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judecorpIt's so refreshing to be able to talk to someone who just "gets it." I mean, that's not to say that friends of mine who haven't lost a parent aren't able to offer sympathy or whatever, but there's something so powerful about someone who's been there. Today while talking to Daina, I mentioned heading down to RI to have someone look at my dad's truck, and she just... got it. That it sucks. A lot.
Daina mentioned that she came home from college (I think that's where she was) to find that her mom had gotten rid of a bunch of her dad's stuff. Nothing important, just clothes and other things that didn't need to be in the house anymore... but that when she came home and it was all gone she just felt so sad about it. And that she couldn't imagine having to do it herself. I don't think I really let her know, but I am incredibly thankful for our conversation. I felt a lot more normal about the whole thing, and, more importantly, a lot more cared for. I guess all it took was someone to acknowledge that it's a really shitty thing to have to go through, sort, and sell your dead father's possessions.
To think that this is practically all I've done with my free time since the 1st of June is simply staggering. I say that I want it all to be over so that I can have my life back, but that is only part of the truth. I want it to be over so that I can stop feeling so effing wrung out all the time. It's just like ripping a band-aid off of a particularly hairy wound every single time I have to go through another piece of his property, or try to arrange some other transaction from 60 miles away, or try to figure out what other part of my life I can sacrifice in order to get more done. At some point, I need to go down and package up the things I plan on keeping for myself - roll up the rug, box the china - and find a place to store it. I still need to sell the bedroom furniture, clear out the rest of the attic and basement, get necessary things to the grandparents, and get the auction people to take all of the collectibles out. It seems like it will never, ever get done and in a couple of weeks this will have consumed 6 months of my life.
I don't know if people really truly /get/ how effed up this all is, how much it runs my life and turns it upside down, how deeply and wholly saddened I am by everything that is going on. Sometimes, when I'm really feeling sorry for myself, I start thinking that no one really cares, but most days I try to acknowledge that maybe people just don't know what's really going on, don't know how truly bad it is. Then the cynical part of me counters that you don't have to know how /truly/ bad something is to check in on someone.
Hell, Coworker Gina's grandfather died on Tuesday night and I've already checked in on her twice, and she's in upstate NY and we're not even terribly close. I do it because it sucks for her, because I care about her, and dammit, because I wish someone had done (is doing) that for me. I think about how many months have gone by without anyone inquiring about how I'm holding up, without anyone offering to take me out for dinner or a drink and just talk about how bad things are, without anyone just plain saying, "Wow, I don't know what to say but I /am/ thinking of you." I get check-ins from some lovely people in Ohio and don't get me wrong, I definitely appreciate it... I just wonder how much easier this time would have been had it happened when I lived there and was surrounded by people who made it obvious that they care about me, people who make it their mission to help out their friends.
Wow, this is sounding even more bitter and whiny that I'd thought. Whoops.
I just feel so ridiculously alone here, not because I don't know anyone but because there isn't a lot of support. One of my coworkers, who moved to Boston from Colombia, recently said that a friend of hers told her that "in Boston, friends are the people who will help you move." I'm not so sure about that. I know that there are a number of very good people here that have helped or would help us move. Is that friendship? I would help almost anyone move if they asked me - does that make me their friend? True, it takes a special someone to be willing to do some hard labor for you, but I'm not sure that constitutes friendship, not as I've always thought of it anyway.
Friendship, to me, is about support, is about someone taking time to make sure you know that they care about you. It's about holding someone up when they're having a hard time standing up on their own, about making an inquiry when you know someone's life is falling apart. It's about asking someone how they're doing and really, truly wanting to know - more than the social formality that it's come to be these days where you're just expected to pretty much say, "fine!" or risk boring people to tears.
I know there are a couple of people out there who understand: Daina, for one, and Lyssa, who also lost her father a few years back and who made sure to call me right away when she heard and just flat out let me know that things were going to suck. But I also know there are a lot of people who don't, who can't imagine that something that happened 6 months ago can still be such a pressing part of my day-to-day even though I am able to complete my day-to-day requirements without much thought. I wish people, even people with the best of intentions, would be able to realize that while it is cute and funny and novel and conversational to talk about how much crap my dad had in his attic, how heavy the boxes are and how random the contents, that it might not be the best party conversation for the person who was throwing her childhood in that dumpster, who had given up not one but perhaps 15 Sundays to such contents and such tasks. Nothing malicious, of course, just further reassurance that you just can't fully get it unless you've done it yourself.
Daina's the first person to openly acknowledge how hard it must have been to have spent 6 months worth of free time poring over my father's life and dissipating it out to auctions, buyers, friends, and relatives. It wasn't until someone gave me exactly what I'd wanted and craved for the past several months that I realized just how much it hurt to have that be missing. Thank you, Daina. I know you called to taunt me with your Catholic guilt but you ended up being a good friend in the process - who'da thunk? ;)
I don't usually write these sorts of major mental mind-dumps anymore but I'm hoping that putting some of this in words will get it the heck out of my brain for a little while. I'm not one to really go around asking people to help me or be there for me or whatever, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Leslie's a whole lot better at this stuff than I am. I wonder why that is.
Daina mentioned that she came home from college (I think that's where she was) to find that her mom had gotten rid of a bunch of her dad's stuff. Nothing important, just clothes and other things that didn't need to be in the house anymore... but that when she came home and it was all gone she just felt so sad about it. And that she couldn't imagine having to do it herself. I don't think I really let her know, but I am incredibly thankful for our conversation. I felt a lot more normal about the whole thing, and, more importantly, a lot more cared for. I guess all it took was someone to acknowledge that it's a really shitty thing to have to go through, sort, and sell your dead father's possessions.
To think that this is practically all I've done with my free time since the 1st of June is simply staggering. I say that I want it all to be over so that I can have my life back, but that is only part of the truth. I want it to be over so that I can stop feeling so effing wrung out all the time. It's just like ripping a band-aid off of a particularly hairy wound every single time I have to go through another piece of his property, or try to arrange some other transaction from 60 miles away, or try to figure out what other part of my life I can sacrifice in order to get more done. At some point, I need to go down and package up the things I plan on keeping for myself - roll up the rug, box the china - and find a place to store it. I still need to sell the bedroom furniture, clear out the rest of the attic and basement, get necessary things to the grandparents, and get the auction people to take all of the collectibles out. It seems like it will never, ever get done and in a couple of weeks this will have consumed 6 months of my life.
I don't know if people really truly /get/ how effed up this all is, how much it runs my life and turns it upside down, how deeply and wholly saddened I am by everything that is going on. Sometimes, when I'm really feeling sorry for myself, I start thinking that no one really cares, but most days I try to acknowledge that maybe people just don't know what's really going on, don't know how truly bad it is. Then the cynical part of me counters that you don't have to know how /truly/ bad something is to check in on someone.
Hell, Coworker Gina's grandfather died on Tuesday night and I've already checked in on her twice, and she's in upstate NY and we're not even terribly close. I do it because it sucks for her, because I care about her, and dammit, because I wish someone had done (is doing) that for me. I think about how many months have gone by without anyone inquiring about how I'm holding up, without anyone offering to take me out for dinner or a drink and just talk about how bad things are, without anyone just plain saying, "Wow, I don't know what to say but I /am/ thinking of you." I get check-ins from some lovely people in Ohio and don't get me wrong, I definitely appreciate it... I just wonder how much easier this time would have been had it happened when I lived there and was surrounded by people who made it obvious that they care about me, people who make it their mission to help out their friends.
Wow, this is sounding even more bitter and whiny that I'd thought. Whoops.
I just feel so ridiculously alone here, not because I don't know anyone but because there isn't a lot of support. One of my coworkers, who moved to Boston from Colombia, recently said that a friend of hers told her that "in Boston, friends are the people who will help you move." I'm not so sure about that. I know that there are a number of very good people here that have helped or would help us move. Is that friendship? I would help almost anyone move if they asked me - does that make me their friend? True, it takes a special someone to be willing to do some hard labor for you, but I'm not sure that constitutes friendship, not as I've always thought of it anyway.
Friendship, to me, is about support, is about someone taking time to make sure you know that they care about you. It's about holding someone up when they're having a hard time standing up on their own, about making an inquiry when you know someone's life is falling apart. It's about asking someone how they're doing and really, truly wanting to know - more than the social formality that it's come to be these days where you're just expected to pretty much say, "fine!" or risk boring people to tears.
I know there are a couple of people out there who understand: Daina, for one, and Lyssa, who also lost her father a few years back and who made sure to call me right away when she heard and just flat out let me know that things were going to suck. But I also know there are a lot of people who don't, who can't imagine that something that happened 6 months ago can still be such a pressing part of my day-to-day even though I am able to complete my day-to-day requirements without much thought. I wish people, even people with the best of intentions, would be able to realize that while it is cute and funny and novel and conversational to talk about how much crap my dad had in his attic, how heavy the boxes are and how random the contents, that it might not be the best party conversation for the person who was throwing her childhood in that dumpster, who had given up not one but perhaps 15 Sundays to such contents and such tasks. Nothing malicious, of course, just further reassurance that you just can't fully get it unless you've done it yourself.
Daina's the first person to openly acknowledge how hard it must have been to have spent 6 months worth of free time poring over my father's life and dissipating it out to auctions, buyers, friends, and relatives. It wasn't until someone gave me exactly what I'd wanted and craved for the past several months that I realized just how much it hurt to have that be missing. Thank you, Daina. I know you called to taunt me with your Catholic guilt but you ended up being a good friend in the process - who'da thunk? ;)
I don't usually write these sorts of major mental mind-dumps anymore but I'm hoping that putting some of this in words will get it the heck out of my brain for a little while. I'm not one to really go around asking people to help me or be there for me or whatever, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Leslie's a whole lot better at this stuff than I am. I wonder why that is.
