Too much shit in my head...

First thing was, I was surprised to see it's been, like, 4 days since I posted.
Then, I hadda waste an hour of my life deleting spam and I still have 14 IP's to ban.
I'm seriously thinking of raisng hell with the Blacklist, I'm so sick of this spam shit.
But, if ya ban all the spam keywords, ya also ban half the English language.
I know that, but I'm caring less and less.

Then, I popped over to Rob's less than an hour after he posted that his Mama died this morning.
5:00am, in her sleep.

Well, that just stopped me for a while.

I came back a little while ago and was still all bunged up, not sure what to say first, so I made myself laugh out loud with the post under this one.
And yes, I still think it's funny... "Judge not lest ye be shot..."
Love it.

Anyway... I have this one thing I wanna do and I don't know how, so I asked my "SRV songs in a blogpost" source for some help. If he figures out a way to do it, I'll letcha's know.
Meanwhile....

I really don't know what I wish more... that I had an inkling, even, of what losing, let alone having, a real Mama-type mother is or that I could give Rob some of my "Oh big fuckin' deal" thing I felt about it when my own Mom died.

I was relieved.

And, no, she wasn't terminally ill or anything.
She died quite suddenly and unexpectedly, actually.

She'd just been such a shitty mother, I was like "Oh frickin' well. Peace at last..."
For ME, not her.

I, seriously, to this day, am glad she didn't get to meet Eric. That's the ONLY way I have to know she'd not "put the moves" on him, like she did with about 5 of my other boyfriends. Hell, man... she moved to Florida with one of them and, after it fell apart and she'd moved back home, she decided to go visit the asshole and stopped in North Carolina on her way to Florida to fuck my then current boyfriend at Ft. Bragg, where he was in the 82nd Airborne Division.

How could I not be glad to be rid of THAT kinda heartless, stupid shit?

Pfft.

After spending YEARS of my life begging God to make her head just explode into flames, it was left to ME to decide what to do in Christiana Hospital when it came down to the wire...

I can remember (waaay more than) one specific incident of wanting her to die.
I forget what thing she'd done that time, but Dad was screaming at her for it and she was blaming me, as usual, and I was looking at myself in the dresser mirror, tears streaming, choking, about 6 years old and screaming at God to kill her NOW!!! I hated her so much right then....

I also hated her when she beat my dogs. I hated her when she hurt Dad, which was a LOT. I hated her when Dad ended up in the hospital for what to me STILL seems like at least a year.
I hated her a LOT.
She fostered that feeling with an ease that was almost awesome.
It was as if she stayed up nights, thinking of ways to hurt me and Dad.

Breathing sufficed, Vivian!
Thank you for stopping doing that....
*rolls eyes*

But, it occurs to me now, that to be able to give Rob some of my marked indifference to the loss of a mother, I'd have to also give him a shitty, painful and BAD childhood. It takes YEARS to get to the point I was at when she died.
Or, thought I was at...
Wouldn't wanna do that to the guy.

When she (Vivian) died, I was the only one at the hospital. I wasn't with her, in the room, or anything, but I was the only one there and as such, the one they asked "Whatta ya wanna do?" when they had a heart available.

See, Mom was a nurse. (I hate nurses. Know-it-all bitches...) Both her parents had died of massive heart attacks in their 60's. She fuckin' well knew the signs and the family history, yet she LET HERSELF DIE. She felt the first pains at work, at about 1pm. She finished work, came home, puked, sweated, got chilled, felt pain... the whole nine. She also neglected to mention any of this til her husband was leaving for work at 9pm.
He told her either she was going to the hospital or he was going to work, pick one.
So, to the hospital she went.

Meantime, I was working for the local cops. I used to get paid to tell cops where to go... my way of saying I was a dispatcher.
I'd just gotten to work and was putting my shit down when the phone rang. I grabbed it and didn't even recognize Bob's voice. (Bob was her husband.) The man asked to speak to my Sergeant.
Charlie (my Sgt.) got off the phone and the look he gave me... I knew something was up.
I don't remember what he said, I only know he got the message that my mom was in the hospital having a heart attack across.

I knew then that she was as good as dead.
In fact, I said that very thing to my then current boyfriend when I went home to get him to go to the hospital.
I remember a Led Zepplin song was playing... that "You don't have to go" one. It mostly says that, even though ya hurt me, you don't have to go...
How appropriate.

Anyway, we get to the hospital and they can't handle all that she needs. She coded 11 times there.
They shipped her to Christiana, a hospital in Delaware, where they do this kinda shit really, really well.

They stablized her and kept her alive long enough to find a donor heart.

What happened was this: Bob came to me the next day in Christiana and said he was gonna run home real quick, get a shower, make a few calls and take care of some shit. He'd be back in about an hour or so.
I said "Okay".

Not 10 minutes after he left, Dr. Blasetto came to me and said this: "We have a heart for your Mom. She'll have to be choppered to Temple for the surgery. What do you want us to do?"

Before my brain had time to even register this info, my mouth blurted out, "You do whatcha hafto to save my mom, Dude." (I was 26, gimme a break, okay?)

I was... floored, by that. I think I literally bugged my eyeballs out enough to actually SEE my lips to see if they were the ones saying what I was hearing.
After all those years of wishing her dead, I said WHAT?
wow.

She coded for the 13th and final time a half hour after they found the heart, even before they could arrange to move her.

The three things that I remember most vividly about her funeral were, 1.) It was my 27th birthday. Happy Birthday, me. 2.) I told my cops (she was "funeral-ed" in the town where I dispatched) that if any of the vile hags from the nursing home where she worked and they'd stressed her into this heart attack showed up, I'd be under arrest for aggravated assault, so if they saw any of 'em to get 'em the fuck outta here and 3.) One of my favorite-est cops went in, came back out and said to me, "Man. You look just like yer Mom..." To which I replied, "I look like a 43 year old dead woman? Thanks, Dude. You can type yer own gawddamned reports from now on, ya Palooka."
I love Chuck...

Anyway, it seems the only way to avoid the pain of a parental death is to have a parent who shoulda been sterilized at birth.
Not good.

On the other hand, had I had a mom who'd been worth the powder to blow her to hell, it'd have killed me to lose her and plant her ass on my birthday, I think.
I don't know, I just think it.
Makes sense, doesn't it?

It's the same deal with having/not having kids. I don't have kids. Yayyyy me. I miss out on endless bullshit, not having kids. I love that tremendously, too. But, on the other hand, I do wonder sometimes what good things I've missed by not having kids, too.
All in all, it doesn't seem worth it, to me. The aggravation, the pain and what kids DO sometimes... yer just better off without them. Or, I am, anyway.
(If I did have a kid who pulled half the shit I see kids pulling on their parents, I'd be in jail, again, for murder.)
Hell, I knew I didn't wanna have kids when I was a kid. Let alone when I saw the death in my best friends mom's eyes when he was killed in a drunk driving accident and no he wasn't driving.
It's not worth it.

"The Dance" says it all....

"Could have missed the pain, but then I'd have had to miss the dance..."

Believe me, there's still been pleeenty of "dancing" in my life, even without kids or a good mom.

Still, I wish I could make Rob hurt less, somehow.
The best and really, ONLY, thing I can come up with is to hook him up somehow with SRV's "Riviera Paradise".
Stevie said playing that song was like praying with his guitar and I think Rob would like it.
It's a very healing kinda song. You can't hear it and not feel love and warmth and Stevie's soul.
Rob needs that now.
Hell, we ALL need it sometime.
Maybe just me more often than some others...
*wry grin*

Anyhoo.... if ya don't wanna feel bad when yer mom dies, have a bad mom, not a real Mama, I guess.
That's about all I can come up with for advice as to how to not hurt.
Sucks, don't it?

And, for the record, I don't think having a shitty mom to be able to not hurt when she dies is worth it, either.
It's just the cards I had and I've played 'em the best way I know to.

I'm glad Rob had a so much better hand than I did.
Believe it or not, if this were a card game, he'd be the winner right now.

After having said THAT, I'd like to publically thank my mom (not "mommy", not "Mama", not even a capital "M") for twisting my mind so badly that that last sentnce makes sense to me, if no one else.

Godspeed, Elva L. Smith. You were a really good Mama and you've left behind for now a really good man in your son.
There's lots of us who love him, who see the good you instilled in him and we'll do the best we can by him now, for you.
Rest in Peace.
And, I hope, if there is a next time, I have a real Mama like you.

Posted by: Stevie at 12:11 PM

Comments

Posted by: John at March 12, 2005 08:38 PM (qDDYG)

Posted by: Stevie at March 13, 2005 10:13 AM (fNowE)

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