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Apr. 21st, 2017 09:31 amMy nightmares lately have been about my mother, or my mother's house. I've had a couple that disturbed me - I would be ordinarily living my life, except that my house was no longer my house. It was my mother's. I'd realize halfway through the day. It just left me with such a feeling of dread.
A friend's post about burials and cremations and such things made me think a lot yesterday. My father's ashes are still in a cardboard box in my house. I haven't figured out how to deal with them because everything that seems "right" is exhausting.
I also realized how much of my decision never to forgive my family centered around his death. No one asked me if I wanted to deal with things. No one offered to help. They all just kinda looked to me to do it. No one offered any care or concern in the aftermath. I mean, my family just expected me to clean out his apartment and deal with everything. Which would be one thing under normal circumstances. But also, they expected me to deal with this when he was dead in that apartment for a week, in August, in Texas. An apartment that was soaked in the smell of a decaying body. I have things belonging to my father in my garage that I haven't touched in more than three years and I still worry they smell like death.
That was the final straw I think. The point of no return. The deaths of my grandmothers, and my family's complete lack of communication about them, were just icing on the cake.
A friend's post about burials and cremations and such things made me think a lot yesterday. My father's ashes are still in a cardboard box in my house. I haven't figured out how to deal with them because everything that seems "right" is exhausting.
I also realized how much of my decision never to forgive my family centered around his death. No one asked me if I wanted to deal with things. No one offered to help. They all just kinda looked to me to do it. No one offered any care or concern in the aftermath. I mean, my family just expected me to clean out his apartment and deal with everything. Which would be one thing under normal circumstances. But also, they expected me to deal with this when he was dead in that apartment for a week, in August, in Texas. An apartment that was soaked in the smell of a decaying body. I have things belonging to my father in my garage that I haven't touched in more than three years and I still worry they smell like death.
That was the final straw I think. The point of no return. The deaths of my grandmothers, and my family's complete lack of communication about them, were just icing on the cake.