An Event

This weekend we had our children baptized.  The ceremony was for all three of them, which made it both chaotic and incredibly special.  I'm still trying to process everything associated with the baptism, including our decision to do it as well as my reaction to it.  I think I'll be writing about this again.  For now I want to say that I am generally fairly ambivalent about religious ceremonies.  For reasons I don't completely understand I was deeply touched by this ceremony, both by the number of friends and family who attended the ceremony and by the reaction of our church community.  I didn't expect to feel anything more than moderately happy that we'd formally introduced our family to the church we've joined.  It was more than that, though.  I can't put it into words just yet, but it was important and good and uplifting.  I went to bed on Sunday feeling as though we'd done something really significant for our children.  What that is remains to be seen, but I'm really happy that we made the decision to have them baptized.

Memories

My parents are fairly young, in their early sixties.  My mother, aside from having bi-polar II, is in fairly good health.  My father is in good health as well, but he has some physical problems that require he use a leg brace, a back brace, and a walker.  Getting around is not easy for my dad.  He uses a shower chair, an elevated toilet seat, and other aids that make life easier for him, at least in their house.  His ability to get around is so limited that he rarely leaves the house.  My parents go to dinner once a week, and they run errands--to the grocery store (where he uses a motorized cart), the drug store, and places like that.  He often goes days without leaving the house, and travel is virtually impossible (well, it isn't, actually, but as he prefers not to use his insurance to get items that would make travel infinitely easier, travel is hard).  That said, my dad's mind is fully functioning.  He reads a lot (although stuff I think is terrible!), he watches the news constantly, and he plays several computer games meant to keep his mind active.  His memory is great, and he keeps track of all his appointments as well as my mom's without a problem.  My mom, on the other hand, forgets a lot.  She claims this is due to her meds, and I think she is right, at least partly.  Lately though, it has become very apparent that she is forgetting a lot, things that I think she should remember, like my sons' ages and their grades, the ages of her other grandchildren, that her father died.  I've tried to talk to my father about my mother's memory loss, but he brushes me off, assuring me she's fine.  I don't think she is though.  I will see her later this month, and I will be observing very closely the sorts of things she forgets.  I'm not sure what I will say or do, but I will be paying very close attention

*I started this post weeks ago, and I just finished it. I have since seen my mother, and my concerns were founded.  I've arranged an appointment for her with her doctor and have scheduled a conference call with her doctor.

Be respectful, an open letter

Dear Family members, 
Please take the time to be respectful of me and my views on social media.  I mean, really, we're family members.  We used to play together, and we recently mourned our grandfather's death together.  Yes, we disagree on everything, except that we actually do like each other.  So please, please, please don't call me stupid or ignorant or an f*ing liberal.  I don't call you any of those things.  I may want to, but I refrain from doing so.  I don't even call people I don't know those things, so I most certainly call someone I love those things.  Definitely not in a public forum.  If you don't like what I post, don't respond.  You'll notice that I rarely respond to anything political you post.  I think it makes for more friendly family gatherings if we stick to commenting on pictures of our children or posts about gardening.  So be kind and respectful.

Thanks,
M.

*I've finally gotten smart and started excluding some people from seeing certain posts.  Really, I don't need the stress.

My grandfather

George and I visited my grandfather last week.  I'd like to say it was a lovely visit.  I'd like to say that George bonded with my grandfather.  I'd like to say I feel like the visit was worthwhile.  Unfortunately, I can't.  My grandfather is miserable.  He is exhausted.  He is lonely.  He is depressed.  He is ready to die.  I think he has been since my grandmother died in 2010.  I think I could handle all of that if he hadn't gotten mean, but alas, he is so unhappy to still be alive that he is unpleasant to be around.  That makes me really, really sad.

The baby I wasn't sure I wanted

In November 2011 I discovered I was pregnant.  We were not trying to get pregnant, and if I'm being completely, brutally honest, I'm still not sure how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened, but the event, as it were, was brief.  It was, in fact, not even completed because, as I recall, Bear woke up screaming literally seconds after it had started.  Following an evening together, with a lovely dinner that Archer made for us and at least two bottles of wine, we had, apparently, done just enough.  Thus, I blame George's conception on one too many glasses of wine, a momentary lapse in judgement, and, well, fate. 

I was less than happy about being pregnant, as I wrote here.  I was, in fact, horrified. I cried for two weeks.  I called my best friend daily, who reassured me that I could manage.  That it would be okay.  That we could afford another baby.  That I had really wanted a third child but convinced myself that I didn't.  After three days of such phone calls, my friend said to me what I had been thinking but wouldn't allow myself to say outloud: "M, if the thought of another baby makes you this unhappy, you don't have to have it."  In that moment, my dear, lovely friend offered me what I couldn't, what I had refused to offer myself: the space to consider what my life would be like without this unexpected third child. 

I imagined life very much like it was: a good life, a happy life.  Working, parenting Bear and Wild Man, being with Archer, traveling.  I talked to Archer, who remained largely silent throughout my emotional turmoil.  I talked to my doctor.  I had bloodwork.  I did the research.  I talked with another dear, dear friend who had made the horrifying, gut-wrenching decision to end a pregnancy over a decade ago.  I made an appointment.  I knew Archer didn't want me to, but I couldn't see a future in which we weren't both so stressed out by work and by finances, struggling to be the parents we wanted to be but couldn't be because we were so constrained by time and by resources.  I couldn't see a happy ending.

Then, my wise, honest, loving friend, who had been through it before she had her children, said, "You will want to keep it a secret, but this is big.  You won't be able to keep it a secret forever.  Somehow, I think, Bear and Wild Man will find out, or perhaps you will want to tell them.  Can you explain it to them?  Can you answer their questions?"  I knew I couldn't.  More importantly, I knew I wouldn't be able to answer my own questions, to address my own what-ifs. I would never be able to believe that Archer, whom I know only wanted me to be happy and excited, had forgiven me. Twenty-four hours later I cancelled the appointment.

Now, well over a year later, George is six-months old.  He is a happy, blue-eyed, wiggly, giggly baby.  He has completed our family.  He is the piece we didn't know was missing. He has transformed each of us in big and small ways, even Wild Man and Bear, who are both more compassionate, a bit more patient, and so loving to him and each other.  Now, I look at him and I get emotional.  But not for the reasons you might think. 

I don't regret that period, that whole horrible, dreadful time when I wasn't sure I wanted him.  I realize now that was part of our journey, his and mine.  His unexpected arrival made me stronger, made me a better mother in many ways.  I'm more protective of my children now, of my time with them; I'm more empathetic and, perhaps, more understanding.  In those dreadful, dreadful weeks--and even in the emotional months after I decided to go through with the pregnancy--I realized that, despite all my fear and worry, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to go through with an unplanned pregnancy.  I don't take that good fortune for granted because not everyone has it.

In those gut-wrenching weeks, I learned firsthand,  something I had always suspected: choosing to end a pregnancy is not an easy decision.  It is not a decision that is made lightly.  It is agonizing and horrific and vomit-inducing.  Those of us who have been in such a position to contemplate such a decision, let alone make it, and go through with it judge ourselves harshly, perhaps daily for a long, long time.  But I know now, again as I always suspected, that sometimes that decision is what is right for that person at that time.  And the many, many women who have to make that decision, are not cowardly or desperate, nor are they cruel or emotionless, as so many people would have us believe.  They are brave.  That is what having George taught me.

The first step

Keeping with my theme, the first thing I need to "let go" is disappointment over certain relationships, namely the one I have with my father.  I could write a lengthy post about my dad, whom I love so very much.  Then I'd end up in tears, and I'd be dwelling on things.  Instead I want to write a few things that I need to remember about my dad that will help me let go of my disappointment about our relationship.

• I am an adult, and I am as  responsible for the state of our relationship as he is.
• My dad is not at the place he thought he'd be in at 64, either financially or in terms of his health.
• My dad comes from a time when the father's primary responsibility was to be the "breadwinner."  For a variety of reasons, he feels like he has fell short in that respect.  Almost everything he does is colored by this belief.
• My dad did not have a good relationship with his own father.
• My dad (who is technically my stepfather) has never lived with children younger than 5 for an extended period of time.  He truly has no idea how to relate to young children.  He also believes children should just do as they are told without question.
• My dad will always rely on my mother to convey things to me; he doesn't want to engage in any sort of emotional exchange because he is afraid I will see him get emotional.
• My dad does the best he can.  Often that isn't enough, but I need to remember that he firmly believes that.

We're home!

Happy New Year, everyone!

We arrived home yesterday after a very early morning flight, a very short layover, and a 2-hour drive.  The children did remarkably well, but then, they tend to travel well as we've done so much of it.  CU Land has approximately 6 inches of snow on the ground.  Wild Man was so excited to see snow that he asked if we could wait to open our Santa presents so he could go play.  As Bear was equally happy to be in his own space, Archer and I agreed.  After playing in the snow for about 45 minutes, Wild Man came inside to get warm and dry.  Then he asked if we could open presents.  He was a bit disappointed we couldn't make homemade pizza for dinner, which is one of our holiday traditions, but we promised him we'd make it one night this week.  He said, "No store bought pizza, Mommy.  We have to make it from scratch!"  All in all, we had a relaxing late-afternoon and evening.

As I steal away a few moments to type this, Bear and Wild Man are "organizing" their new toys.  Our playroom is far from organized, but they are happy.  George is happy to have his things too.  He has spent some quality time in his exer-saucer this morning, and he enjoyed sitting in his high chair last night.  After more than a week sleeping between Archer and me, it will take some work to get him back in  his crib, but I'm not stressing out about anything today.  I'm as happy as my children to be home.

Clutter and unnecessary remarks

Over the last few weeks, both my mother and Archer's mother have called to check on me.  With Yetta, I keep it simple.  I tell her I'm tired, but fine; we're all adjusting well, and no, we don't need anything.  That's my standard line, whether it's true or not.  With my mom, I'm a bit more honest.  In fact, yesterday I was not having a good day.  It had nothing to do with my children and everything to do with the clutter that was threatening to consume my house.

You see, Archer, as wonderful as he is, isn't great about putting things away.  He routinely fixes something and then leaves his screwdriver lying on the kitchen counter for 3 weeks.  That is one example; I could name many others.  I have grown to accept this as a flaw that I cannot fix.  I've tried.  I've tried nagging; I've tried behavior modification; I've tried everything.  So usually I just put the stuff away.  It's easier.  If I get really irritated, I pick it all up and dump it on his desk for him to put away.  And rather than put it away, he will push it aside so he can access his papers and his keyboard.  This leads to lots of minor arguments.  I put something away, and he's sure he left it on top of the refrigerator (which is, apparently, an optimal spot to store tools, loose batteries, belts).  He goes to locate said item, and when he finally deigns to ask me if I know where it is, I tell him, "I put it in your toolbox in the basement because, you know, that's where your tools go."  He then gets irritated because he has to go to the basement to get said object, and I'm irritated because if he just put it away in the first place we wouldn't have this discussion for the 9 millionth time.

Add to that the fact that we have two children who have free reign over the house and that their puzzles, books, cars, and Legos often end up in places where they don't belong.  Oh, and let's not forget all the ephemera that accompanies a new born--burp cloths, blankets, socks, and the like.  Yes, my house was more than a bit cluttered.

Typically I take an hour on Saturday and put things away.  It is the most efficient way I've come up with as I can't retrain my entire family (although Wild Man and Bear are well on their way to putting their things away at the end of the day) nor can I hire a professional organizer.  I don't mind either.  But George has made this almost impossible lately.

Yesterday I was at my wits end.  I was tired and needed a nap, but more than that, I needed my house to be clean and de-cluttered for one day.  I was less than pleasant as everyone and everything was preventing my plan for de-cluttering.  I will not go into details, but I will say that Archer and I had discussed this plan on Saturday night.  Thus, when I came downstairs to find Wild Man and Bear had dumped out their extensive Lego collection all over the living room and that Archer was napping with George rather than taking out the vacuum cleaner I was annoyed.  My mom happened to call when I was finally able to get everyone to accomplish a specific task to de-clutter the house.  I told her what was going on.  She replied, "Well, M, you have three boys now; you may have to accept a certain amount of clutter, at least until George is older."  I was so irritated with that comment that I changed the subject and then got off the phone.

Why was I irritated?  My mom is absolutely right; for a while, at least, I'm going to have to deal with some clutter.  Other things trump having a neat and tidy house.  I can (and usually do) live with that.  But every. single. time. I talk to her she reminds me that I now have three children.  And I want to say, "Really?  Three?  When did that happen?  Oh right, I do vaguely remember giving birth to the third.  Thanks for the reminder, Mom."  Yes, my impulse is to be snarky and sarcastic.  But she says it very snarkily too.  As though I should have realized life would be so hectic and chaotic when we decided to add a third child to our family.  Yes, I'm being testy and a bit immature, but honestly, I could live without hearing that unnecessary remark ever again.

More names

So we have another name conundrum.  Both our boys are named after someone, and we want to continue that tradition with #3.  If this baby had been a girl, she likely would have shared my middle name.  Now that we're fairly certain #3 is a boy, we're still contemplating middle names.  Honestly, there aren't any male relatives or friends we feel particularly compelled to name the baby after.  We briefly considered Archer's father, but both his brother and our nephew are named for Archer's dad (can I say how completely ridiculous I think it is to have a "Third" in a family that isn't the Kennedys or the Quincy Adams? Just saying.).  Therefore, neither of us really sees much need to honor Archer's dad again.  Wild Man is named after my grandfather, and for reasons I don't even know that I can explain, I don't want to use my father's name.  A few weeks ago Archer suggested the male equivalent of my middle name, but that is a name I don't really like.  So we tried another tactic.  I looked up my middle name and tried to find a male name that means the same thing.  There is a minor problem, however.  My middle name is a fairly normal name, but it isn't spelled normally.  My middle name doesn't exist in naming dictionaries.  Thus, I just looked up the normally spelled version and tried to find male names that mean the same thing.  Um, yes, we don't like any of those names.  Well, we sort of like one.  So what is my point in this rambling post?  This baby is going to be hard to name.

Clearing my mind

I'm writing in an attempt to clear my mind so I can get work done this afternoon.  I've already gotten a bit done this morning, but it is mainly what I classify as busy work--looking up citations, searching for articles, and going to the library.  In the midst of all that busy work, here is what is going on.

• Archer has been trying to figure out the pregnancy and parental leave structure at CU and in our province.  You'd think this would be easy since he took parental leave when Bear was born, but no, it's proven to be incredibly difficult to figure out.  Why?  Well, this time we're both full-time employees of CU, and I've been working full-time for quite a while (at least as far as the province is concerned), even before I was considered a full-time by CU.  We thought this meant that we'd both be eligible for full benefits. But, no, as it turns out, only one of use is eligible.  So what does that mean?  Well, CU tops up the provincial subsidy for parental leave, which means full-time employees get 95% of their pay for 24 weeks of parental leave.  After the 24 weeks, employees receive the standard provincial subsidy which is 55% of their pay.  It turns out that if both parents are full-time employees only one is eligible for the top up.
• This causes a glitch because we can't afford to go six months on 55% of my pay, not with the cost of childcare and the cost of purchasing a new car at sometime in the very near future.  Oh, and we have to declare permanent residency, which for Archer, Wild Man, and myself will cost us around $3,500 a person.  There are apparently ways around this, and we're trying to figure those ways out.
• Figuring out these differences is also a source of stress.  Archer would rather talk to people we know and get info from them.  I would rather go see our HR rep and figure it out from one person who knows it all.  We've disagreed on whether it is a good idea to talk to our HR rep though.  Archer thinks it isn't a good idea until my contract is signed.  I say we already know that, barring a revolt on the part of the appointments committee, my position will convert, so let's deal with it now.  After waiting on Archer to make the appointment for a week (he volunteered to do it), I finally told him, "If you don't want to make the appointment, fine.  Tell me that.  I'll make it."  He made the appointment.
• Dr. English found me in the hallway yesterday and said, "Oh, hey, M, can you get me a writing sample?"  To which I said, "Um, sure."  And of course I can, but getting him a writing sample creates a bit of a problem because the most polished essay I have right now is the one I was planning to present at my interview.  So now that will be the writing sample, and I'm revising a different essay for the job talk.  I know I should have been prepared for this, but honestly, we've been talking about this process since October.  At no point did he ever mention a writing sample.  I stupidly assumed that since, you know, I've been working at CU for 3 1/2 years I might not need to submit one.  
• We leave on Saturday for a week in Home State.  Yetta has been great.  I said to Archer yesterday, "Wow, this is refreshing.  No one has called to tell us about plans or to say you have to be here at this time to do this. It's very nice."  Yes, well, I spoke too soon.  She called last night to say she's planned a family dinner for the only night I'm able to meet my best friend from high school (you know, the same friend whose wedding I was unable to attend, at least in part, because Yetta delayed making travel plans until the tickets to the out of the way location where the wedding was taking place were outrageous).  Yetta has already invited my brother and my parents to the family dinner, which is great, except I really want to see my friend.  So now I have to try to rearrange those plans.  Not a huge deal, but still it's annoying.
• Oh, and I'm really stressed out about how everyone will react to the pregnancy.  Archer told his brother last night, and he was, as usual, very supportive.  I think my parents will be fine, although surprised.  Yetta and Pita will be thrilled, but they will also be hurt that we waited so long to tell them.  They will also start asking when we're moving closer to Home State, and they will also say many, many things about wanting a girl.  
• I could go on and on, but you know, I'm tired.  I need to write.  So I'm going to put myself in the frame of mind to do that.

Traveling to Home State

This morning I was up early with Bear, as usual.  So I was double checking prices for travel associated with the grant I'm writing and printing off info from various websites.  Out of curiosity, I checked on tickets to Home State during spring break.  Surprisingly the tickets are actually affordable; they are, in fact, imminently affordable.  Archer had already spoken with Yetta about the possibility of us visiting then, and she offered to buy the boys' tickets.  So it looks like we'll get to visit our families for the cost of 2 tickets, or $500.  Not a bad price.  Plus we get to fly and can only stay a week because the visit happens in the middle of the semester.  Not bad all around.

Tomorrow . . .

life goes back to normal.  Wild Man goes back to kindergarten, Archer and I go back to teaching, and Bear, well Bear will continue to be Bear.

This semester promises to be challenging for all kinds of reasons, some of which I may get to blog about, finally.  Right now, I'm enjoying the sunshine that is streaming into our family room, the smell of banana muffins fresh from the oven, and watching Bear yawn (he just woke up for a nap that was a bit shorter than usual).

Um, yes, seriously, that happened.

So my parents were visiting my grandfather last week.  He lives 4 hours from my sister.  My parents were there for a week, and they never once contacted my sister to let her know.  They also did not make any attempt to go see her.  Seriously.  My mom called me on Wednesday asking me why my sister is so upset with them.  For real.  I do not even have words.

Still here. . .

 just insanely busy.  I honestly didn't realize it had been almost 2 weeks since I posted.  The weather is beautiful for mid-fall in CU Land, so we've spent most of the weekend taking care of our yard.  Wild Man and I planted 64 tulip bulbs in our front flower bed while Archer moved around some shrubs.  I am about to make a pumpkin pie and an apple crisp for Thanksgiving, which is tomorrow.  I have a million other things I could write about, including crazy family drama (will that ever end, I ask you?).  But instead, I will share this with you.

Sometimes. . .

it would be really, really nice if everyone would recognize that occasionally Archer and I need help too.  Sometimes it would be great if our families, in particular, would not put us at the end of the list because, you know, we have it so together.  Sometimes it sucks being the responsible ones in our families.

Busy work and family stuff

That is what I've been dealing with all morning.  I had to update my CV, draft an abstract, and send about 15 emails.  I've also been dealing with family stuff, which isn't always fun.  I'd really like to write more, but I'm afraid I'd end up composing a diatribe about the stupidity of various family members.  While that might help me relieve some stress, it wouldn't be very productive, at least not in regards to the writing goals I have to accomplish today.  I will say that Brown-Eyed Girl is facing an uphill battle when it comes to choosing a college which her mother (my sister) will approve of.

Rethinking things

Yetta arrives on Wednesday for a week long visit.  In preparation I'm consciously rethinking things.  I want her to have a good time, and I want her to feel welcome.  To that end, I've done some things I don't normally do. 

First, I've borrowed a queen-size air mattress (you know, the kind that is like an actual bed) from a friend, which I've set up in my office (which is almost entirely packed up in preparation for showing our house).  Thus she can have her own space.  This means she won't take over my living room and that I won't have to continuously tell Bear, "Don't touch that!"  If she feels that the air mattress is uncomfortable or too hard for her to get off of, she will sleep in our bed.  This is a minor inconvenience to me and Archer, but I really think this will stress me out less than having her things all over the living room.  Plus, it means she'll be more comfortable as she won't be on our couch.  As an added bonus, it means that Archer and I will still have the couch to retreat to on the odd night that Bear is really restless (on these nights, one of us inevitably ends up on the couch with Bear).  So everyone will get a normal amount of sleep, and if Bear has a bad night, we won't have to worry about waking her up.

Second, I made Archer call her yesterday and get her to give a list of things she wants from the grocery store.  We have never done this because she is incredibly particular about food.  Typically Archer takes her to the grocery store on the first day of her visit, and she buys what she wants.  This stresses me out immensely because she brings all kinds of junk food into my house, which means I'm constantly explaining to Wild Man why Yetta eats X type of food that he isn't allowed to eat.  Although she protested, she told Archer what she needed, and he bought it.  I'm hoping this will allow me to maintain some control over what she brings into the house while also making her feel welcome, like we've actually prepared for her visit.

Third, Archer and I have already decided which days the boys will be out of daycare.  I think this is important because, again, it shows we've prepared for her visit.  I am hopeful that telling her "We've planned these activities for these days" will show her that we're looking forward to her visit.  The only caveat is that Wild Man will not be missing kindergarten at all.  That means that we have to stop what we're doing and have him at school every day by 1, which will certainly limit what we can do.  This is, however, non-negotiable.

Fourth, I have reminded myself that I have no control over her reaction to anything.  I can prepare myself, and I can hope for the best.  That said, I am going to do my best not to get upset if she is unhappy with anything we've planned.  I am going to ignore passive-aggressive comments.  I will be accommodating and welcoming, but I will not be a doormat.  I will also not be aggressive.  If an argument begins I will simply remove myself and my children from the room.  I will not be disappointed. 

Keep your fingers crossed for me that all of this works.

Random Updates

A lot is going on right now (as usual, right), and here are some updates.

• The article I submitted last week has already been rejected.  Disheartening, yes.  Altogether unexpected, no.  The reader's report was helpful, and I think I can fix it.  It seems I'm not making it clear what I'm adding to the conversation.  So my argument isn't effective.  The reader said some very complimentary things about my writing, which is helpful.  I've asked a good friend to read the article.  At this point I'm too close to know what needs to be changed.  I trust this person a lot, so I'm trying to stay positive.
• Archer now has two interview lined up for his field's major conference.  One of the schools is driving distance from Home State, the other is a member of the Ivy League.  Not sure how I feel about either of those things.
• In reference to my cryptic post earlier this week, my sister, who has bi-polar, has suffered a major depressive episode, complicated by a change in medication.  After much consultation, I finally convinced her she needed someone there to help her.  My mom will get there tomorrow evening and will be there for a week.  She has also voluntarily checked herself into the hospital today, which I think is for the best.  I've been talking to my niece every day, and I think she and my nephew are doing ok.  It's hard to say though.  Brown-eyed girl's tendency is to be tough.  I considered going there all week, but when my mom stepped up, I decided not to go.  Now I'm feeling guilty about that decision.
• I just received an email from the undergrad chair of one of the departments I teach for.  They want to modify an existing course to have it act as a pre-req for a special topics course I taught last fall--the first time such a course had ever been taught at CU.  The undergrad chair wants me to write the course description for the course.  What does this mean?  Is this good news, or just news?
• I need a cocktail--in fact, I need several.

Anger

As I wrote a few days ago, I'm still processing my grandmother's death.  I'm angry about a lot of things.  Namely I'm angry that I always have to be the adult.  In my immediate family, meaning my parents and my two siblings, I'm the youngest (that's right, I'm the youngest), but in so many ways I'm the adult.  I'm the one who tells people to go to the doctor; I'm the to help my parents figure out how to hire a good contractor; and I'm the one my niece and nephew turn to when they are concerned about their mother's health. 

When everything was going down with my gram, I was the one to tell my mom to get in the car and go so she could say good-bye, and I'm the one who called my sister to say, "Look, you're the closest one out of our family.  Get your ass there now."  For once my sister listened.  My mom delayed, waiting on her sister-in-law to drive through Home State and pick her up.  Thus, my mom didn't make it to the hospital until half an hour before my gram was taken off the ventilator.  (On some level, I do get this.  My mom was hoping if she stayed away my gram would get better, as she has in the past.  On another level, I'm pissed that my mom delayed, forcing her youngest sister to make the decision to end life support without my mother's input.). 

I'm also angry at my mom's oldest sister for not stepping up and following my gram's wishes more closely.  My grandmother never wanted to be put on life support.  In fact, she had a living will--she'd had one for well over a decade.  The circumstances necessitated that she be put on life support as paramedics found her not breathing.  As soon as it became clear she has suffered major brain damage, everyone should have agreed, including my mom's oldest sister, that Gram be taken off life support once my grandfather and their four children (my mom and her three siblings) had time to say good-bye.  My aunt disagreed.  In fact, she argued with my mom's youngest sister (Aunt S), who is a nurse and had medical power-of-attorney.  She refused to return to the hospital the night we took my gram off life support until Aunt S told her she was taking her off life support with or without the oldest aunt there.  She then showed up and behaved very, very strangely (yes, even strangely for someone about to watch her mother die).  So, in the end, it became a case of the youngest being forced to be the most responsible.

Finally, I'm pissed at my dad who refused to come to the funeral.  Yes, you read that right.  Apparently, my parents didn't have anyone to watch their cats.  Yes, again, you read that right.  My dad tried to get my brother to stay, but he refused.  And frankly, damn right he did.  J wanted to say good-bye to his grandmother and attend her funeral.  My parents couldn't come up with a single other person to take care of their cats.  And because this all happened on the weekend they couldn't board them (or so they said).  When I heard this, I was speechless, literally.  And, as is my way, I tried to fix it.  I called Pita, who drives past my parent's neighborhood every day on her way to work, and asked her to take care of the cats.  She immediately agreed, so I called my dad back.  He wasn't happy I interfered, but he said that was fine.  He'd leave with my mom.  Pita called Archer a half an hour later to say she'd talked to my dad and that he told her he and my mom had discussed it.  He wouldn't be going.  I called my dad again.  He said it was settled.  I said point blank, "You will be expected to be there.  Grandpa will want you there.  Mom will want you there.  I need you there."  He didn't say anything, so I said, "You know, Dad, I don't ask you for much, but I'm asking you for this.  I need you to be there."  He said, "Ok, M, I'll be there.  Have Pita call me again."  Then he hung up on me.  Archer called Pita again, and she called my dad.  She called back about 15 minutes later.  She told Archer, "He said he didn't need me. He's not going."  I haven't spoken to my father since. 

For me, this is the ultimate refusal.  I told my father as clearly as I could that I needed him.  I get that this isn't about me.  I get that my dad has some health issues that make it difficult for him to travel.  I get that death is hard.  I get all of that.  But I also know that I've lived in Canada for 3 years, and my father still doesn't have a passport.  Bear was in the hospital when he was 4 weeks old, and my father couldn't come to help or to see him because he doesn't have a passport.  I've lived away from Home State for 12 years, and my father has been to visit me in my own home 3 times, one of which was when he helped me move when I started working on my Master's degree.  He's seen Wild Man about 6 times, and he's seen Bear twice.  And it isn't just me.  He hasn't seen my sister in over 2 years, and unless she makes it to Home State, she won't see him anytime soon. 

You see, attending my grandmother's funeral was about more than saying good-bye to my grandmother.  My entire family was together, save my sister's husband (who had only met my grandmother 2 times and didn't want to sacrifice his Thanksgiving with his daughters from his first marriage) and my dad.  This was the first time since 1990 all 10 of my grandparents' grandchildren were together.  This was the first time since 2007 my sister, brother, and I were together.  This was the first time my father would have seen all 4 of his grandchildren together.  And he stayed home to take care of my mom's cats.  He stayed home when I specifically asked him to come because I needed him.  This one is going to take a long, long time for me to get over.

Oh, and I really, really miss my grandmother.

My grandmother

My grandmother died on Monday morning.  She was 85 and had not been in the best of health; however, her death came as a bit of a shock.  On Friday evening, my aunt and uncle, with whom my grandparents live, took them out to dinner, at my grandmother's request.  When the returned home, my grandmother, who suffered from senility, complained of a headache and went to her room to change into her pajamas.  She passed out, and Aunt F went to her while my uncle called the paramedics.  They then called my other aunt, who is a cardiac care nurse, and she instructed Aunt F on how to administer CPR.  When the paramedics arrived, they had to intubate Gram, even though that is not something she would have wanted.  By late Saturday afternoon, it was apparent that Gram had suffered severe brain damage, likely due to being deprived of oxygen.  Ironically, her heart never stopped beating. 

Archer, the boys, and I left for the States on Sunday around 10:00 am.  By 8:30 Sunday night, I was sitting with my Gram, as I called her, holding her hand.  It was clear to me, however, that my Gram was not present, something my youngest aunt, Aunt S, wholeheartedly agreed with.  She had already discussed turning off Gram's ventilator with her siblings, including my mom, and they had all agreed, with deep reservations.  My mom arrived later that evening, around 10, and at mine and Aunt S's urging, my Gram was taken off the ventilator around 11:15 Sunday night, and she died at 5:50 Monday morning.  She was a great lady, who did not hesitate to tell you what she thought.  In fact, she strongly disapproved of many of my life choices, arguing that I didn't need to pursue my doctorate and that I needed to stay home with Wild Man and Bear.  As long as Archer had a good job, she argued there was no need for me to work, and certainly no need for me to be so educated, as she put it.  While she never hesitated to tell me these things, she also ended every conversation we had by saying, "I love you so much, M."  I know my Gram didn't approve of all my choices, but I never doubted how much she loved me and my boys.