Grief Sessions

So I had another session yesterday.

I feel more in control. A little sick that I will soon be saying five months. Christmas scares me, but like a lot of things in my life that feel unknown or unresolved, I can’t deal with them right now.

I feel like I have been waiting for a sign from you that I did you right on your way down the road. My grief volunteer, suggested I would know if I saw it. Perhaps I would see sick n sin someplace, etc. Yeah, that didn’t happen. But the amount of times I have heard your name, Melissa in the last two weeks has to be something more than chance. One of the times, the person talking about her Melissa, describes you to a mother fucking t. I started bawling. She didn’t really know what she was saying was slapping me like Japanese Karp inviting themselves on-board.

I ditched the permethrin cream now that Mr. Yummy is all clear and went for the pill. I didn’t really think the cream would work because I was misdiagnosed for a good month. Those bad boys were settling in with a vigor.  I also couldn’t get a pill prescribed for him without him seeing my doctor and the cream comes in a two serving size. I ate my pill last night. 4 of them. The really fucked up side effect: itching. I also have a head ache, feel like barfing, and my insides feel poorly.

One good laugh deserves another.

You died with these. Four of us are confirmed with the parasites. You just died before symptoms manifested. Isn’t that fucked up? To the very end, we were in it together.

I’m not at peace, but I am not falling apart hourly anymore. I feel a little tougher, a lot less raw. That raw was something I have never known. I guess it is all just part of totally loving you, then losing you.

I never saw that coming. I am now touched with the knowledge that anyone can die. Anytime. I am so lucky we said I love you the last time we spoke. That you squeezed my hand when I asked if you could feel me holding your hand. That you kissed me good-bye. So lucky. In the context of you dying. I’d rather be smoking and drinking coffee on the phone, listening to one another talk about life.

I do miss you. I have never gone this long without talking to you on the phone. Even when your cell was shut off here and there. Even when I was in Alaska. The 24th of each month will remind me of our last call. Ever. I also know that some of this void, pain, sadness, hurt…will never go all the way away. There is an odd comfort with Danolyn right now, because he lost his Mel. He gets what it is like to be in my shoes. A truly fucked up comfort in his having a dead g/f. She shot herself. He told me his thoughts after. He gets my sadness, anger, need for help. I don’t have to fake it to make him comfortable and I love him for that. THAT, is a friend. But, and thank god for this, he’s not you.

Well Girl, this laundry isn’t doing itself.

Sick n Sin

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I Miss (sunday morning wake and bakes)

I can not believe it has been four months since I have talked to you. My phone is a different creature. It used to be my lifeline to you. Now it’s just the thing I listen to music on all day at work (most days), while it sits in “airplane mode” so I can not be interrupted with bells and whistles that aren’t you.

I miss waking up on Sunday mornings, filling my cup, and filling my bowl and calling you early, because you were an hour ahead of me.



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It’s Friday

20150105_201830This is what happened last time. I think.

We had problems, each of us.

We have problems now too. Each of us.

Scabies is a problem. The fact I came home from sitting in NICU and hospice for 11 days with them, and then gave them to him is a HUGE problem. We share this problem, that was MY problem. Well, it should have been MY problem, but it became our problem.

The fact that my best friend just died is a problem. It, here at home, is MY problem. But it is his problem in that I became so sad. I became sad in a way that I never thought I’d be sad. It fucking sucks.

The fact that he had a simple life, that he greatly enjoyed and opened his home to me and that went right out the fucking window is another HUGE problem we share. It is his problem in the sense I disrupted his peace and harmony. It is my problem, in the same way and I feel like shit about it.

He’s so quiet and distant right now, and it hurts me deeply that he has pulled away. It makes me want to flee and I hear myself thinking the words I have always used to run. “I don’t stay where I am not fucking wanted.”

I am fighting that so fucking hard and just hoping that some day, one day in the future, we will find our way back to each other.

I fell asleep the last two nights with tears in my eyes. I cried this morning at work, when I was alone in the dip room.

Clove oil has become the new crack cocaine for me. Not that crack cocaine has ever been my thing (yuk), but it’s true It is killing some scabies. Problem is…I want all of them killed, and their little fucking eggs. I’m going to have to make a post when I get this done and jot down what works and what doesn’t. So far, Permethrin three times has NOT worked, but the clove oil seems to kill them. It DOESN’T appear to be killing the eggs though and I fear as they hatch and I kill them, they will already have left more eggs. I go see my doctor Monday and see if I can try the pill.

I knew I loved Melissa, I just didn’t realize HOW MUCH I loved her till she was gone.

I finally have talked to her mother and we have pretty much buried the hatchet, so to speak. It is not my place to judge her. I live in a glass house. I have given her the information about the scabies now that Melissa’s son AND daughter both have them. I am waiting to hear if her middle child, the new daddy has them. He’s been spending some time with his new baby so I am scared there.

We are still short for the memorial service in July so I am going to be posting the GoFundMe link a few more times and I ask anyone reading this, please…if you can afford anything, even a dollar, please, donate.

Melissa’s Memorial Service Fund, has raised $620 and most of it is from my friends and I thank you SO much, but we need to raise double that and we need to do it by July. I am going to make another donation after I finish paying back the $680 I had to borrow due to losing work, then coming home and having the flu for a week and a half.

I’m going to go eat a salad. Happy Friday.

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Dear Mel,

Your family drives me nuts.

NOW, I know you are laughing, simply because I used to ask you, “Why don’t you let your family and friends mix?”

I still love you.


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Pissed Off (hurt)

I went to bed really hurt.

I woke up really fucking angry.

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Break Night

Dear Mel,

It’s sunny tonight, it was an OK day. Traffic wasn’t bad. I’m taking Friday off so I know it’s a short week. I’m taking a writing break and grilling some steaks, making baked potato salad, and steamed broccoli. ( Baked potato salad, I know, right?).

I’ll give you a song today, but tonight, I take a writing break.

I love you.


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Grief Counceling Day

Dear Mel,

Second session. Much more comfortable than the first. The first actually helped me a lot in many ways. The first being I had to fill out paperwork regarding why I was there, and who I lost. I had to fill your name in “Who did you lose?” ________________

“What is your relationship with the person you lost?” ________________ “How did you lose the person?” ________________

Filling out that form sucked. It made my cry super hard as I filled it out. It made it become so real. I spent the last few weeks accepting: There was no mistake. You are gone. You aren’t ever going to make my phone ring again. I’m never going to hear your beautiful laugh again. It’s real.

It has sucked learning all this.

It has been good for me to learn that everything I have been going through, is normal. It has been good to learn that I may never be the same, because I feel that. Part of me left with you and that is normal. My thoughts of giving up, have been normal. Finding I don’t want to give up, is even better.

Today we talked, ironically, about vulnerability. It was odd, since she said it before I even brought up the Brene Brown talk I posted yesterday. I grew a pair and came back to Mr. Yummy’s and told him have a little voice in the back of my head telling me that he wants me not to even be here. He shook his head no, and said “No, I don’t feel that.” That was all we said. That was enough vulnerability for me with him today. I didn’t tell him it was the same voice I heard before I fled to Alaska. I haven’t told him I have started grief therapy. I haven’t told him I am dying for a hug (he can’t hug me, HE’S clean now) It was just all enough. getting out I have a voice telling me to run, was enough for one day.

I talked to your daughter today. I miss her and can’t wait for her to come home. She got the all clear to come home. I can’t wait. SIL told her I am not invited to your memorial.. Really? Mini Me is fit to bust a nut, but she has no nut to bust. She said you would be flaming pissed off mad at them for how they have treated me. There were so many people in that house, and yet it had to have been ME who ripped you off, because they obviously didn’t stop to think maybe it was some of the people THEY brought in. I remember being really uncomfortable with everyone being gathered in your bathroom, unsupervised, so I went in and started to talk to Mini Me about stuff with SIL, just to be able to shut the doors in the bathroom and get some of the people who were in your space, like it wasn’t still your space. Perhaps one day, when someone croaks the bucket, they will find A’s stolen ring. I don’t even know what it looks like because the only ring I saw you wear on a regular basis was the one RR got you.

I miss you. I hope bringing Mini Me home is the right thing. I hope she can transition here and deal with D.

I’m going to watch for our words to appear. Like I look for 11:11. Maybe if I see them enough, I will know you feel I honored you.

I’m taking Friday off to do what better be my last treatment. I need to rid of the Texas parasites.


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