What's the hurry?

So, after my sister up and died the year before, my mother decided she was going to defy our expectations of living at least as long as her parents (mid-90s) and without much warning, died of a heart attack in April, 2017. She was 82.

82! That's like--average death age. She was supposed to last longer!

She had been sick with a cold in the days before, she went to the doctor, who thought nothing of it, and I'd strangle that doctor now if I could. What she probably had was congestive heart failure, if you ask me, but I'm no doctor. Still.

Shannon, Marty and I were with her the night before, she wasn't feeling well. We had no idea. We tried to convince her to go the the hospital; she wouldn't budge. Finally, we put her to bed, and she said to us that she felt loved. Those were her last words to us.

Shannon checked on her in the morning, she was sleeping. I showed up to visit an hour and a half later, and she was gone.

One hour and a half hour. That's it. That's all it took.

She wouldn't have liked being hooked up to all the tubes and wires and electronics that folks are subject to in the hospital when they die. She died in her sleep. So it was a good death, we keep telling ourselves.

She was cremated, and sits beside my dad in the basement. We had a great service for her--beer and wine and snacks--we wanted to make it a party. I think she would have approved.

Since then, I've taken my parents to Aruba and to San Francisco and scattered some of their ashes into the water. Just so they know I get around. 

Five years

Well, here it is, September 2, 2018. Whaddya know?

Oh, I know: a lot of goddamn fucking shit has happened since I last posted.

First: My sister died August 7, 2015. Her days were numbered, of course, because she was an alcoholic. She was 63. Had some kind of seizure after having been hospitalized for the umpteenth time for some alcohol-fueled fall or complication or somesuch. She went home and seized up the next day. So her bf calls me and says "Yeah, I think this is the big one!" After many other "big ones" who's to say?

But just in case, I hopped in the car and rushed to the hospital, stopping at the wrong one along the way. I was in a race with her daughter to get there, and I arrived first, which made me feel like I'd won something. The privilege to see her dead body first, I suppose. I'd known her longer than her daughter so I thought I deserved to see her dead first. She didn't look too bad, considering, just like she was sleeping after a 30-odd year bender that included multiple trips to hospitals, rehabs, some respites taken on people's couches, living in her car, or in sleazy motels on the Black Horse Pike.  Took a photo. I won't share it here. I don't want to judge, but I'd say her life was a misery.

Her service was nice though; some of her oldest friends who she hadn't talked to in years showed up. I asked them if they ever hung out together (some still lived in Wenonah) and they said no. So I said you better get on that, you've known each other for more than 50 years! You're getting old! Life is short! And sure enough, several weeks later, someone in the group posted a photo of them out having cocktails or dinner or something. Good on them. Sometimes I give good advice.

My sister was cremated and she's in Shannon's basement now, I think. She was an organ donor--inasmuch as her organs could be useful to anyone, but whaddya know: they used her corneas and her skin. The recipient of her corneas sent Shannon a nice note saying he was able to see...I think Yosemite? Some national park for the first time. Her eyes were not very good, so that surprised me. And her skin helped a breast cancer survivor.

I guess even a life of misery still has gifts to give. RIP, Laur.

But that's not the only shitty thing that has happened in the last few years, which I will attempt to detail with some regularity and humor in the coming days.