Poor grams was so worried about not having enough time to get ready that she didn’t sleep most of the night and woke up at 5:00AM. The instructions for her test were to arrive hydrated. Which she misunderstood and got out of bed multiple times through the night to drink Gatorade. (SHEESH.) When grams does not receive adequate sleep she gets pretty loopy. The night of “hydration” and worry about the test sent her a bit over the edge.

All morning long (and most of the afternoon) Grams could not stop talking about Corrina Corrina, which we watched the previous day. Grams was up most of the night trying to solve the problems of Corrina Corrina because that’s what she does: solve problems (of fictional characters instead of getting much needed sleep). We talked A LOT about what she saw in the movie that needed fixing: little Molly needed playmates but was not ready for school, atheism, and smoking is bad. The hardest part about all of this is sometimes letting her talk on and on about something I see as pointless or a waste of time. It’s all very draining. But it’s where grams is in life and I just keep doing my best to let her say and do whatever she needs to do. I think maybe we should continue watching what we can find of old Cary Grant movies and stick to oldies. Though she still manages to fixate on things with old movies too. Ah, as grams says, “It’s a heck of a life.”

Right now I’m feeling like ten year old me. I wish that I didn’t get so incensed when I see injustice. Why aren’t the people around me upset when they witness felonies within our own family? Everyone says crap like, “No harm no foul.” Well, I say fuck that! A felony is a felony.

Life would be a lot easier if I cared a little less. But then I guess I wouldn’t be me. So I’m just sitting here, taking deep breaths, getting ready to be around my family tomorrow and not lose my shit.

He was 92 when he died and grandma will soon be 90. His rapid aging and health issues greatly overshadow the fact that grandma is only 2 years younger than him. He was a difficult man; he was not the most caring or considerate and this seemed to get worse as he aged. I would not have made it through helping to care for him into death if not for my kind and loving grandmother. I’m not sure if she’s an angel or insane, or perhaps a bit of both. (I’ve also started to wonder the same of myself!)

Modern medicine and science have been keeping grandpa alive for a very long time: he was on his fourth or fifth pace maker and had regular blood transfusions for more than a decade. Initially, just a few times per year but before going onto the hospice program in November he received 7 units of blood within 3 weeks. His body was just not able to keep him alive anymore.

The hardest part was watching him die while grandma made excuses for his controlling and manipulative behavior. He couldn’t do anything by himself, not even go to the bathroom. She would shuffle behind him once or twice an hour when he would declare, “I have got to go!” I could see the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes as she would shakily stand from her pink recliner but she rarely talked about it. As much as possible I ran around fetching things for him to save grandma’s aching arthritic legs and knees. Lots of microwaving his “friend” (wheat filled heating pad), grabbing phone, preparing and serving his meals, housework, paying household bills, gardening, preparing his medications, etc.

I have so much more to say and explain but I’m feeling exhausted from the week, so perhaps I will write more later. I’m looking forward to his funeral service on Tuesday and having the funeral preparations and stress end so I can start helping grandma recover and heal from her exhaustion.

After telling my mother that I wanted to write a very carefully worded letter to Walt Disney thanking him for promoting the myth of fairytale weddings she told me that most brides give their mothers more responsibility so they don’t have to be all freaked out. It’s funny because I thought putting my mother in charge of making and transporting all of the food, coordinating borrowing tables, chairs, and tablecloths was a lot of responsibility. But apparently it is not enough because she continues to make shitloads of spreadsheets about everyfuckingdetail and lives for long conversations about table placement that make me dream of suicide. I don’t know what else to give her unless she wants to wear my wedding dress.

I just reread the previous paragraph and I am a total bitch! Which our good friends S and V told me is permitted. They said Mike and I both get a behavior “pass” this week. (But after the wedding they’ll start making a list – HA.)

S also saved me from my mother yesterday after the ridiculously overstressed transportation of the tables and chairs to the cabin. He jumped in and helped with discussing details I lacked the brainpower (or desire) to address. And at the end of the day when we were at S and V’s house, being fed delicious vodka cherry concoctions, S perfectly summed up the day of watching our families interact when he said, “There are too many cooks in the kitchen!” Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about mentally checking out and spending most of my day taking deep breaths and playing solitaire on Facebook.

It’s been a while since my mother entered the world of Facebook. I knew she was using (HA, HA) because she kept mentioning it in when I was around without specifically asking me why we weren’t friends because that’s how my family rolls: dysfunctional!

After months of ignoring passive aggressive Facebook chatter, this morning I received a friend request from my dad. He and I have always had a different relationship than my mother and I and it took me about two seconds before deciding to accept his request. I feel a little bad. This isn’t exactly news since I make feeling bad a hobby. HELL, I’m a damned professional! I don’t know if it is from my religious upbringing or my middle-child-ness, but if I were a super hero my power would likely be GUILT.

So now I feel like I should go through my Facebook crap and clean things out so as not to offend my parents, which is how I rationalized not being connected to them on there before, but I don’t want to have to watch who I am or pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m the foul-mouthed middle child who posts suggestive pictures of myself with Brigham Young statues or makes vomit hand signals while holding a Holy Temple book in the middle of the LDS section of the local bookstore. I also rant and rave about weirdness and living in Utah gives me PLENTY to rant about.

How many of you are connected to your parents on social networking websites? Am I the only one experiencing parental anxiety? HELP!

Sure I could have taken classes while working (which I did) but it never got me anywhere. The thought of starting over and being able to attend school full time was the first thing that got me thinking about Utah. During my 2007 Memorial Day visit it was my little niece who stole my heart and sealed my decision to move. I have four other nieces but had never lived near any of them. Seeing how adorable my little eight-month-old niece was and realizing how much of an impact I could have on her life by being a regular part of it persuaded me to move.

I also didn’t want to one day regret not spending time with my parents while they are still around. I had a conversation with one of my uncles about how much he regrets not spending time with his parents when they lived in the same town because he was too busy working. I don’t want that to be me.

Even though I gripe about the liquor laws and fry sauce, I am glad that I made the move. I love seeing my niece and sister. We have a much closer relationship than ever before, I see my parents enough that they drive me crazy (sometimes), and I have met many fabulous new friends.

The biggest change, one that I wouldn’t have believed even if someone had told me, was meeting Mike. I have never felt as happy and secure in a relationship as I do with Mike. Certain things make sense that didn’t before and I am so happy to have clicked on (hello internet dating!) my true partner. He understands so much of the Mormon bullshit I grew up with because he is a non-Mormon raised in SLC. Plus he’s sensitive, hilarious, has an equally twisted sense of humor, and he’s a total hunk! I am thrilled for the next 46 days to fly by so we can be husband and wife.

Before I was realized I need to hold off worrying for a little bit, I had a complete breakdown. Which I think is an understandable reaction to receiving a large bill as a result of the miscarriage. I don’t think my reaction would have been quite so extreme if I weren’t already having some pretty serious financial problems…not knowing how I’m  going to pay for my current bills, partly as a result of taking time off because of the  miscarriage = stressful times infinity.

When I emailed my mother about the billing mess I told her I hoped my insurance would pick some of it up (AHEM, all of it) because opening a bill for the removal of our no longer viable fetus just seemed cruel upon the horror of everything else.

To which my mother replied: “You will eventually have to stop using statements about your baby that inflame your emotions. Think of nurturing statements to be good to yourself. Wrap a little blankee around yourself.”

I know my mother was just trying to be helpful, but COME ON! It’s been only been two weeks. I’m allowed to say whatever the fuck I want. I can use whatever statements I want about my no longer viable fetus (which I even toned down for her – I have no qualms working my way through my insurance phone tree repeatedly asking why they aren’t covering the removal of my dead baby from my uterus). Besides, that is EXACTLY what happened. The medical term is missed abortion: intrauterine pregnancy is present but is no longer developing normally with fetal demise prior to 20 weeks’ gestation.

My mother and I have always dealt with things differently. I have a more out-there approach to dealing with sadness and trauma. My mother will write two page emails with detailed descriptions of Sunday drives: white puffy clouds and how they look upon a blue sky, the way the road winds through the mountain, which wildflowers are in bloom and how many she pressed for later use, the book on CD they listened to, animals they may have passed, etc.. At the very end of the email she will include an incomplete sentence letting me know that my father’s bladder cancer* has recurred and he’ll be seeking treatment for it. F that.

So that was how my week, how was yours?

*My dad is currently fine; I was just using this as an example of our different methods of coping and communication.

He held up like a champ under a perverse and strange round of something my sister called “Getting To Know You” but was more like an intensive 25 point inspection. I sat down in between him on the couch and a herd of my female relatives ranging in age from 2 to 64 and he said something about needing to create a word estro-sault. He’s pretty fucking incredible.

My grandma is in the hospital. I went by after work and spent a few hours with her, kept her company until she was moved her from the ER to a room. She was really sweet and asked me all sorts of questions about my man. I had a nice time visiting with her; I only wish it were under better circumstances. She’ll probably be in the hospital until the weekend. Tomorrow they’re going to do an endoscopy so hopefully we’ll know more. Please keep my grams in your thoughts and prayers.