So sorry your Mother in Law is dead - here's $30

OMG - I so do not mean disrespect to my family in anyway but it's so funny that I just have to point out the difference between the midwest and any place else on the planet.  Or maybe it's just that the south does it their own par- tic- ular way (I'm southern now - not by birth but by choice - makes me a bit of a bastard I think) but hey - your MIL died - she was worth more than Rockefeller - here's a $20 to take the edge off.  I love my sweet family.  You can't ship a green bean casserole but by God $20 travels just fine.  I don't quite get it but yet - I do.  It's the "I can't help she died - but here's something I can do!" I love it so much it makes me want to hug them all so sweetly - and I guess that was the point.  But fact of the matter is that it was not MY personal mom who died so I am just a bystander in this particular parade.  I am trying to take this whole experience with a huge grain of salt to be as unbiased as possible - but really - it is what it is and life and death hit us all at different points and places.  I find it sweet and humbling.  Thank you all.

"Hey how's it going?"

where's my f'n money?  Okay so when family starts calling a week after the body is actually cold - family you don't ever talk to.  Like, ever.  And they are asking, "so how's it going?" it's very much code for, "hey asshole when do I get my cut of the old lady we kicked to the curb a while back . . . . "  Yeah not cool - so well - in death as in life there are loopholes and details.  In life in you have to deal with them  - BUT in death some other stupid bastard has to.  In comes Roger.  Yeah it's messy.

flowers

The flowers started coming Saturday 2pm.  They were so pretty and smelled amazing - a very stark contrast to the smells that had normally filled the front of our home.  Roger's nose had blocked the urine smell that filled the downstairs I didn't have that particular gifting so I smelled it and wanted to cry.  I could do nothing more than ask that she try to make efforts to wear certain garments.  It was strained at best - horrific at worst and all I wanted to do was cry and run.  But this was my house.  No matter who helped it's purchase - I should feel at home in my own house and I did not.  I was trapped on the second story and really didn't want to make my way down - I knew I was behaving badly - I should want to spend time with her - but she had burnt bridges that I could not find energy to rebuild. 

She really was an amazing person.  I wish I had known her as an aunt - friend - church goer - anything other than family.  She had such an amazing life - was in Heroshima with her husband - Chief of Surgery - Oscar Posey Howard - right after the bomb dropped to help.  She was there - not really to do anything medical just the wife of someone helpful - but she was there.  It counted.  I can't imagine that life but well it was her's to live and live it she did.  I am not going to stand here in judgment but (don't you love the - I won't say but Jesus - here I am saying) she was an observer that was so the ugly american.  When I heard the stories it was littered with "and those "Japs" did this . . . " yeah.  I need a minute. 

She was demanding at best and a complete bitch at her worst and now that she's gone I miss the hell out of her.  Don't get me wrong.  My house is for the first time in a year - my house.  I can breathe.  It's mine.  But I do actually factually miss her.  We went to the bookstore and I unknowingly bought a book for her.  She doesn't need it today.  Nor does she need neosporin that I felt I was stealing today for my finger.  Mary is dead.  Mom is gone. She doesn't need any damn thing from me.  It's Mother's Day.  And I am happy to have my house back, but - really, as irratating as she was - I miss her.  Pass the peanut butter and jelly - and there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting for her. 

Driving Mrs. Mary or Why I sucked caring for my MIL

FUCK! It was the first time I had ever heard my father utter those words and really? hey he worked in a factory.  It took a special man to never ever say bad language around his children that was bantered about like skittles during the day - but it was that sole word that stopped me dead in my tracks and to this day I really am glad I can still have sex.  I saw what he saw.  It was the girl parts of a Jesus only knows how old woman exposed to the world.  My world - his world.  It was not pretty and only one word summed it up.  Fuck.  THAT is why I am where I am.  Read on.  It gets better.