So my grandmother isn’t doing any better apparently. Her sudden turn has me going back to 2001 and 9/11 actually. See, she was supposed to outlive me. I know, pushing 90 seems like a strange comparison to my life, but I’m already more than broken inside, my physical everything is a bit of a mess and I’ve got fewer and fewer people who give a shit as time goes on. I lamented the catastrophic loss of life in 2001 because so many of those people had so many people who gave a shit. I could imagine exactly 0 people at the time putting up missing posters for me. And I wondered why I was allowed to continue on with so many people NOT invested in me being alive or seeming to give a shit at all. How did I get the pass to live when so many others deserved it more?

I’m feeling that way about my grandmother–she has so many people who have invested themselves with her and with time with her, my father being one of them. They’re friends, see, they’ve always been friends, and certainly enjoy a relationship and closeness I just haven’t ever had with any relative at all. It’s why Don and I seem to get along so well–both of us have felt that ostracizing from our own family units that we exist in this mini universe with nobody else inside it. If something happened to my Don like it happened to my grandmother’s Don, I suppose I probably wouldn’t want to live without him either. There would be little point–and I do hope the universe doesn’t have that surprise coming for me ever. I would be sure to take myself out in the best way I could, painless and permanent. I would have nowhere else to go, and even less resources. And there is a point where having nothing or nobody is a good enough reason not to stick around at all.

My father said she’s not in pain which is the point, but I think she’s got to be feeling the pain of having to let go. And to be alone–I know why she chose hospice, certainly a better option than going home alone without the man who’s stood by her I would glean maybe 50 years. Everything would remind you of your person, and the absence would be hollow. It makes me wonder if he died of a broken heart without her there. I guess that wouldn’t be far from what would happen to me either. If he went or got taken from me before I was gone, well, I am sure my heart would finally break into a billion pieces, too.

As it is so many of my own issues seem to have been born of shitty heartbreak or times when I let myself break down into nothing. I would feel badly for anyone having to clean up the mess–so I would probably hope that there was nothing left of me or my life but ash. Who wants to pick through all my crap, after all? Certainly not Don. Not my parents. They would likely throw everything away anyways.

2020 has been a garbage year. So much shit. I was alone for half of it, meaning no human being at all. The second half I was alone for half of that. So 75% has sucked completely.

I am trying to find work because my retirement wasn’t really meant to be a permanent thing, and it’s hurting Don, all of this pressure on him. I drained my 401k already so I have nothing else to give. Not sure how all of that will go given the situation and I am not sure if my voice will be enough to sustain for another full time WFH option. I know, I have the classes but right now I need something a little faster so I can help. I should be playing the lottery but I can make dinner for $5 easy so that seems stupid to do as well.

Right now I am still just oscillating between incredulousness to lamenting not reaching out earlier. I should have been writing my grandmother for years, but it took me being totally alone to realize I wanted to know my family, though they’ve always been more than arm’s length away. And the matriarch when all my female friendships and relationships had kind of faltered seemed like a better option than not reaching out at all. I just didn’t realize how little time we had. And I hate regret as it’s an unlearned lesson…but I do wish I could go back and not make the same mistake again.