She's Gone

  My time being a caregiver for my grandmother is done. She's gone. She started having a pain in her right arm in February, she died May 19, 2019. I spent a lot of April and May by her bedside in different hospital rooms. Despite my best efforts, she died alone. I'm pretty sure I haven't told anyone that, at all, in this process. She wasn't aware. She hadn't been aware since Friday, she died at 2:45 on a Sunday afternoon. She had been moaning that morning, so they gave her a morphine drip. The moaning stopped, then so did she.

  I'm not handling this well, at all. A lot of my stuff has been moved, but I still live in her house for now, for complicated reasons. There are things that I should be doing, that I'm not. I'm just, not. Right now, I'm sitting in the den where she spent most of her time. Sitting where I would sit on the couch, reading or playing with my phone. Her recliner is in front of me, to the right. Where she would sit and watch TV, and do the crossword puzzle from the paper every morning. I still start everyday by making coffee, and getting the paper from the paper box at the end of the driveway. I bring it in and sit it on the arm of her chair, then I pick it up and wander around aimlessly with it. There's a TV table in front of her chair. There's a pair of shoes under it, from the last time she walked in and sat down and took them off. That would have been in April.

  I'm looking for a job. I don't know what I want to do. Well, that's not true. I know what I really want to do, fairly passionately, but it requires some learning and a trade school degree. That's not really possible right now, money wise. Groceries are barely possible money wise right now. I haven't gotten paid the entire time I took care of her, I'll figure it out. I need to be making stuff to sell, but my jewelry stuff has already made the move that I haven't, including the already made stuff. The candle stuff is here. I just, haven't. I don't know why I can't just do the things that I need to. I'm such a fucking wreck. I fake being okay pretty well in public, though, so, no, I'm probably not going to cry on you or be a big drag.

  About this blog, it's kind of a diary. I write more than is public. I do know people that follow it, because I'm not this communicative in "real life." Well, usually not. Also, while I am a wreck, not everything sucks. I do smile. I do write. I do see a couple of people kind of regularly. One of those has brought more comfort and patience and steadiness into my life in the past few weeks than I could ever have imagined, and I am imminently grateful. No words can express it, really. And no, this isn't passive communication, they know damn well how much I appreciate them, or I hope so. I say it a lot. Probably not enough. I'm interested in actually taking pictures again. I'm interested in other things that I haven't been interested in a while. My life is a little less flat than it has been in a long time.

  I've had a few people ask if I'm moving back to Atlanta, since I moved back to take care of Gramma. Right now, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Which I don't. Other than people, I can count the things I miss about Atlanta on one fucking hand. One is pretty big, though. I miss having good dance events to go to, more often than they are here. There are awesome events here, don't get me wrong, but there isn't one night of any week that I know that I can get that release. I'm pretty much a Don Henley song, all I want to do is dance. All of the weekly nights here have failed, due to disinterest, older goths, I don't know. This literally causes me pain. I guess it evens out to maybe twice a month, but still. Given my choice, I'd dance five hours a night, twice a week in a club. Yes, I know I can dance alone, at home. I do. It's different. In Atlanta, I know that at least each Saturday I could be wherever VJ Anthony is spinning. Well, it's the same place each Saturday, just the theme changes. I miss Coffin Classics night, like, whoa. So much. NC has a more Industrial crowd, for the most part. Even though I'm an introvert, and I don't like to be touched, dance floor energy feeds me, even on slower nights. I also miss really good bagels, though my very favorite place there is gone, now. I miss being able to see the whale sharks whenever I wanted. I spent so many hours just sitting there, staring. I miss Community Q BBQ, though the recipe for the best mac and cheese ever, from there, is hysterically readily available, and super easy. I don't miss traffic, hand gun fire (we get rifle and shotgun fire pretty often, here in the sticks), or the chance of running into someone with whom I have quite a bit of common interests. At least I used to, anyway. Who knows, anymore? Some people shift with their company more than others. So, probably not. I do wish I could visit more, say, every Coffin Classics Saturday, say, but I can't right now. Ha, just the two times a year I'm guaranteed to run into the aforementioned soul for twelve hours a day or so. I'm giving all of that some thought, too.

Enough for now. I will leave you with the eulogy I read for my Gramma, though some of you have seen it.

Dorothy Lee Whitley
3/14/1931-5/19/2019

My Gramma loved a lot of things.
She loved people and laughing and talking.
She loved tigers, especially white ones.
She loved gardening and all plants and flowers.
She loved country music and dancing.
She loved her family, her mama and her sisters.
I heard her say, more than once, that Big Mama was too good for this world.
She loved her kids, her grandkids, and her great grandkids.
Heaven help anyone standing between her and Avery.
She loved coloring books and crossword puzzles and chocolate.

I could stand here all day and tell you the things she loved.
I could even tell you the things that she hated,
But this probably isn’t the time for that.

The truth is, everyone you meet takes away with them a different version of you.
No matter how consistent you are, people will view you through the filter of their own views,
Personality, experiences, and even mood.

So, I’m going to tell you some of the things that I took from her,
Some of the things that make me, me.
I would not be who I am, without her.

I worked in photo labs inside of camera stores for almost twenty years.
Photography has always been a passion of mine.
By the time I was 10, Gramma had taught me f-stops and shutter speeds and framing a scene.
I could selectively focus a manual camera.
She taught me the right combinations of factors, and then taught me that the “right” way
Was not always the best way to achieve the image you wanted.

I am an intensely geeky individual, with a deep love of science fiction.
Gramma loved PBS, so I grew up watching Doctor Who and Dark Shadows on summer afternoons.
When Doctor Who restarted in 2005, I knew the stories, the incarnations of the Doctor, and the old villains.
I grew up with a Gramma who watched with me, and then chase me around the yard with a whisk in one hand and a sink plunger in the other, imitating one of the robot villains.

I love the sky, day or night.
I always know the phase of the moon.
Because of Gramma, I can look at the stars and point out Cassiopeia, seated on her throne, or the Pleiades, and tell you their stories.
She taught me to always look up.
She loved satellites crossing the sky every bit as much as she loved shooting stars.
She taught me about space and space exploration.
During the day, she always looked for shapes in the clouds, and would make up little stories about them.
I still do.
On days like today, she would say that God had pulled a blanket across the sky.
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with her, when I was young, laying on our backs on the pier at Bath Creek, looking at the stars or clouds, and listening to the water lapping at the pilings.
It’s still one of my favorite sounds, to this day.

About that pier.
She taught me the joy of running, full speed, down the lawn and right off the end of it.
Just jump.
From this I learned that you don’t have to always see what is waiting for you clearly.
I also learned that the pain of jellyfish stings is temporary, and will be followed by ice cold watermelon from the cooler, always with a sprinkle of salt.
Just like hers.

I might not dress like anyone else, or make the same choices, but I’ve always known that Gramma loved and supported me, no matter how strange I might be.

She taught me to argue, just to get a better understanding of a situation.

It was a privilege to be able to spend the last two and a half years with her.

She was simply the best Gramma for me, and I will miss her forever,
And always carry her in my heart.