Beth Dylan and the case of the curious catalyst.

Posted by Beth Dylan on Feb 3, 2009 in Blog, Introspection | 1 comment

I don’t think I’ve ever been a person to have the most healthy or normal reactions to significant changes in my life. I shied from the responsibility of being 4 years old by requesting to have an un-birthday, I vandalized bits of my new house after moving out of the apartment my family had lived in for a few years, I’ve repeatedly punched the tile floor in my bedroom when I was angry, pawned or destroyed items that were given to me by an ex-boyfriend when things went really sour between us, and just been harmful to myself in general on several occasions.

My uncle just called my dad about 10 minutes ago, and after he hung up he told us “Mom’s dead.” My grandmother, Mimi, maybe the only person in my family I was ever truly honest with, just passed away. And the first thing I did after we all gave each other hugs was log into WordPress and start writing this. It’s a vast improvement considering what I sometimes do, but it’s unusual nonetheless. And even more unusual, I feel totally unaffected by it. And don’t start with the psychobabble about expressing grief and stuff, cuz I know it all and also know it’s wrong.

But I saw her today and she was all dehydrated and unresponsive and hopped up on morphine and all I could do was talk to her. I know that she’s been ready to go for a long time, so today, after everyone that was visiting had left, she went too. My dad left our house to pick up our uncle that lives the next neighborhood over and they’re going to be with the body until hospice does its thing. And I’m here, writin’ for The Tit.

She was a deeply religious woman since I’ve known her, so I know what she was waiting to happen and I have no worry for her. And I know the family knows she’s been waiting outside the gates of heaven and St. Peter’s just been like “I’m sorry, but you’re not on the list” for several months now. So she’s in the club gettin’ jiggy with Jesus and I’m pretty happy for her. And I know this sounds weird, but I was thinking–not 10 seconds before my dad got the call (no exaggeration whatsoever, I was in the kitchen making tea and walking back with it at the time)–that I hope she goes soon. We had all said our goodbyes, so why not? And sure enough… I don’t want to sound all insensitive or anything, but I’m glad it’s over. Waiting is the worst part of that sort of stuff, and I think that everyone was ready to let her go. I’m not sure where she is, but she’s not lingering in her earthly husk of a body any more.

I’m both sad and glad for my brother who opted to not see her today, because instead of seeing her all limp and doped up, he saw her all happy and smiling last Tuesday when we scraped together a flag ceremony to celebrate her time in the Army.

I doubt I’ll cry much or at all, and that if I do cry it’ll be during the services we have for her since there will be other criers around. She was a wonderful woman who served me as a fountain of advice and knowledge, who treated me and talked to me as an independant person and never as a child, and without whom I might possibly be a vastly different individual.

Nobody lives forever, so it doesn’t make sense for me to mourn the loss of someone who was ready and prepared to go. I know I’ll mourn more for the survivors, since not all of them will be as capable of rationalizing and coping as I believe I am. The burden of death is borne by the living, and when each of us dies it’s finally our turn to be free from the obligations. We just gotta buck up and keep plodding along.

I think I’m going to get back to playing WoW and not watching the rest of Ocean’s Eleven since neither of the others up here feel much like laughing at the moment. I don’t think there’s ever a time where it wouldn’t be advantageous to be in a good mood, so I’ll probably occupy myself with something cheery while I wait for them to cope. Grieving is a marathon, not a sprint.

I promise to write again soon. I’ve felt woefully bereft of my muse, so writing isn’t as easy as it was last semester. Maybe I ought to start taking weekly bus rides to get a periodic dose of crazy so I can start being productive again.

Until next time, folks.