08/10/00
I never heard from Zak last night. I called his house around 9:15, but there was no answer, and I didn't leave a message. I figured he knew where to find me. Megan got home around 9:45 and started moving her bedroom stuff into the basement. I told her she was welcome to come upstairs and talk to me. She did, sort of. We talked only briefly about superficial bullshit. I tried to ask her about Alisha, about what she'd been up to lately, but she said she didn't want to talk about it with me. I tried to explain to her where I think I am with all this, this whole situation, and told her that I knew how it was, and that I knew I was just going to have to be okay with it, we both were. And she said SHE wasn't okay with it. So I tried a little more, to no avail. She kept telling me she was just so tired, and about to fall asleep, and that she just didn't have much energy to talk. I finally went to bed around 11:45, and she did the same. As soon as I turned in, the phone rang, and it was for her, and she took the phone to her new room, and had a lovely conversation that lasted 20 minutes or more.
Too tired to talk, huh? Rather, too tired to talk to me.
I was pissed, but I decided to let it go with a shrug, a roll of my eyes, and a "whatever."
This morning, she asked me if I still wanted to hang out with her. I told her I didn't know, I may be busy. I just wasn't sure I could handle another evening chat filled with awkward silences and in depth discussions on weather patterns.
I got to work and decided around 9:00 to call Zak, since I still hadn't heard from him. I left him a message this time. He called me back about 20 minutes later. His mother died last night. He and the rest of his family for the most part were there. He said he'd never seen anyone die before, that she'd just stopped breathing...he went on to say "it's best this way, she didn't suffer," all the stuff you're supposed to say. I did my part and told him if there was anything at all he needed, to let me know. This time, instead of making a joke, he thanked me, and said that it really meant a lot. He told me he was preparing to spend the day at the funeral parlor, making "final arrangements" (that term is so fucking ridiculous) and whatnot, and that he would be spending the day under heavy sedation. I asked him if he'd be around later, and he said probably at some point, but he didn't know how much he'd be worth. I told him I didn't care.
I'm going to give him until around 7:30, then call him, and if he's home, and he doesn't protest, I'm going over there. I want so badly to put my arms around him and just let him be there.
I hate death. Actually, it's not so much death I hate, it's unfinished business. Loose ends. And it seems that when someone dies, unfortunately, there are somewhere, with someone, loose ends that will never be tied.
He did say that he spent much of Tuesday night at the hospital with her, and that was good, because she was coherent for the most part, and knew who everyone was. He said that yesterday, she didn't even know him.
I am guilty of avoiding unpleasant situations. When my grandfather was in the hospital 10 years ago and dying, I couldn't bring myself to go see him. The night of the visitation, I started to have a panic attack when I got to the door of the big stupid plush room they had his fucking casket sprawled out in, like some kind of macabre show-and-tell. I spent the next 20 minutes outside smoking and trying to breathe before my dad came out and got me. When my grandmother was dying, I only went to see her twice, twice in the whole year that she was dying of heart disease. At the funeral, I was dead set (so to speak) against saying my "final goodbye" but unfortunately, my mother is one of those gung-ho view-the-body people and damn near dragged me out to the casket.
I swear to all that is good and holy that I will never, ever view another body again. Yes, I have many fond memories of my grandparents, but whenever I think of them, my mind ultimately ends up at the last time I ever saw them, dead, looking dead, in their caskets. "Oh, he looks so natural." Yeah, for a guy pumped full of formaldehyde with his mouth stuffed full of gauze. Don't make me laugh. That's not how I care to remember the people I love most. No fucking thanks.
I want to call him, and yet, I'm afraid of overstepping my boundaries. I don't want to be a pain in the ass, particularly not at this time. All the same, I don't want him to be alone right now. No one should be alone in the wake of something like this.
I live in mortal fear of being a pest.
Which is just what Jud accused me of the other night. "Stop deciding other people's thoughts for them." It sounds so good in theory...
It's just a lot harder to carry out.
But wait, there's more...