Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Storm after the Calm
It seems I've lost Sister of the Year again. Man, how do I do that? I am __________ (insert name of your favorite Oscar-snubbed actor here) when it comes to daughter, sister, or aunt of the year. Yesterday during study hall, I received a text from my mother. "Heads up. Vic is upset. Call me on my cell." This made me long for the days when one didn't know instaneously that someone was really pissed.
When I found time to talk to her, I learned what I had done. I told Vic after we sold the house that I would take a personal day and go to the lawyer's to take care of what needed to be taken care of for the inheritance taxes. She was relieved. Vic has very little sick time at the moment-- Dad, her bout with MRSA, and her kids' bouts with MRSA have drained her available time off. She hasn't been with the Agency very long, but I have 120 sick days and 3.5 personal days which I was happy to use to help her in any way. This was something I could do, this was a clear way I could help. I was happy. (Of course, I was happy to be able to pay the freaking $800 to get rid of that house, and look how well that offer was received.)
Vic mentioned that the inheritance taxes could be offset by our nursing home and funeral expenses. I told her, "When you gather up that paperwork, let me know, and I'll take care of it." I reiterated my position at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's. "Let me know when you have those papers ready." She wasn't sure of our timeline-- 9 months after the death or after the sale of the house. "Let me know," I said. The lawyer is a friend of her husband.
She didn't. Instead, when my mom arrived at Vic's house to babysit, Vic stormed around. "Now I have to go to the lawyer why do I have to ask her it has to be done by Thursday no one would help me this summer don't talk to me about this summer ..."
"Didn't Chrissy say to call her when the stuff was ready?" my mom asked. Vic shouldn't have to call me, it appears. She's not my mother, you know.
My mother tried to stick up for me, citing the fact that Vic did indeed have help this summer, but she wouldn't exactly allow people to do much. My brother-in-law tried to help, too, saying, "Vic, just call Chrissy. She said she'd do it." They had a big fight about it. Everyone has been rather reluctant to say much to Vic, to say anything that might upset her. That doesn't leave much, unfortunately. That's why I hadn't called to ask her about the paperwork. I was afraid it would appear that I was nagging. I didn't want to pressure her.
The best part is that I can't really call Vic about this, as my mom doesn't want to get in trouble for telling me. (We're all afraid, see?) I did send an email-- It's just about nine months after Daddy passed. Do we need to do the inheritance now or nine months after the house sale? I can go to the lawyer's any day this week. I haven't heard back.
I'm not rolling over. I don't want to fight, never do, but this is ridiculous. She's had a really hard time with Dad's death, and every time we came to an end of something was dramatic-- the end of the house, the headstone, and now this, the very end of it all.
Meanwhile, I got an iPod, and people are right when they say they don't work all that well with PCs. Damn. We got more RAM, but it's not helping much. My computer is five years old, and it came with a maximum capacity of 1 gig, so I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. When we got the computer, we didn't have a digital camera, didn't do Facebook, didn't have an iPod. Didn't really have a virtual life.
Today's a snowday, and I really haven't had anything but a virtual life. I should go be productive or something. Really.
When I found time to talk to her, I learned what I had done. I told Vic after we sold the house that I would take a personal day and go to the lawyer's to take care of what needed to be taken care of for the inheritance taxes. She was relieved. Vic has very little sick time at the moment-- Dad, her bout with MRSA, and her kids' bouts with MRSA have drained her available time off. She hasn't been with the Agency very long, but I have 120 sick days and 3.5 personal days which I was happy to use to help her in any way. This was something I could do, this was a clear way I could help. I was happy. (Of course, I was happy to be able to pay the freaking $800 to get rid of that house, and look how well that offer was received.)
Vic mentioned that the inheritance taxes could be offset by our nursing home and funeral expenses. I told her, "When you gather up that paperwork, let me know, and I'll take care of it." I reiterated my position at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's. "Let me know when you have those papers ready." She wasn't sure of our timeline-- 9 months after the death or after the sale of the house. "Let me know," I said. The lawyer is a friend of her husband.
She didn't. Instead, when my mom arrived at Vic's house to babysit, Vic stormed around. "Now I have to go to the lawyer why do I have to ask her it has to be done by Thursday no one would help me this summer don't talk to me about this summer ..."
"Didn't Chrissy say to call her when the stuff was ready?" my mom asked. Vic shouldn't have to call me, it appears. She's not my mother, you know.
My mother tried to stick up for me, citing the fact that Vic did indeed have help this summer, but she wouldn't exactly allow people to do much. My brother-in-law tried to help, too, saying, "Vic, just call Chrissy. She said she'd do it." They had a big fight about it. Everyone has been rather reluctant to say much to Vic, to say anything that might upset her. That doesn't leave much, unfortunately. That's why I hadn't called to ask her about the paperwork. I was afraid it would appear that I was nagging. I didn't want to pressure her.
The best part is that I can't really call Vic about this, as my mom doesn't want to get in trouble for telling me. (We're all afraid, see?) I did send an email-- It's just about nine months after Daddy passed. Do we need to do the inheritance now or nine months after the house sale? I can go to the lawyer's any day this week. I haven't heard back.
I'm not rolling over. I don't want to fight, never do, but this is ridiculous. She's had a really hard time with Dad's death, and every time we came to an end of something was dramatic-- the end of the house, the headstone, and now this, the very end of it all.
Meanwhile, I got an iPod, and people are right when they say they don't work all that well with PCs. Damn. We got more RAM, but it's not helping much. My computer is five years old, and it came with a maximum capacity of 1 gig, so I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. When we got the computer, we didn't have a digital camera, didn't do Facebook, didn't have an iPod. Didn't really have a virtual life.
Today's a snowday, and I really haven't had anything but a virtual life. I should go be productive or something. Really.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The Calm after the Storm
Professor Girl thinks I should update my blog. I think so, too. I'm not sure there's anything blog-worthy going on in my life. That in itself is blog-worthy, I guess, when I consider the nightmare of a year 2008 was.
I must be a person who doesn't write unless something is bothering her, eating at her, worrying her, angering her. My dad was like that too, for the most part. When Vic and I started cleaning out the house (shudder) we found journals, as I mentioned in other blogs. I stopped reading because he sounded so unhappy. I felt guilt, remorse, horror. Then I felt deja vu. If anyone ever reads my journals, they'll think the same thing: man, this chick is whack! Journals aren't meant to be read in most cases. Maybe they are simply meant to be written? I wonder.
So, things are calm. Dad's house is sold, and there was no reason for me to chip in money towards the Nice Family's closing costs in order to make the whole thing happen. I still feel it would have been the right thing to do as opposed to letting the house sit empty for months and paying heating costs and taxes. Vic still disagrees, but it doesn't matter now. Trip really likes his new job in Groundhog Town, and once he even said to me, "I'm looking forward to work tomorrow." He's pretty much happy all the time. Except the holidays. Baby steps.
This past Christmas even unrolled with little to no grief, guilt, or gut-wrenching. I'm not having any of it anymore. That's what's changed about me. My dad's death made me realize that I have choices when it comes to family. I am a grown up. If Other People want to clench up in angst over things like this, fine. I don't think I'm going to anymore. We'll see.
My mom had surgery on her hand in November, which made the holidays difficult for her. She had decided over Thanksgiving that she wasn't doing a big Christmas meal, just sandwiches, appetizers, etc. (That sounded great to us. What I hate about Christmas is the Show, the insistence that everyone be in the same place at the same time, the belief that the holidays cannot occur otherwise.) When Vic and her family were not there as soon as my stepfather got home from work, my mom started.
"Well. They're not here. Neither is your (step)brother." The rest sounded something like this~ I told them what time we're not important to him when Pop dies we'll never see him it's his girlfriend she thinks we're stupid and not worthy of her time....on and on and on.
"Mom, it doesn't matter. You said at Thanksgiving that this was why you're doing it this way. They'll get here when they get here. Let's eat." We did. They arrived soon thereafter. A great time was had by all.
This weekend will give me another chance to practice my new zen. Trip's dad and stepmom are hot to have a birthday cake for his brother Carlin and watch the playoffs. We were supposed to go to Rock City and meet friends, but a foot of snow got in the way. Guess what! This means we are now available to travel 4o minutes one way to eat cake we don't need and watch the game on a small t.v. "Didn't we just do this?" Trip agonized. We're going to just say no, thanks. Maybe next time. At least that's what I hope we say.
On a last note, Dad now has a headstone, a headstone that will need to be removed and redone. It says Daddy, Pap-Pap, Brother, and Sons. Can't anything associated with that man go smoothly for me? Other than that, we like the headstone very much. Vic designed it. I thought she was doing her micromanaging thing again, told her that they were the professionals, they surely arranged the info in the best way possible. Ultimately I wasn't as prepared to die on that mountain as I was for the house sale, so I just shut up. You know what? She did a much better job.
After my aunt, Queen Jesus, visited the cemetery with her family, she emailed Vic and me. She was concerned that the stone didn't have the dates of his birth and death, just the years. People wouldn't know he was 56, not 57, when he died, his exact number of days on earth are very important, maybe the monument people could change that when they got rid of the S on sons. She even suggested some ways it could be done.
"You want me to handle this?" I asked Vic on New Year's Eve. We spent it together to make sure 2008 really left.
"Would you?" she sighed. Maybe she's changing, too.
I emailed Queen Jesus, telling her we were happy with the way the stone turned out. We thought it best captured Dad's roles and interests without being overly cluttered. Period.
I wasn't struck by lightning. Hell didn't open up and swallow me. She didn't write back and say "I wouldn't want to be disagreeing with my aunt when Jesus came back." Yay, 2009.
I must be a person who doesn't write unless something is bothering her, eating at her, worrying her, angering her. My dad was like that too, for the most part. When Vic and I started cleaning out the house (shudder) we found journals, as I mentioned in other blogs. I stopped reading because he sounded so unhappy. I felt guilt, remorse, horror. Then I felt deja vu. If anyone ever reads my journals, they'll think the same thing: man, this chick is whack! Journals aren't meant to be read in most cases. Maybe they are simply meant to be written? I wonder.
So, things are calm. Dad's house is sold, and there was no reason for me to chip in money towards the Nice Family's closing costs in order to make the whole thing happen. I still feel it would have been the right thing to do as opposed to letting the house sit empty for months and paying heating costs and taxes. Vic still disagrees, but it doesn't matter now. Trip really likes his new job in Groundhog Town, and once he even said to me, "I'm looking forward to work tomorrow." He's pretty much happy all the time. Except the holidays. Baby steps.
This past Christmas even unrolled with little to no grief, guilt, or gut-wrenching. I'm not having any of it anymore. That's what's changed about me. My dad's death made me realize that I have choices when it comes to family. I am a grown up. If Other People want to clench up in angst over things like this, fine. I don't think I'm going to anymore. We'll see.
My mom had surgery on her hand in November, which made the holidays difficult for her. She had decided over Thanksgiving that she wasn't doing a big Christmas meal, just sandwiches, appetizers, etc. (That sounded great to us. What I hate about Christmas is the Show, the insistence that everyone be in the same place at the same time, the belief that the holidays cannot occur otherwise.) When Vic and her family were not there as soon as my stepfather got home from work, my mom started.
"Well. They're not here. Neither is your (step)brother." The rest sounded something like this~ I told them what time we're not important to him when Pop dies we'll never see him it's his girlfriend she thinks we're stupid and not worthy of her time....on and on and on.
"Mom, it doesn't matter. You said at Thanksgiving that this was why you're doing it this way. They'll get here when they get here. Let's eat." We did. They arrived soon thereafter. A great time was had by all.
This weekend will give me another chance to practice my new zen. Trip's dad and stepmom are hot to have a birthday cake for his brother Carlin and watch the playoffs. We were supposed to go to Rock City and meet friends, but a foot of snow got in the way. Guess what! This means we are now available to travel 4o minutes one way to eat cake we don't need and watch the game on a small t.v. "Didn't we just do this?" Trip agonized. We're going to just say no, thanks. Maybe next time. At least that's what I hope we say.
On a last note, Dad now has a headstone, a headstone that will need to be removed and redone. It says Daddy, Pap-Pap, Brother, and Sons. Can't anything associated with that man go smoothly for me? Other than that, we like the headstone very much. Vic designed it. I thought she was doing her micromanaging thing again, told her that they were the professionals, they surely arranged the info in the best way possible. Ultimately I wasn't as prepared to die on that mountain as I was for the house sale, so I just shut up. You know what? She did a much better job.
After my aunt, Queen Jesus, visited the cemetery with her family, she emailed Vic and me. She was concerned that the stone didn't have the dates of his birth and death, just the years. People wouldn't know he was 56, not 57, when he died, his exact number of days on earth are very important, maybe the monument people could change that when they got rid of the S on sons. She even suggested some ways it could be done.
"You want me to handle this?" I asked Vic on New Year's Eve. We spent it together to make sure 2008 really left.
"Would you?" she sighed. Maybe she's changing, too.
I emailed Queen Jesus, telling her we were happy with the way the stone turned out. We thought it best captured Dad's roles and interests without being overly cluttered. Period.
I wasn't struck by lightning. Hell didn't open up and swallow me. She didn't write back and say "I wouldn't want to be disagreeing with my aunt when Jesus came back." Yay, 2009.
