Sun Feb
Mon. Feb. 24
Grandma Vera died Sunday morning. I was reading the paper, and I fell asleep on the couch. The phone rang, and I didn't feel like getting up. I let the answering maching get it. There was this little anguished moan and whoever it was hung up. I figured it was Mariachi playing a game. The phone rang again. It was my sister, Bernice. She said Gramma Vera had died and Mom was hysterical. I said, Ok, I would be right down. I sat down. I couldn't think. I read the funny pages. I took a shower. Shirelle called. She wanted to go. I said I thought it would be better if she waited for the funeral. She said she'd wait at the house. It was a delicate situation. Bringing her crazy into it wouldn't help. But cutting her out might maker her crazier. She asked if I would leave a key for her. I said I didn't know I guess ok. I'll leave it under the mat. I made a pot of coffee and poured it in a big plastic cup, and I grabbed my book bag and left without my coffee and forgot to put the key under the mat. Luckily, I remembered to get gas. There was a Sigalert. The 5 and the 60 were jammed. I had to take the 110 to the 105 to the 91. When I got there, the mobile home seemed empty. I walked into Gramma's room. My grandmother was laying in bed, she looked pale but peaceful. My mother was holding her hand crying. Bern and Mardi were in the room crying. My mom found her. They were supposed to have gone to lunch. When my mom called over and got no answer, she had a bad feeling and when she got there and didn't hear Sinatra, she knew, she sobbed. It looked like Gramma was still breathing. My mom went to call the coroner. She asked me to take Gramma's hand. She didn't want her to be alone, she said. Gramma's hand felt dry, but not dead. My mom came back and asked me to go to Brian's Saloon to get my stepfather. "Dryballs!" he said when I walked in. He was having a beer and a sandwich. Jim, his golf partner, wasn't there. I asked where he was. "The ugly head of menopause reared its head at Jim's house this morning." He asked what I was doing. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Vera passed away this morning." He handed me one of his beers and we toasted Vera. He asked how my mom was doing, and I said, pretty good. We drove back to Gramma's. He talked about the first conversations he and she had had when he and my mom were dating. He was still technically married to he ex-wife at the time, he said. Gramma didn't trust him at first. He told her he'd die for my mom. She said, "Well that's more than that other asshole would do," referring to my dad. John and my mom cried together when we got there. The coroner was a peppy guy. I could still see her chest rising and falling. It was sad when they carried her out in the bag. One of the men in black bumped his head on the lamp as he carried her out. When I drove home it was sunset. It was a beautiful day, rays streaked from the clouds. Appropriate glory, I guess. Shirelle was weird when I got back. My dad called.
"Schindler's List" furthered my depression
Mon. Feb. 24
Grandma Vera died Sunday morning. I was reading the paper, and I fell asleep on the couch. The phone rang, and I didn't feel like getting up. I let the answering maching get it. There was this little anguished moan and whoever it was hung up. I figured it was Mariachi playing a game. The phone rang again. It was my sister, Bernice. She said Gramma Vera had died and Mom was hysterical. I said, Ok, I would be right down. I sat down. I couldn't think. I read the funny pages. I took a shower. Shirelle called. She wanted to go. I said I thought it would be better if she waited for the funeral. She said she'd wait at the house. It was a delicate situation. Bringing her crazy into it wouldn't help. But cutting her out might maker her crazier. She asked if I would leave a key for her. I said I didn't know I guess ok. I'll leave it under the mat. I made a pot of coffee and poured it in a big plastic cup, and I grabbed my book bag and left without my coffee and forgot to put the key under the mat. Luckily, I remembered to get gas. There was a Sigalert. The 5 and the 60 were jammed. I had to take the 110 to the 105 to the 91. When I got there, the mobile home seemed empty. I walked into Gramma's room. My grandmother was laying in bed, she looked pale but peaceful. My mother was holding her hand crying. Bern and Mardi were in the room crying. My mom found her. They were supposed to have gone to lunch. When my mom called over and got no answer, she had a bad feeling and when she got there and didn't hear Sinatra, she knew, she sobbed. It looked like Gramma was still breathing. My mom went to call the coroner. She asked me to take Gramma's hand. She didn't want her to be alone, she said. Gramma's hand felt dry, but not dead. My mom came back and asked me to go to Brian's Saloon to get my stepfather. "Dryballs!" he said when I walked in. He was having a beer and a sandwich. Jim, his golf partner, wasn't there. I asked where he was. "The ugly head of menopause reared its head at Jim's house this morning." He asked what I was doing. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Vera passed away this morning." He handed me one of his beers and we toasted Vera. He asked how my mom was doing, and I said, pretty good. We drove back to Gramma's. He talked about the first conversations he and she had had when he and my mom were dating. He was still technically married to he ex-wife at the time, he said. Gramma didn't trust him at first. He told her he'd die for my mom. She said, "Well that's more than that other asshole would do," referring to my dad. John and my mom cried together when we got there. The coroner was a peppy guy. I could still see her chest rising and falling. It was sad when they carried her out in the bag. One of the men in black bumped his head on the lamp as he carried her out. When I drove home it was sunset. It was a beautiful day, rays streaked from the clouds. Appropriate glory, I guess. Shirelle was weird when I got back. My dad called.
"Schindler's List" furthered my depression
posted by johnz at 11:31 AM
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