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thessalianEveryone's been really nice to me since I told them the news. Mostly they don't know what to say because they're afraid it sounds trite and meaningless in the face of things, and I get told that they're there if I ever want to talk. Except I'm not sure I do. I wonder what makes them think that I have anything less trite and meaningless to say on the matter than they do. After all, death and grief are two things that you just can't encompass in words properly, no matter how good you are. The concepts are too huge, the loss too great. All you can ever do is be there, and you all have been. Thank you.
I don't really like talking about it. I know what will happen if I do -- I'll start talking and then I'll start to cry. Early training again; I got told time and time again as a child not to cry unless the circumstances were dire, and since I was very young, I didn't know which circumstances were dire. When things like my pets dying or the fear that my mother didn't love me anymore weren't dire, it didn't feel like anything was, so it was safer just not to. I trained myself out of it, for the most part, and while I'm getting over that by degrees, crying hurts worse than the thing that made me cry. It's worse when I do it in front of other people -- crying's weak, and I'm not supposed to do weak. So I cry on my own, behind closed doors, feeling like it's going to kill me. I can live with that for now.
What I can't live with is grieving for my grandmother, crying over her loss, and hearing my mother's voice inside my head saying, "Don't you start. You don't deserve to cry about this". She said that a few hours before my grandfather died; there were other issues piling up on top of watching Grampa die of cancer and when she told me she knew about the issues and started berating me about them, it all just overflowed and I started to cry. She told me I didn't deserve to. That I had to be strong, as if by not crying and being everyone's rock I would make up for being the disappointment of a daughter I had turned out to be. So I did. We went to the hospital and visited, I went out for something to drink, and when I came back he was dead, and I didn't cry. Not at the hospital, where I comforted everybody else; not at the viewings, where I made polite small talk with relatives I didn't even know I had; not even at the funeral, when I was the only one who noticed Auntie Mickey's fear and took her up to say good-bye even though I didn't want to be anywhere near the empty shell that once held my Grampa. What I wanted didn't matter, and neither did what I felt. I finally cried for Grampa six months after his death, drunk from two consecutive Christmas parties, and Grampa deserved more than that. But now I can cry for Nanny but still hear my mother saying I don't deserve to cry, and a part of me reckons that the little voice is right.
I cry over this for a lot of reasons. I grieve because I miss her. I feel terrible that I didn't get to say good-bye. The loss is compounded by the fact that I don't have a single thing of hers or anything she's ever given me to keep with me as a token of her. But honestly, when you think about it, whose fault is that? I was the one who divorced myself from my entire family. I made that choice for what I thought were the right reasons, and now I have to suffer the consequences.
There's no going back, you know. I know I can't have a relationship with my mother; she poisons me and I hurt her and it's all a mess. I can't have a relationship with my father either; he seems to regard me as a convenience that he can pick up and put down as it suits him. Nanny might have been able to bridge things over time, particularly if I'd got up the nerve to ring her next month. Even when I was young and she was drunk, she always told my mother not to be so hard on me. She loved me unconditionally and protected, coddled and nurtured me, same as Grampa did -- they were the only ones who ever did, and because of that, they were the only people I could take it from. Grampa's been gone for years and now Nanny's gone, and I don't know what to do. They were the last people on earth I could be a kid in front of, to whom I was still their baby and content to be so (well, sometimes), because everyone else was either condescending, disappointed or both.
I know it's silly and childish, but I miss being their boo-boo. I miss the cheap tacky plastic kiddie presents and tacky T-shirts with cutesy animals on them I got every Christmas and birthday of my life. I miss the birthday cakes shaped like animals and people and such that Nanny made until I was ten, even though I didn't like eating them because they were covered with coconut I could never bring myself to tell her I hated because she tried so hard to make it special. I miss her standing between me and Mum, telling me I didn't have to eat my carrots and turnips if I didn't want to -- "it's Christmas, Sandra, leave her alone". I'd give a lot for one last Christmas back in that horrible tiny little flat in a not-so-salubrious part of Montreal, with that God-awful light-up plastic Santa on the front porch (since stolen by a bunch of little rat-finks) and the elaborate Nativity scene and snowscape set up on the bookshelves and the tiny plastic tree with the presents under it. It didn't matter how the holiday ended up; it was always special when we went in. Coming in from the freezing cold of a Montreal December to a well-heated house and the smells of cooking was ... well, a blessing, really, eclipsed only by the joy in Nanny and Grampa's eyes when their bright spark of a daughter and their only grandchild walked into the room. We've gone so far away, Mum and I. Mum ran and dragged me with her to a place where she felt safe, and then I didn't feel safe there and ran some more. Now it's just me. It's very lonely. But again, I made that choice and it's my own fault, so I don't see any point in complaining about it now. Doesn't mean I don't miss them, or that I wouldn't give anything for just one more Christmas, but there's no use complaining over it.
I can cry, though. I don't care if it hurts or if that stupid mother-voice at the back of my head tells me I don't deserve to. Maybe I don't deserve it and maybe I do; that's not the point. The point is that they deserve it. Nanny and Grampa deserve my grief, and my tears, and all the love I can send them wherever they are. I won't rob them of that for the sake of my emotional dysfunction.
The thing is, I still have a hard time crying in front of other people. Even if I could, I'm not very good at reaching out to people or admitting to anyone that I need anything. I've managed emotional hell alone for too long for reaching out to come naturally to me. I'm not forgetting I have people to lean on; I just can't do it easily. Which is why I'm posting this stupid journal entry. If I could talk about it with you without crying, this is what I'd say. I feel grief, and disappointment in myself, and some abandonment, like that 'inner child' that everyone keeps babbling about has nowhere to turn. And I guess she doesn't. The voices that consoled the little version of me used to be Nanny and Grampa's ... but now they're dead. Sure, they'll live on inside my heart and everything, but they'll never really be there again, with the loving arms and the coddling and ... oh, all those things that grandparents are supposed to do. Fine, they were drunk for most of my childhood and there were arguments and me hiding in the living room a lot and the whole thing was often a dysfunctional mess ... but they tried, and they loved me. There was a shortage of that feeling when I was young, and it's hard to lose it now.
I think I've 'talked' enough. Thanks for 'listening'.
I don't really like talking about it. I know what will happen if I do -- I'll start talking and then I'll start to cry. Early training again; I got told time and time again as a child not to cry unless the circumstances were dire, and since I was very young, I didn't know which circumstances were dire. When things like my pets dying or the fear that my mother didn't love me anymore weren't dire, it didn't feel like anything was, so it was safer just not to. I trained myself out of it, for the most part, and while I'm getting over that by degrees, crying hurts worse than the thing that made me cry. It's worse when I do it in front of other people -- crying's weak, and I'm not supposed to do weak. So I cry on my own, behind closed doors, feeling like it's going to kill me. I can live with that for now.
What I can't live with is grieving for my grandmother, crying over her loss, and hearing my mother's voice inside my head saying, "Don't you start. You don't deserve to cry about this". She said that a few hours before my grandfather died; there were other issues piling up on top of watching Grampa die of cancer and when she told me she knew about the issues and started berating me about them, it all just overflowed and I started to cry. She told me I didn't deserve to. That I had to be strong, as if by not crying and being everyone's rock I would make up for being the disappointment of a daughter I had turned out to be. So I did. We went to the hospital and visited, I went out for something to drink, and when I came back he was dead, and I didn't cry. Not at the hospital, where I comforted everybody else; not at the viewings, where I made polite small talk with relatives I didn't even know I had; not even at the funeral, when I was the only one who noticed Auntie Mickey's fear and took her up to say good-bye even though I didn't want to be anywhere near the empty shell that once held my Grampa. What I wanted didn't matter, and neither did what I felt. I finally cried for Grampa six months after his death, drunk from two consecutive Christmas parties, and Grampa deserved more than that. But now I can cry for Nanny but still hear my mother saying I don't deserve to cry, and a part of me reckons that the little voice is right.
I cry over this for a lot of reasons. I grieve because I miss her. I feel terrible that I didn't get to say good-bye. The loss is compounded by the fact that I don't have a single thing of hers or anything she's ever given me to keep with me as a token of her. But honestly, when you think about it, whose fault is that? I was the one who divorced myself from my entire family. I made that choice for what I thought were the right reasons, and now I have to suffer the consequences.
There's no going back, you know. I know I can't have a relationship with my mother; she poisons me and I hurt her and it's all a mess. I can't have a relationship with my father either; he seems to regard me as a convenience that he can pick up and put down as it suits him. Nanny might have been able to bridge things over time, particularly if I'd got up the nerve to ring her next month. Even when I was young and she was drunk, she always told my mother not to be so hard on me. She loved me unconditionally and protected, coddled and nurtured me, same as Grampa did -- they were the only ones who ever did, and because of that, they were the only people I could take it from. Grampa's been gone for years and now Nanny's gone, and I don't know what to do. They were the last people on earth I could be a kid in front of, to whom I was still their baby and content to be so (well, sometimes), because everyone else was either condescending, disappointed or both.
I know it's silly and childish, but I miss being their boo-boo. I miss the cheap tacky plastic kiddie presents and tacky T-shirts with cutesy animals on them I got every Christmas and birthday of my life. I miss the birthday cakes shaped like animals and people and such that Nanny made until I was ten, even though I didn't like eating them because they were covered with coconut I could never bring myself to tell her I hated because she tried so hard to make it special. I miss her standing between me and Mum, telling me I didn't have to eat my carrots and turnips if I didn't want to -- "it's Christmas, Sandra, leave her alone". I'd give a lot for one last Christmas back in that horrible tiny little flat in a not-so-salubrious part of Montreal, with that God-awful light-up plastic Santa on the front porch (since stolen by a bunch of little rat-finks) and the elaborate Nativity scene and snowscape set up on the bookshelves and the tiny plastic tree with the presents under it. It didn't matter how the holiday ended up; it was always special when we went in. Coming in from the freezing cold of a Montreal December to a well-heated house and the smells of cooking was ... well, a blessing, really, eclipsed only by the joy in Nanny and Grampa's eyes when their bright spark of a daughter and their only grandchild walked into the room. We've gone so far away, Mum and I. Mum ran and dragged me with her to a place where she felt safe, and then I didn't feel safe there and ran some more. Now it's just me. It's very lonely. But again, I made that choice and it's my own fault, so I don't see any point in complaining about it now. Doesn't mean I don't miss them, or that I wouldn't give anything for just one more Christmas, but there's no use complaining over it.
I can cry, though. I don't care if it hurts or if that stupid mother-voice at the back of my head tells me I don't deserve to. Maybe I don't deserve it and maybe I do; that's not the point. The point is that they deserve it. Nanny and Grampa deserve my grief, and my tears, and all the love I can send them wherever they are. I won't rob them of that for the sake of my emotional dysfunction.
The thing is, I still have a hard time crying in front of other people. Even if I could, I'm not very good at reaching out to people or admitting to anyone that I need anything. I've managed emotional hell alone for too long for reaching out to come naturally to me. I'm not forgetting I have people to lean on; I just can't do it easily. Which is why I'm posting this stupid journal entry. If I could talk about it with you without crying, this is what I'd say. I feel grief, and disappointment in myself, and some abandonment, like that 'inner child' that everyone keeps babbling about has nowhere to turn. And I guess she doesn't. The voices that consoled the little version of me used to be Nanny and Grampa's ... but now they're dead. Sure, they'll live on inside my heart and everything, but they'll never really be there again, with the loving arms and the coddling and ... oh, all those things that grandparents are supposed to do. Fine, they were drunk for most of my childhood and there were arguments and me hiding in the living room a lot and the whole thing was often a dysfunctional mess ... but they tried, and they loved me. There was a shortage of that feeling when I was young, and it's hard to lose it now.
I think I've 'talked' enough. Thanks for 'listening'.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 04:42 pm (UTC)...My lack of god.
Y'know, over on
Never let anyone tell you that you don't deserve to cry, or to have any other honest feeling. You're better than that. You're better than her.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 06:14 pm (UTC)Her own mother -- my Nanny, who was hardly scared of anything -- was intimidated by her until the day she died. And as for me ... well, I'm her only daughter. I am scared of her, and I hate her sometimes, and there's the fact that I nearly killed myself to escape her ... and to escape the person she turned me into.
And she knows it. And now, when she has the time and the security and wants her family back, she can't have it, and it's her fault as much as anyone's. And she has to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.
That enough comeuppance for you?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-27 03:09 am (UTC)That enough comeuppance for you?
Yes. It may not be exactly the comeuppance I'd have wished for her (that would involve getting to experience what she dished out from the POV of the recipients), but it's probably as close to it as we're going to get, here on this silly Earth plane. And, since I don't know about any other realm of existence, it fills the bill quite nicely. (I don't remember if you ever saw my evil grin, but I suspect you can imagine it on my face right now.)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 05:55 pm (UTC)And the person who said your mother was wrong is right.
Hugs.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 06:20 pm (UTC)Hey, that's what we're here for. *hugs*