Since my last post, things have been moving along in their typical bi-polar fashion, as has become the norm, lately.
I've realized that much of my frustrations stem from the expectations I have of others.
NOT having SOME sort of expectations out of those closest to you, or those who require daily interaction;
I've realized, is simply impossible.
So, then I ask myself, what are reasonable & amicable expectations to have for those particular folks?
And, in the effort of fairness, what are their expectations of me?
This past weekend, I packed up the dog, a change of clothes and my toothbrush; and set off on the new vehicle's maiden voyage up north to visit my family. After several panicked calls from my mom this week venting about my unmedicatable (spell check is telling me that's not a word, but we're gonna go with it) schizophrenic step-grandmother & her concerns that she could very well burn my grandparent's house down at any given moment; the need for me to make a trip up there to deal with things was apparent.
After my sudden decision to move to California, over a decade ago; I had hastily packed up my college apartment and tossed most everything in my grandparent's attic. They live in an old farm house that fortunately had ample room to house my belongings, as well as boxes of family heirlooms from my great-grandmother's house that also got deposited up there when she passed. Now imagine that clutter of boxes, totes, furniture, etc; and add to that tons of my childhood crap (highchair, bassinets, boxes of barbies, toys, etc) that my mom didn't have the heart to part with holding on fiercely to the idea that one day MY children would use and/or appreciate those things; mixed with random storage of my grandparents from when they were physically capable of scaling the treacherous staircase-of-death (as I like to call it); AND some random odds and ends of my mom's and her sister's....
Are you imagining all that? Good. Now put a layer of dust about an inch thick over everything, like a powdery icing to this hoarder's dream, and add a nightmarish amount of ladybug corpses on and around EVERY SINGLE WINDOW in the 3 different rooms of the attic...and you have (drum roll, please!)
The Attic!
Once the decision was made that I would be coming up to essentially get anything of importance out of The Attic before said grandmother could torch the place, my mom continued to express her great concern for the fact that due to her sickness, lack of touch with reality, and seemingly increasing hostile behavior; that she was incredibly concerned that she may try to attack me while I was trucking through the house with a handful of shit. My mom had to work that weekend, and couldn't function as my wingman; and after many reassurances that I could handle myself and promised to carry a weapon on me, just in case; the plan was set in motion. In addition to the stress created from the thought of my very own grandmother, (who, in her properly medicated days, endlessly pushed my ET 3-wheeler around the gravel driveway & participated in nearly every tea party and school lesson I conducted as an only child) possibly "shiv"ing me when I least expected it; mom had also been expressing her concerns over grandma doing something to my grandpa in his sleep or simply him having a heart attack from the stress of all of this. This conversation lead to the confirmation of what I already knew, which was that I will be the one to primarily deal with the final arrangements when my grandpa passes. She simply can't do it, and I accept that.
THAT discussion led to questions pertaining to what arrangements he'd already made himself versus things that would need to be handled afterward.
Now, I know this sounds like a morbid topic; but knowing how paperwork and logistically retarded most everyone in my family is; I knew this was information we needed to have, rather than scrambling around to find it while also dealing with the loss of the most important man in my life.
Needless to say, I was kind of dreading the weekend; but charged forth, full steam ahead.
I got to spend some quality time with Grandpa which I really enjoyed. Saturday morning I was up at 5:30, downed about a pot of coffee, and was in the house, alone with Grandma by 7:30am, to start the purge.
Walking into a dark house full of wonderful childhood memories, to find my Grandma asleep in her wheelchair, in the kitchen...with the oven door wide open...was alarming to say the least.
The thought had crossed my mind that she had heard me tell my Grandpa that I'd be out that morning, and would wait until I got upstairs, let the house fill up with gas, and light a match.
Boom.
Then I came to the conclusion my mom's paranoia had filtered over into my brain, knocked the thought, and secretly vowed to come back and haunt the farm, should I go kablooie.
Then the crazy-organizer in me took over. Five hours later; 3 SUV loads full of shit reclaimed from The Attic & moved into a spare bedroom at mom's, roughly 10lb of crunchy, dead lady bugs sucked up into a shop vac; a brief, stress-filled breakdown triggered after discovering my Curious George stuffed animal that I toted through most of my young childhood (that I thought had been lost/tossed at some point over the years); and several, surprising lucid, conversations with Grandma throughout the day (one of which, where I had to break the news of the break-up w/ M.M., to her)....I can say that The Attic is as clean & organized as it has been in over 25 years.
And she didn't attack me or blow me up.
This I considered an overall success for the day.
Mission accomplished.
Saturday evening & Sunday included several difficult "What arrangements have you made for your death"-type discussions with my Grandpa; while tactfully trying to make the point that we all simply need to be prepared for these kinds of things, as opposed to sounding greedy...not that there's a dime to bicker over in my family, but it's still an awkward conversation to have.
Further solidifying my conclusion that all of my family members are paperwork-retarded; we discovered that:
1. He doesn't have a will. This means that if he goes before grandma, she will inherit the farm, as his spouse.
Have I mentioned that she's completely out of her tits CRAZY right now, and will be for the rest of her days?
If he goes, she NEEDS the safety of an institution (which my grandpa refuses to do); which means she becomes a ward of the state, which means the state claims everything to cover the costs...there are a million other fringe complications (all the other nutball relatives coming out of the woodwork, as they tend to do, to "claim" what they feel is theirs; no designated person to execute final details of the estate, debts, etc) & scenarios that all end in me being completely frustrated that he didn't see the importance (aka: my expectation) and responsibility of having a will drawn up....and still doesn't.
2. He bought cemetery plots 30 years ago, but it took an excessive amount of explaining on my part to get him to understand that I needed some sort of bill of sale PROVING that he purchased them & where they were located. (He seemed to think I could just go tell "the guy at the cemetery" & all would be ok...sidenote: that guy is probably already dead.) He finally dug up a legit Cemetery Deed & with a sigh of relief I xeroxed and scanned a copy.
3. He has a small life insurance policy that MIGHT be barely enough to cover his funeral expenses. Let me add to that, that once he was able to dig the policy out, we discovered that my Grandma is the beneficiary. Yes. Let's put the permanently mentally-unsound person (who directs most of her hate-filled outbursts, at him) in charge of your funeral arrangements.
4. I realized that he keeps all of his important documents hidden in the barn and the truck of his car. I realize that is to keep my grandma from burning or trashing them; but the idea of searching for vital documents in places like that makes me nuts.
Ugh. That whole thing is going to be a total mess, that I dread more than anything.
I just realized my alarm will be going off in 4 hours. And I don't even dread that as much.
With all of the above mentioned details, considered; I did get to spend some quality time with my mom and grandparents, that was actually enjoyable.
Though, the last words from Grandma were that she'd decided she was going to kill herself.
By that point the other personalities had started surfacing mixed in with blaring music and 5 solid minutes of creepy, cackling laughter, prior to that declaration...(sigh)
The lettuce on my shit-sandwich of family dysfunction, was a visit to my Dad's. It's too late to even start on that topic, honestly.
Long-story short, there was a conversation about a sensitive topic, that was promised to me; that ended up being a rushed "just leave it be" response from him, before we were interrupted.
Again, this left me upset and frustrated with his inability to realize my need for clear and direct communication on the subject, that I feel is vital to our relationship.
The drive home was a good 3 hours of processing the previous couple days, and coming to the conclusion that every fucking male in my life is a HORRIBLE communicator.
My only solution is to better convey my need for clarity, and hope to come to an understanding.
I need to wrap up this long-winded entry, to attempt some much-needed sleep.
I read a quote recently that really struck a cord with me. I think I'll close with that thought in mind...
“One of the greatest gifts you can give someone is the gift of attention.” -Jim Rohn
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