after we passed the Indian Castle rest stop, Dude was like “oh I need to get gas when’s the next one” and I looked it up and was like ‘oh it’s only like 25 miles, that’d be good I guess I could use a potty break” and he was like “oh I’ll run out of gas in 10.” which like. What the fuck bro, I plan my rest stops meticulously and would never in a hundred thousand years even contemplate cutting it that close? So I had to frantically Google, and we had to get off at the Fultonville Quick Stop, which mostly serves trucks and features showers you can pay for around back, and like. What the fuck. Anyway. Also they had no credit card readers on the pumps, so I had to go inside. I was pleasantly astonished to find the cashier putting a mask on as I walked in, so that was better than it might have been. (Also I could’ve bought a Trump 2020 mask for $4.99 right by the register.) (I did NOT pee in the “please pay for truck parking before you shower” restroom, I held it the rest of the way to the farm.)

We survived. A couple of minutes before we got to the farm, Middle-Little called, clearly from her car, warning us they’d just closed Rte 2 for an apparent car accident, but we’d passed that point already. We arrived at the farm just as Farmsister was wandering across the yard to put something away, so she helped me unload the car. And then that very moment, Mom and Elder Sister pulled in. Middle-Little came in a few minutes later, with wild tales of having to suddenly detour, but not much delayed overall.

I had sort of expected a big emotional scene, but we just all each hugged each other, and then went inside and had a beer and then took a lovely walk all around the farm.

We swapped tales of how we were holding up. Mom said her advice now to anyone wishing to know what to say to a bereaved person was not to be really invasive in questioning about what had happened. At least one person had pushed her as far as “Well, I found him dead in the bathroom” and had not been foisted off by that but had persisted “Well, and???” and she was like “how is that not enough detail. How. Do you want to know how cold he was? His coloring? Whether there were fluids and if so, what? Come on.”

So like. There’s the distilled thing.

I said the thing that was surprising to me, but that Dude had warned me of concretely, was that of course people who were just seeing you to give condolences would be in that moment much more emotional than you, and so you wind up having to deal with your ongoing life-altering crushing grief and also some distant relation or not-well-known acquaintance literally hanging off you and weeping while you’re like, trying to live your life. I’m spared much of it by COVID, and of course it’s an understandable human thing, but it’s kind of surprising to be like “oh hey so and so hi nice to see you” and they’re like “A-BLOO-HOO-SOB-HOO” and you have to be like “there there yes my world is in shambles but you know how it is, pip pip cheerio”.

It’s hard to know, I suppose, how to act, and I don’t expect I’ll be any less awkward myself. And I have found myself wanting to tell people, because the circumstances were so unfair. I did get the full story out of my mom and sisters, the whole blow-by-blow recounting of the morning– Mom called Farmsister first, who stayed on the line with her as she called the ambulance from the other phone and waited until they showed up and then when Mom hung up, Farmsister called Middle-Little and had her go directly to the house to be with Mom. (M-L said she watched the whole drive for an ambulance coming the other direction, since she lives in the city where the nearest hospitals are, and was driving on the only road that connects directly– but they did not transport him to a hospital, as it happened.)

Anyway. I don’t need to get more into that, but knowing more– it probably does help.

We did a little impromptu late Christmas, and Farmkid was delighted to get more presents. I got some fiber stuff– bobbins and two ornate niddy-noddies and a cat toy for Chita– and got to give Farmsister her presents, including a pair of pants that had taken an incredible journey by Fedex tracking.

I… it’s weird, is all. Today we went over to Mom’s house, but this entry’s getting long and I haven’t been sleeping well and I need to try to do that, so maybe tomorrow I can take a minute to write about going to Mom’s house and seeing the will and the search for the missing pistol magazine and so on. I had some fun posts in Instagram Stories I’ll have to move over to my grid, too. But it’ll keep, I’m going to sleep. (Your picture was not posted)

Comments

[dine]

I'm really glad you got some family time, and your late Christmas was good.

I had to google niddy-noddies - turns out I'd seen them, but never knew the name, which is pretty cool.

[minoanmiss]

Mom said her advice now to anyone wishing to know what to say to a bereaved person was not to be really invasive in questioning about what had happened.

At a certain point (a very early point) the bereaved should be allowed to take a spray bottle to nosy interrogators.