calling it the worst week of my life...
May. 18th, 2003 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7... would probably be some kind of jinx, so i won't.
Mind you I'm talking about a week that started out with me and dave running out of gas in the rain on the outskirts of the most unsympathetic town ever to grace the center of nowhere, which was then topped by dave's dad inexplicably falling out of a boat and drowning.
So.
It just went from there.
I spent the delightful trip back scribbling handwritten letters that turned into livejournal entries because no sane human would want it sent to them, but one might come and read it if one knew what one was getting into.
My ride home, by the way, was not with Dave; no, he's staying a few days longer with his mother. Like the good boy he is.
I, having no bereavement time coming to me because I'm not actually part of Dave's family (you don't have to remind me; I've been reminded a couple of times. No fear), had to come back today. So I cadged a ride with his cousins to Philadelphia, which was fine. Except that i was squished into the backseat of a Celica, the backseats of which are not intended for adult humans. Not adult humans with legs, anyway. My legs aren't long, but they didn't fit. Six hours like that, then I rode a train to Trenton, a train to Penn Station, a cab to Grand Central (it was recommended strongly to me as really the only way to not kill yourself on a sunday night at 9 pm) and then another train. The first two trains were, of course, heavily populated with screaming children. Y'know, I still don't find them cute. Why do people have them?
In the midst of that, I got a phonecall from Darius, who I then gave Dave's family's number-- he wanted to visit dave and me on his way back from some weird trip to niagara. so later i called darius, who was coolly unsympathetic to me and passed the phone to dave, who said two sentences and then the cellphone cut out. so by the time i got on the last train, i was feeling too sorry for myself to write anymore.
before you laugh at me for being so self-pitying, please just do me the favor of reading about how i spent this week. i was so good. at least i tried so hard to be good. i really, really, really did. i tried not to whine at all. i couldn't help crying, and generally being the doof that i am, but i really, really, really tried to not be a twit. i may not have succeeded but i did the damned best i could.
I spent this week trying my damnedest to be everything a good daughter-in-law or whatever I would be were there law involved should be, while also trying to be everything a good acquaintance should be. I tried to be there when Dave needed me, because I know I'm that close to him, but not be there when his mother didn't want me to, because I know fine well I'm not that close to her. Ditto for his sister and her husband. They've met me once; I'm barely above a stranger. There's no need for me to be included with the immediate family in that circumstance. I've met Mr. & Mrs. K. like four times if that. So I shouldn't be there when it's just immediate family.
However, I am Dave's companion, whatever else you call me, and therefore I should be there for him.
Of course.
Jesus.
Naturally, the two are not particularly compatible.
It was fucking impossible.
But I truly, earnestly spent the week trying not to feel sorry for myself. And so, here follows me not being sorry for myself.
We got there on Wednesday evening (before supper) and things were just awful. Poor Mrs. K. was doing her best but nobody could tell her anything, and she didn't undesrtand how her husband-- a safe boater, strong swimmer, and experienced fisherman-- could possibly drown doing something he'd done a billion times, and nobody would tell her how this could be, and she didn't even really know where he was or who he was with because he went on fishing trips all the time and she just didn't pay attention anymore.
Dave's sister arrived and was about the same-- they're strong women, but how can you even cope with that situation? So they did what tasks could be done with great strength, along with Dave, but then what could they do but be absolutely devastated? It was just awful, and I had no idea what to do.
The next day things were a little better. I was given a task-- to put nicely lettered labels on the photographs they'd selected for the memory boards. So I did that task as well as I could and spent a ludicrous amount of time and effort on it.
What really made the difference, I think, was Mrs. K's brother's girlfriend calling from Ontario. She's a doctor, and is high up in Ontario's Ministry of Health, I think. I know she's been working intensively on the SARS thing. She's a very strong-willed woman (and isn't too popular within the family, because she can be overbearing. However, as you'll see, this definitely has its place, and she is now elevated to a much higher position of respect within the family-- they now realize how important it is to be like that sometimes) and knew someone very high up personally-- someone the coroner also knew. So she called up the coroner who did Mr. K's autopsy and demanded details, and... got them. Because she's Les, and that's what she does.
So Les told Mrs. K. everything she knew, and it really helped Mrs. K. a lot. The difference was immediately noticeable. 1) He had been with friends. 2) He had fallen from the back of a boat that was barely moving. 3) His fall had been witnessed, and noticed. 4) He had been immediately pulled from the water. 5) He had been given CPR for over a half an hour, by his buddy who was certified in CPR. 6) All eyewitness accounts confirmed that he had neither struggled nor appeared in any distress-- he hadn't suffered. 7) The coroner suspected strongly that some sort of acute event had occurred prior to the fall-- either a heart attack or a stroke, or something along those lines.
So, to sum up, it had not been some kind of stupid accident. It had been something terrible that probably would have killed him even if it had happened while he was sitting on the couch watching TV. Everyone there did everything they could; he didn't suffer, and he didn't lie in the freezing cold water for any amount of time.
You can imagine how much comfort a widow just coming out of shock could take from that. So when later in the day, the man who had pulled him out of the water came by to visit, and confirmed everything the coroner had said, for Mrs. K. the worst was over and she could begin to handle the situation. At least she knew.
And that night they got his body to the funeral home, so she and her children could see him.
To be truthful, the worst is probably ahead of her. I got a glimpse of that when I went to Mass this morning with her, and realized that she and her husband had gone every Sunday to this service and had stood in precisely that spot and had held hands precisely that way during the Our Father. She began to cry silently as I held her hand during the Lord's Prayer, and didn't let go until after the Sign of Peace. I only wished I knew her better, and that she felt closer to me, so that I could have offered her some more comfort than the poor amount I could give. Thirty years of a wonderful marriage, and then two days of wake and funeral, and then what?
So Dave's sister has quit her job and withdrawn from all her classes and bought an open-ended plane ticket and will be there as long as Mrs. K. needs her. Which is a godsend; Dave just can't get that much time off.
Sigh.
I just feel like I need a goddamn vacation.
So this is me venting, and please, if you read it, try to put yourself in my shoes and think about how much a whiny bitch like me had to restrain herself for so long. I've even resolved not to whine at Dave when he gets here.
We'll see how well that lasts.
So here are my totally inappropriate, selfish, stupid, shallow feelings on all of this. I've done everything I can for the family, including leaving them alone for now; I understand that nothing I feel can be as bad as what they're feeling, and nothing I'm coping with is nearly as hard as what they're coping with. However. I'm not doing that, so I'm doing this: being selfish. It's my prerogative, and you're reading a livejournal so what did you expect?
Hmm... petty things.
#1: I feel like Dave's dad was nicer to me than his mom was. I like Dave a lot: well enough to feel that his family's opinion of me is important, and I just haven't been getting good vibes from Dave's mom. Dave's mom seems to sort of run people through a screening process before she accepts them with open arms. I haven't passed whatever test it is yet. She's just a more reserved person. Fine. Maybe his dad did too, but not as noticeably. Anyhow, he was nicer, and now he's gone, and I'm despairing of ever being accepted by his mother. It just makes me want to lie down and cry, which I may well do when I'm done with this. What else have I got to do? I have to leave for work in seven hours and Dave's not here and I haven't gotten a snuggle of any kind in about 5 days, except from the dog and she wasn't that interested anyway.
#2: I've now taken more sick/personal days from work than I actually have. I was planning on saving up my sick days for a vacation with Dave to someplace fun. But now... he'll have to spend all his spare time being a good son to his bereaved mother, and so those plans are shot all to hell. Phooey. I won't get a vacation after all. I've just had what counts as the absolute opposite of a vacation-- far more stressful than work, and I got almost no sleep because I was up late, but due to where I was sleeping, I was awake as early as the earliest person in the house because I was right next to the kitchen and could hear the lightest footstep or beep of a microwave or even sneeze. So I got about 5 hours' sleep a night, and spent about 5 hours a day crying, and didn't really eat much.
The one upside is that I've lost another four pounds. So the secret for me is to not exercise, eat stupidly, and not sleep. Good to know.
Yeargh.
#3: I dunno, what is #3? Oh, that I can't whine to Dave? I started to... I called Darius' cellphone and was telling Dave about how I had to pee for four hours and couldn't. But I got cut off, and nobody tried to call me back, so I'm stuck alone and unloved here. I'm feeling isolated and unwanted but it's my own stupid fault because I didn't have anything worthwhile to say anyway.
I'm so lonesome, but don't really want visitors. Bleh. I want my mommy. I want to phone my mommy, but have no reason to, plus it's the middle of the night.
Sigh.
So, in short, this week sucked and it has to NEVER happen again, right? Never.
Ick. Bleh. It's time for me to go lie in bed alone and sniffle and feel sorry for myself and leave me alone; I held off on the self-pity for a really long time. At least, for me. So there.
Mind you I'm talking about a week that started out with me and dave running out of gas in the rain on the outskirts of the most unsympathetic town ever to grace the center of nowhere, which was then topped by dave's dad inexplicably falling out of a boat and drowning.
So.
It just went from there.
I spent the delightful trip back scribbling handwritten letters that turned into livejournal entries because no sane human would want it sent to them, but one might come and read it if one knew what one was getting into.
My ride home, by the way, was not with Dave; no, he's staying a few days longer with his mother. Like the good boy he is.
I, having no bereavement time coming to me because I'm not actually part of Dave's family (you don't have to remind me; I've been reminded a couple of times. No fear), had to come back today. So I cadged a ride with his cousins to Philadelphia, which was fine. Except that i was squished into the backseat of a Celica, the backseats of which are not intended for adult humans. Not adult humans with legs, anyway. My legs aren't long, but they didn't fit. Six hours like that, then I rode a train to Trenton, a train to Penn Station, a cab to Grand Central (it was recommended strongly to me as really the only way to not kill yourself on a sunday night at 9 pm) and then another train. The first two trains were, of course, heavily populated with screaming children. Y'know, I still don't find them cute. Why do people have them?
In the midst of that, I got a phonecall from Darius, who I then gave Dave's family's number-- he wanted to visit dave and me on his way back from some weird trip to niagara. so later i called darius, who was coolly unsympathetic to me and passed the phone to dave, who said two sentences and then the cellphone cut out. so by the time i got on the last train, i was feeling too sorry for myself to write anymore.
before you laugh at me for being so self-pitying, please just do me the favor of reading about how i spent this week. i was so good. at least i tried so hard to be good. i really, really, really did. i tried not to whine at all. i couldn't help crying, and generally being the doof that i am, but i really, really, really tried to not be a twit. i may not have succeeded but i did the damned best i could.
I spent this week trying my damnedest to be everything a good daughter-in-law or whatever I would be were there law involved should be, while also trying to be everything a good acquaintance should be. I tried to be there when Dave needed me, because I know I'm that close to him, but not be there when his mother didn't want me to, because I know fine well I'm not that close to her. Ditto for his sister and her husband. They've met me once; I'm barely above a stranger. There's no need for me to be included with the immediate family in that circumstance. I've met Mr. & Mrs. K. like four times if that. So I shouldn't be there when it's just immediate family.
However, I am Dave's companion, whatever else you call me, and therefore I should be there for him.
Of course.
Jesus.
Naturally, the two are not particularly compatible.
It was fucking impossible.
But I truly, earnestly spent the week trying not to feel sorry for myself. And so, here follows me not being sorry for myself.
We got there on Wednesday evening (before supper) and things were just awful. Poor Mrs. K. was doing her best but nobody could tell her anything, and she didn't undesrtand how her husband-- a safe boater, strong swimmer, and experienced fisherman-- could possibly drown doing something he'd done a billion times, and nobody would tell her how this could be, and she didn't even really know where he was or who he was with because he went on fishing trips all the time and she just didn't pay attention anymore.
Dave's sister arrived and was about the same-- they're strong women, but how can you even cope with that situation? So they did what tasks could be done with great strength, along with Dave, but then what could they do but be absolutely devastated? It was just awful, and I had no idea what to do.
The next day things were a little better. I was given a task-- to put nicely lettered labels on the photographs they'd selected for the memory boards. So I did that task as well as I could and spent a ludicrous amount of time and effort on it.
What really made the difference, I think, was Mrs. K's brother's girlfriend calling from Ontario. She's a doctor, and is high up in Ontario's Ministry of Health, I think. I know she's been working intensively on the SARS thing. She's a very strong-willed woman (and isn't too popular within the family, because she can be overbearing. However, as you'll see, this definitely has its place, and she is now elevated to a much higher position of respect within the family-- they now realize how important it is to be like that sometimes) and knew someone very high up personally-- someone the coroner also knew. So she called up the coroner who did Mr. K's autopsy and demanded details, and... got them. Because she's Les, and that's what she does.
So Les told Mrs. K. everything she knew, and it really helped Mrs. K. a lot. The difference was immediately noticeable. 1) He had been with friends. 2) He had fallen from the back of a boat that was barely moving. 3) His fall had been witnessed, and noticed. 4) He had been immediately pulled from the water. 5) He had been given CPR for over a half an hour, by his buddy who was certified in CPR. 6) All eyewitness accounts confirmed that he had neither struggled nor appeared in any distress-- he hadn't suffered. 7) The coroner suspected strongly that some sort of acute event had occurred prior to the fall-- either a heart attack or a stroke, or something along those lines.
So, to sum up, it had not been some kind of stupid accident. It had been something terrible that probably would have killed him even if it had happened while he was sitting on the couch watching TV. Everyone there did everything they could; he didn't suffer, and he didn't lie in the freezing cold water for any amount of time.
You can imagine how much comfort a widow just coming out of shock could take from that. So when later in the day, the man who had pulled him out of the water came by to visit, and confirmed everything the coroner had said, for Mrs. K. the worst was over and she could begin to handle the situation. At least she knew.
And that night they got his body to the funeral home, so she and her children could see him.
To be truthful, the worst is probably ahead of her. I got a glimpse of that when I went to Mass this morning with her, and realized that she and her husband had gone every Sunday to this service and had stood in precisely that spot and had held hands precisely that way during the Our Father. She began to cry silently as I held her hand during the Lord's Prayer, and didn't let go until after the Sign of Peace. I only wished I knew her better, and that she felt closer to me, so that I could have offered her some more comfort than the poor amount I could give. Thirty years of a wonderful marriage, and then two days of wake and funeral, and then what?
So Dave's sister has quit her job and withdrawn from all her classes and bought an open-ended plane ticket and will be there as long as Mrs. K. needs her. Which is a godsend; Dave just can't get that much time off.
Sigh.
I just feel like I need a goddamn vacation.
So this is me venting, and please, if you read it, try to put yourself in my shoes and think about how much a whiny bitch like me had to restrain herself for so long. I've even resolved not to whine at Dave when he gets here.
We'll see how well that lasts.
So here are my totally inappropriate, selfish, stupid, shallow feelings on all of this. I've done everything I can for the family, including leaving them alone for now; I understand that nothing I feel can be as bad as what they're feeling, and nothing I'm coping with is nearly as hard as what they're coping with. However. I'm not doing that, so I'm doing this: being selfish. It's my prerogative, and you're reading a livejournal so what did you expect?
Hmm... petty things.
#1: I feel like Dave's dad was nicer to me than his mom was. I like Dave a lot: well enough to feel that his family's opinion of me is important, and I just haven't been getting good vibes from Dave's mom. Dave's mom seems to sort of run people through a screening process before she accepts them with open arms. I haven't passed whatever test it is yet. She's just a more reserved person. Fine. Maybe his dad did too, but not as noticeably. Anyhow, he was nicer, and now he's gone, and I'm despairing of ever being accepted by his mother. It just makes me want to lie down and cry, which I may well do when I'm done with this. What else have I got to do? I have to leave for work in seven hours and Dave's not here and I haven't gotten a snuggle of any kind in about 5 days, except from the dog and she wasn't that interested anyway.
#2: I've now taken more sick/personal days from work than I actually have. I was planning on saving up my sick days for a vacation with Dave to someplace fun. But now... he'll have to spend all his spare time being a good son to his bereaved mother, and so those plans are shot all to hell. Phooey. I won't get a vacation after all. I've just had what counts as the absolute opposite of a vacation-- far more stressful than work, and I got almost no sleep because I was up late, but due to where I was sleeping, I was awake as early as the earliest person in the house because I was right next to the kitchen and could hear the lightest footstep or beep of a microwave or even sneeze. So I got about 5 hours' sleep a night, and spent about 5 hours a day crying, and didn't really eat much.
The one upside is that I've lost another four pounds. So the secret for me is to not exercise, eat stupidly, and not sleep. Good to know.
Yeargh.
#3: I dunno, what is #3? Oh, that I can't whine to Dave? I started to... I called Darius' cellphone and was telling Dave about how I had to pee for four hours and couldn't. But I got cut off, and nobody tried to call me back, so I'm stuck alone and unloved here. I'm feeling isolated and unwanted but it's my own stupid fault because I didn't have anything worthwhile to say anyway.
I'm so lonesome, but don't really want visitors. Bleh. I want my mommy. I want to phone my mommy, but have no reason to, plus it's the middle of the night.
Sigh.
So, in short, this week sucked and it has to NEVER happen again, right? Never.
Ick. Bleh. It's time for me to go lie in bed alone and sniffle and feel sorry for myself and leave me alone; I held off on the self-pity for a really long time. At least, for me. So there.
this is from kat
Date: 2003-05-19 07:50 am (UTC)Yeah.
Date: 2003-05-19 03:36 pm (UTC)I miss him so much, though. I'm so out of the habit of being alone... I can't believe he'll be gone another week. I mean, of course he will be; if I think about it, I can't believe he thought he could manage to come home any earlier. But still... Quite apart from logic, I was consoling myself with the thought that he'd be home soon and we could have some quality snuggle-time. I've become so spoiled.
Whine, whine whine, whine, whine. Woe is me. I'm going to go eat reheated, week-old tuna casserole, and drink fruit juice and feel sorry for myself. The best time to be a total nitwit is when nobody's around to see what a niwit you are.