The Bloggess and Loss

Our lovely interweb friend, The Bloggess, lost a dear family member recently.  If you have a moment, you might go over to her site and leave a message of condolence.  Then read from her archives about Beyonce the giant metal chicken and laugh, because you’ll need to laugh.

On this topic, I feel like my family has had many losses over the last few years.  Is this just part of “middle age” (a term I HATE)–losing people and trying to survive?  First, it was our two cats, two years apart (one in 2010, the other in 2012); I know, you may think, they’re only cats, but they were our babies and it was incredibly tough. Then, my granny passed away.  Then the awesome sister of my former stepdad the asshole; I still call her Aunt.  Then my great uncle.  Then last year, my brother, only 1.5 years older than me.  He had mesothelioma, a horrible form of cancer (subject of another post).  Three months later, our father.  WTF, world?

Of course, I wasn’t always close to all of these people, but it seems like a lot of shit to happen in 3 years, doesn’t it?  I could write more about each of them, but I have to go to work now.  However, on a funny note, writing this reminds me of the late, great George Carlin’s bit about how we talk about death.  It’s always with euphemisms:  “passed away,” “lost,” “went to a better place.”  Is this how we deal with the horrible reality?

I don’t believe in the concept of heaven, though I often wish I could.  Wouldn’t it be nice to see those we love again?  But how would we deal with running into those we hate, people we made fools of ourselves in front of, or people who hate us?  Would it be like the awkward thing that happened to me yesterday when a mean woman at work saw me at a meeting, where we were all dressed up to meet a bigwig, and said, “Ohhh, look, you’re wearing one of those bandage dresses.”  No, hey, nice dress, no, what a pretty color, just an observation in a tone that implied she was envious or disapproved or whatever.  I hate people like that and the jellyfish they throw at you (a term from Bridget Jones).  I don’t want to meet her in heaven.  I think I could put up with her, though, if I could see my dad or my brother or my aunt or my kitties again.  But why would heaven be just like life?  Are we each supposed to have our own personal heaven?  If not, don’t you think it’s crowded by now?

Anyway, gotta go to work.  Gonna be late.  Again.  Thanks for reading. : )

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