Good Grief

NOTE - I never published this post, written two days after my real mothers death, as everything was so crazy and up in the air and changing every few hours, but as I reread it today I felt as though I needed to post it. At some point I will sit and write out my thoughts and feelings of the journey we took back and those final goodbyes to not only her but to much of the pain of the past.  Until then.... 

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Well, I thought I was going to KC. I thought I was going to do this whole "closure" thing with my brother and 4 sisters. I thought I wanted/needed to do lots of things...but in the end, I think maybe I was wrong.

When I got the news that my birth mother had died I was so surprised at the emotions I had over it all.  I really didn't think I cared that much.

Link To The News Coverage KMBC

It seemed to be the same with my brother and 2 of my sisters. We were all a little taken aback I think. I honestly don't think any of us thought we would give a shit, but I've said all that in my previous post so I won't be redundant. Go read that rambling mess for yourself.

After much back and forth with my brother and sister #1 we all decided we needed some sort of closure. I was going to fly to St Louis and my brother and I would drive up to Kansas City and we would all get together to view her body and go to her apartment - just find some form of closure in whatever way we could.

The nice thing was that we had never all been in the same place at the same time. Not only that but sister #1 and sister #2 have never actually met in person, so it would be extra special. 

I scrambled to get a plane ticket, made the purchase, packed a bag and was ready to leave - nope. I was told not to come because the coroner wasn't going to release her body till maybe later in the week. No point in coming if it won't happen. 

I called the medical examiners office to find out the details and to get an idea of when we may be able to come by. I spoke to a couple people who told me that the body was ready to be released but there would be no way we were allowed to view her there.  Wait, what?

Apparently television shows and movies are complete fucking liars and there is absolutely nobody allowed to see, or identify, bodies in the morgue. No glass you can stand behind while they wheel the body over and fold down the sheet exposing the head of the deceased. Lies - all fucking lies. The first person I spoke to, btw, had me on speaker phone and I'm like 87% sure she was working on a body at the time - and probably eating a sandwich. I mean, movies can't be ALL lies, right? 

(side note - I have to admit I was just the slightest bit disappointed at that. I do tend to have a pretty morbid fascination. I know, I know...it's totally inappropriate and wrong and I'm ashamed. This is the wrong situation to be thinking about going to the morgue and seeing all the lockers with bodies in them. Shame, Sharon, shame.)

I cancelled the flight, left my bag packed, and waited. Should have got trip insurance I guess, huh? But, you know, when the flight is leaving in less than 12 hours you pretty much, usually, know you are going to go. $200 penalty, yuk

There was not going to be a funeral because nobody was going to pay for it, so they (siblings 4 & 5, and maybe the estranged husband?) were going to donate her body to science. The coroners office told me that the only way to actually see her body was at a funeral home. The science people would take possession of the body via a funeral home and would then allow us to have a small viewing before they took her body away but it had to be done within 5 days of death, which would be Tuesday. I would need to fly out by Sunday to have Monday to get together.

Only, they wouldn't take her, because her tissue sample came back positive for Hep-B.  sigh....

So, we are back at square one.

But really, at this point, I'm not sure I need to do all that anymore.  I don't need to keep dragging it out. I can't keep putting my life, and work, on hold just waiting. And, honestly, I don't really know if laying my eyes upon her face is going to somehow make me feel better. I don't know if standing in her apartment among all of her things is going to really make me feel connected to her - and really...do I need that? I didn't have it before and I was doing just fine....

Sibling #5 is, apparently, having a fairly hard time with all of this. Understandably. She was the one who had the closest relationship with her mom. Even though GeorgeAnne was a shitty mother, #5 still loved her. I get that, maybe more than anyone else can. Even through all of the things that happened with my grandfather, I loved him more than anything. He was all I had and I knew no better.  I was completely devastated when he died. I totally understand it.

I also understand that all of our experiences with her were vastly different. Some of us really had very little interaction with her during our lives. I think, besides siblings 4 & 5, I might have had the most interaction with her, and it was all mostly as I was coming into adulthood, so I was keenly aware of just how completely fucked up it all was. I mean, I had issues, but I looked like a saint next to her at that point.

Which is also probably why sibling #5 really hates my blog posts about it all. So, Sibling #5, I'm saying this directly to you - this is my life, these are my experiences and feelings. Yours may be different - and that is okay. You may tell your story how ever you'd like. And honestly, what a story you have to tell. I can only hope, that one day, you do tell it. I wish you nothing but peace and hope that you take all of those experiences and turn them into something positive. 

All I can do at this point is to reflect on the times I had with GeorgeAnne, but I swear to God, every single one of them was just really fucked up. I'm not even joking. But, this is not the time to tell those stories.

I will stay in Los Angeles and I will work through this in my own way. It's not really sadness that I feel. I guess it's remorse? I wish that we had had just a moment where it felt like she cared. Maybe I just wish I had had that one 'motherly' moment with her. Or a moment of her opening up and telling me she regretted things. Or missed me, or thought about me, or was proud that I turned out okay...you know, all that kind of stuff.  No more maybes, right?

My grandmother was not cuddly or motherly like that either so I think it's just a thing I yearn for. 

UGH!!!!

Fuck this sappy shit, damnit.

I hope we all find our own peace with it, I hope that GeorgeAnne finally finds peace. I honestly don't know if she was ever at peace on this Earth, or ever truly happy for that matter. I never got that impression from anyone I've ever spoken to about her. 

It's just really sad. I feel very sorry for her. Nobody should go through life like that. I wish she knew she had value and that she was worthy. 

I do always try to find the lesson in each situation - I really feel that the lesson here is that avoiding my real father is not the right choice to be making and that it would cause me to regret it later in life - I'm thankful to have this chance to build a relationship with him while I can. 

EDIT - 

I did end up in Kansas City, we did end up having a funeral for her, and through it I think we may have found a bit of closure. The entire trip back was a "closing" of sorts.

My husband and I drove out from Los Angeles as we decided since we were going to KC we should  finally go empty out the storage space we had been paying for for 6 years. 

We visited Grandview, my house, my schools, my friends houses, the hangouts, the moments - it was all right there. My house was for sale. It was empty! I absolutely could not believe it. 

I sat on my steps, looked into the windows, and I cried. I cried a LOT! Hell, I'm crying about it right now. Everything in my world was tied to that house in one way or another, the good, the bad and the very very ugly. I was at ground fucking zero.

It was the beginning of a very emotional journey. One I will continue to tell about at another time.

No more maybes

My mother died.
My real mother,
the one who didn't abort me,
not the one who raised me. 

It's funny how you assume you know exactly how you will feel or what you will think about when you find out someone you don't care about dies. 

You actually find out that all along you truly did care. And what you thought wouldn't effect you - actually does.  

And, ouch.
damnit...

For those familiar with my story, in particular the "It Begins With a Baby on a Bus" post, then you are aware of the strained, or rather non-existent relationships I have with my birth parents. 

I actually haven't talked to GeorgeAnne in about 17 years, and when I saw her she had no recognition of who I was.  It was at the time when I met my brother for the very first time. Then, my brother introduced me to my other sister that I never met before. Finally, for the first time in my life - I knew who all my siblings were. There were 6 of us total. By 5 different fathers. She got around. She only managed to keep two of them and both by the same dad, so that was a bonus. But, she was no mother of the year to them either. That does sound rather harsh, to M & J, it was all they knew so I'm sure their feelings over her death are quite different than they are for the majority of us.

Today I got the message from one of my sisters that she had died this morning. Apparently she either fell asleep while smoking or she died while smoking, we aren't really sure. The autopsy is tomorrow. 

The irony is that 3 years ago today I stopped smoking. 

It was a small fire and I guess her body wasn't burned bad. But it must have been a slow news day because the local Fox station carried the story.

My immediate reaction was sadness.
Then I was mad that I was saddened by the news.

Like, why the fuck should I care? She never gave two shits about me, not ever. Even when I was 18 and living with her up in New Hampshire and she kicked me out of their apartment overnight, in the snow, with no car and nowhere to go, and I got pneumonia. I laid in bed for days with 105 fever and had to ask her to please take me to the ER. They literally just dropped me off and left. 

When I was 21 and pregnant with my son, again, I had to live with her because my grandparents had (again) kicked me out of the house. (Sort of a theme, right?) Anyway, I went into labor and like a good mother - she literally dropped me off and left.  Like, I'm about to give birth, I'm alone and fucking terrified and hey, you're about to be a grandma....fuck you.  Ultimately my grandparents came over, took one look at my son and immediately told me to get my shit and get out of there and took me back home. 

We even went to jail together one time, for shoplifting. Even though I'd been to jail before, this time I actually hadn't even done anything.

You get the idea of how it was. 

The news hit me hard. I just wasn't sure how to process it. How to feel and why I was so emotional over the whole thing. 

My husband pointed out that maybe it was because the door was now closed.  That there could never be that "one day..." moment. None of the 'maybe she'll realize...maybe she'll have regrets and contact us....maybe, maybe, maybe. There are no more maybes.

I'm now scrambling to get a ticket back to the midwest, I'm still questioning why the fuck I'm doing this. After talking to my brother and one of my sisters we all seem to feel the same about it. And, for some weird reason, we all just want to look at her. We want to see her shitty apartment. To be in her environment to maybe try to grasp a sense of who she was. To somehow find some closure to these gaps in our lives.

The good thing, well one of them, is that I connected with my siblings again. I'm awful at communication with others. I'm great at posting things on my Facebook, I'm great at liking and reacting to others posts but actually having a conversation? Oh fuck that.  But, we talked and it was nice.

The other good thing is it made me realize that as shitty as my relationship is with my real father, I actually have more of a relationship with him than I did with GeorgeAnne. And if her death hit me - then I can assume I will have some regrets with my real father.

I dialed. He cried. I cried. Things were said. Not ALL the things, but a start of some things. Having him in my life is not the worst thing.  I have enough regrets in my life, I don't need any more. 

I am off to Kansas City in the next day or so.

Not to say goodbye to her,
but to say goodbye to my anger towards her.