another 90 days and we can see the end

[threeplusfire]

For once, something went smoothly. Despite some jerky moments last week we made it to court yesterday morning. We were the first case on the docket so it all went faster and better than I had hoped. My father's friends showed up, all the papers were signed, the judge signed off on it. So now I can administer the petty bureaucratic details of my father's death. In another 90 days or so, this should be over. Our lawyer laid out the plans for dealing with his medical debt, posting appropriate notices and such.

Relief. This is going to end. The shitty paperwork side of things at least.

The court date has brought home the fact that I have dealt with everything by not dealing.

But it took me a long time to deal with the grief of other wounds, other deaths. I'm hitting the anger buttons hard right now. White hot, visceral anger about so many things - how my father and I failed each other, the complete fucking disaster that is family. How is anyone supposed to go back to a high pressure work situation after spending days cleaning out an apartment that smells like rot and decay and death? There are still things in my garage six months later that have that sickly sweet whiff of death to them. Anger that my father died in really fucked up circumstances, that so much in his life was tragedy. Anger about all the things I will never be able to understand or explain or deal with.

My father was angry I didn't call. I was angry that my father never called, that the burden of keeping things together always fell on me. I don't remember the last time my father mentioned my birthday. It was sometime in my twenties. I always bought him birthday presents, always marked that date. It was always my responsibility to contact other people and I'm a terrible son for not doing it. But when the fuck did anyone ever reach out and ask if I was okay? When did anyone make the effort to see me? Fuck.

I need to go to the gym and lift some heavy weights and then run until I can't anymore. This rage and sadness needs a physical outlet, and the gym is probably the safest way to deal with that.

I really don't know how to get better, just to keep moving.

Comments

[splix.livejournal.com]

It's only natural to want to be acknowledged as a fellow human being, and you're not terrible for deciding not to keep banging into a brick wall.

[tsarina.livejournal.com]

I had a conversation not too long ago, about how my maternal grandparents are in assisted living due to their various health issues. (Which is good, because they need support and community and they are in a nice place because they can afford it.) The comment was made that it took them some years to stop asking about me. There's an implication that I've caused grief to my family members by being away and choosing to absent myself from the tribe. But really - people had my phone number or email address. There were ways to contact me. I'm aware some of them even read this blog.

My grandparents are also of a generation that I don't think would understand transgender issues at all. Maybe I don't give them enough credit there, but I never told them that I was pretty gay either. Frankly it makes me die a little inside to be treated like the girl I am not after doing some hard soul searching and getting to a place where I could come out. I don't want to lie about myself or my life and I don't want to be a dick to my grandparents.

I was thinking about this, and the only time anyone from my extended family contacted me was in the year after I cut off my mother. It was one of my aunts and she wasn't concerned about me so much as she wanted to tell me how awful I was being to my mother.