I honestly think that there's something wrong with me. My aunt died tonight. My dad's youngest sister, wheelchair bound with Cerebral Palsy. She was in her 40's or early 50's, a handful of years older than me. The story I got was that she choked to death. Didn't get more other than my Grandpa has decided not to have a funeral or memorial. He's just cremating her and having her ashes placed next to my Grandmother's in Seattle.
I heard the news and it hurt but it didn't phase me. I went downstairs, made sure my dad was okay. He cried a little but I think I calmed him down because I was so calm. I got him to watch the movie 'Lost in Translation' to get settled before my mom came home. Then I went into World of Warcraft and spent a ton of in game money on supplies to up my alchemy skill. I had promised a friend I'd get my skill up to be able to transmute things and in my brain it was better to spend the time doing something constructive for someone else than to sit here and cry.
I do feel terrible. I didn't know her that well but I don't like knowing that she's not out there. However, yet again, I'm not crying. I heard the news and I was okay. I comprehend it, it's a horrible horrible thing, but that part of my brain that should be breaking down or screaming right now isn't.
This is a recurring theme. I went through some very tough news last year. From the cat to the job (I was on phone calls with team members who were balling their eyes out, but I didn't express a thing) through a dozen other horrifying things that should have ripped my heart out, I didn't cry or lash out. It's not a brag here, I'm concerned. I'm calm. I'm already to move on. It's like I've fast forwarded through grief and I'm sitting here ready to deal with the repercussions of her death and what comes next.
What kind of person does that make me? I mean I'm sitting here honestly wondering what the hell is going on. How much more I can take before I go insane or something. My friend Crissy thinks I should go on a Comedy Central show called 'Distraction' since I handle tough situations so well, but I do get frazzled. I get nuts all the time about little things, but the big things just roll over me.
But is this normal? I don't know. I can't make myself cry, I can't do anything else, so I'll share some memories.
First, the strange stuff. My sister and my aunt share the same name. Not sure why. My mom had wanted to name my sister "Miriah Michelle" but went with "Teresa Ann" instead at the last minute. No clue where James Michael came from, other than this twisted story that I was named after my dad's stillborn brother. He told me this when I was 4 or 5 years old and it screwed the hell out of me for a while. Mind you, he was probably drunk at the time, but still, my sister being named after his sister whose handicap was caused by a brain injury at birth and me being named after his brother who died at birth is just plain creepy.
When my grandma died in 1976 my dad dropped everything and flew from Puerto Rico, where we were stationed in the Navy, to Seattle. I remember the day clearly because the day my grandma died was the day that my dad and I had planned to make the Lincoln log draw bridge. It was on the box and it was the one thing in the world that I had wanted to do for as long as I could remember but couldn't because my dad was always away at sea. We never did get to do it. But that's a digression.
The plan my grandpa came up with was that we'd move back and she'd move in with us. We could take care of her better than my grandpa could. Both parents quit the Navy and we were uprooted to Seattle. As soon as we got a house and were ready for her to live with us, she decided she didn't want to. My grandpa had remodeled the house they were living in and she was staying put.
Like that entire side of the family, she was stubborn and when her mind was made up, it was made up. Until the day she died she did things on her own terms. She was living alone and feuding with the rest of the family. Why? I don't know. That's what that side of the family does. It's screwed up. She wouldn't take help but you know that in her heart she wanted the attention help would have brought. That's a pattern too on that side.
She was a big pro wrestling fan in the 1970's and early 1980's. Because of her handicap she got front row at every arena show and had autographs of every big time star of that era in the Pacific Northwest. I remember the table for her chair had laminated gore-filled pictures of old wrestlers like Ric Flair and Buddy Rose on it. She introduced me to pro wrestling and I always was kind of bummed that we never got to go to a show together since she knew all of my heroes. Selfish, I know, but I was 11 at the time. Kids are allowed to have warped priorities.
I didn't see much of her after that. We started moving around the country. She and my grandfather eventually moved to Louisiana. Then they started fighting and last I heard she was living off the trust fund he had established for her as a kid. She was also fighting with my dad's 3 other sisters over the inheritance money they're all getting once my grandpa dies. It's a battle that has raged for 15 or 20 years now and he's 91 and still going strong.
I'm sad that she's gone. The cliche'd words come out again as I hope she's found peace. She had a rough go of life but she made it through quite a bit and the fact that she was living on her own and on *her own terms* until the end should be something to take to heart when I remember her.
But I'm not crying and that's scaring the hell out of me.
k9
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