Not Just Your Garden-Variety Neurotic Smartass.

And There Was Silence.

I thought that my dad’s funeral went very well, aside from all the horrendous crap that led up to it.  It has been a difficult ride.

My aunt is the co-executor of the will.  This does not in fact give her any kind of power, but apparently she called my dad’s attorney to find out whether it did, because – and I quote – “she didn’t believe I [sic] would pay her back for the funeral” because of course I am a miscreant; and because I had my best friend break into my dad’s locked and apparently keyless file cabinets WHICH SHE KNEW ABOUT AND AGREED WITH (because of course my friends are all degenerates and of course he must have read important files, right?  Sure.  

Needless to say things have been incredibly tense.  I called and left her a voicemail letting her know in no uncertain terms that just because I am not Baptist or a churchgoer does not make me a terrible person who would stiff someone or allow my friends to look through confidential files.  

She immediately got upset and “resigned” as co-executor, saying that she was sure I’d do Just Fine.  

I managed to work out another way to pay for the funeral and now have to pay that person back with the quickness.  

Now that the service is over, she is calling me multiple times an hour to offer her unsolicited advice, but saying, “but you do what you want”.  

It is maddening.  Death plus money equals asshole in a lot of cases and I know this, but I just didn’t expect it to come from my dad’s only sibling who is already wealthy.  

I am trying very hard to let all of this business with her go and concentrate on what needs to be done, but I am out of Pepcid and really want to slap her.  

Why are people so ugly?  It really blows my mind.  

There is a trend on Tik Tok in which horrible, cruel parents pick out a photo of a physically disabled or different-looking person and screech at their spawn, “This is your new teacher!” cackling while their odious offspring scream or cry.  

This is one of the most vile things I have ever heard.  How awful and heartless.  I can’t even fathom how someone could be so cruel.  

There is so much hate and fear in the world already without teaching it to your kids.  

Anyway, my dad has been laid to rest, and aside from the occasional crying jag I’m still feeling very numb.  I think it’s partially because I still don’t k ow how or why he died and can’t wrap my head around that and partially because I still have so much to do with his estate.  

I just can’t believe he’s gone.  It hurts so much that I can’t allow myself to feel it.  It feels awful.  

I have a meeting with the bank on Monday because I am the beneficiary of his accounts and I need to figure out what to do.

I never thought I’d be in this position so soon, and it really sucks.  I’m just trying to keep my head above water and not think about the fact that my dad’s life was cut way too short.  

A Crushing Turn.

I last talked to my father Thursday night. We are trying to sell Jasmine’s old car, and I had a few questions about it.

I didn’t hear from him on Friday or Saturday, so I texted him a couple of times Sunday, and I got no response. I called both his home phone and his cell, and both went straight to voicemail. I was worried despite his stellar health, so I called his sister, my aunt. She came and picked me up, and we went to his house. One of his vehicles was outside. Neither of us had keys, and my aunt didn’t know the code to open the garage. There were three days worth of newspapers on his porch and some packages, and a ton of mail in the mailbox.

We called the police to do a wellness check, and after some time they procured a ladder from a neighbor and they managed to get into a second story window. They came out the front door after a few minutes and asked us to come sit downstairs in the kitchen. I was shaking.

As soon as the cop said “There’s no easy way to say this,” I became hysterical. They told us that my dad had apparently died peacefully in his sleep earlier that weekend.

My father was the picture of good health. He exercised daily and watched what he ate. He took no medication. He never got sick. To the best of my knowledge, he was not exposed to COVID. It makes no sense.

I wanted to go up and see him, but both the police and the coroner told me that I shouldn’t. They said that it would be best to remember him the way that he was. I was crushed. I saw the funeral home staff bring my dad’s body out in a body bag. I have never felt such despair.

How can my vibrant, eclectic, brilliant, hot-headed, karaoke-rapping, inventive dad be gone? Just like that? No warning? Nothing? How can my daughter’s grandpa be gone? I cannot wrap my mind around it.

I sobbed the five hours I was at my dad’s, and I have been weeping since I got home. Sleep is impossible. I don’t know what to do. I have to find his will in order to see what his wishes were as far as a funeral and plan that out. He owns a couple properties, and I have to find out when rent is due. I have to find his phone and get a hold of the lady who schedules his jobs, and also his friends. I have to stop his newspapers and magazines. I have to find his keys.

This feels insurmountable. I feel such a heavy sense of grief. I just want my dad.

Parts Is Parts.

Well, hi! How are you? How are enjoying life in this Trump-led, racist, homophobic, transphobic, pandemic-panicked, insane society? Great? Of course!

Yep. Me too.

I had a total shoulder replacement three weeks ago, and let me tell you, it is the worst surgery I have ever had by leaps and bounds. I have three new parts – a ball, a socket, and an inch-thick bar that is about eight inches long that the ortho literally shoved down the center of the bone in my upper arm. What is that bone called – the humerus? I used to know all the bones before I started banging my head on things. Anyway, it hurts like holy shit.

The ortho cut off my pain meds a week ago without so much as a kiss on the cheek, and life has not exactly been a bowl of cherries since. The pain is so intense that I’ve been puking almost every day, and I am very stiff and swollen. This sling can absolutely die in a fire.

But hey, at least I have a cool scar, right? Right.

Other than that, I have been doing my best to relax, even though I am typically not a relaxed person. Jasmine is taking up my slack by cleaning litter boxes and doing dishes and taking out the trash and cleaning up the house. I don’t miss cleaning, but I do feel kind of useless.

I have got to start writing daily. That’s one thing I can do that doesn’t hurt, and there is no excuse for me not to do it.

Good things: coffee with extra hazelnut creamer, Loki the cat, who fetches without fail and is generally hilarious, cool mornings, and Jasmine having a job.

Things I need: money (always), weed (helps with the pain), contact lenses, patience (to let this crap heal), and sleep.

Things I would love love love to see happen: Trump to lose this election by a landslide, people to rally around the USPS, racism and homophobia and transphobia to be denounced completely, and 65 degree weather all year round. A girl can dream.

I’ll be back tomorrow. Pinky swear. Have a (insert superlative here) day.