Author Topic: Another death  (Read 19799 times)

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Another death
« Reply #45 on: September 23, 2006, 12:25:57 PM »
Quote from: Debra
Little does she know they arrived shortly after she had left and were very upset. They thought they had gotten the message wrong and we just let them think there must have been a mistake along the way , no point creating more drama. sigh.

That sounds really crummy. I would hate to be in their shoes. :(

I hope the young ones enjoy their party, Debra. Don't work too hard. Get all the rest you can.


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Another death
« Reply #46 on: September 23, 2006, 01:41:50 PM »
Self-Counsel Press' Wills for Ontario (aka Wills Guide for Ontario) should be in most libraries, or about $10 at any new bookstore, most stationers including Staples Business Depot and Grand & Toy, etc.


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Another death
« Reply #47 on: September 26, 2006, 10:29:25 AM »
The funeral was yesterday.

Renewing my objection to religion.

No doubt the constant theme of all sins forgiven is meant to be comforting and certainly I have no desire to see her burn in a hell, in which I don't believe anyway, however, it is cold comfort to hear that all is well with her considering the pain she left behind.

The romantisizing of her life was beyond annoying, reminding me of the quote from Futurama;
I didn't know Philip but as a clergyman I have no problem telling his closest friends and family everything about him.

We heard how selfless she was, how compassionate, how she cared for others, I had to check the handout to make sure I was at the service.

Of course I did not want to hear them say bad things but why make of someone something they weren't?

Instead of being comforted I felt rising anger. I'm glad that the service was comforting to those who feel a connection with religion for the rest of us our comfort came after when we got together and shared real stories about her, and reconnected with each other.  There are still those who remain estranged and want to keep it that way, interestingly many of the same people who are religious, guess forgiveness, understanding and repentance is only for the dead.

One thing I plan to include in my will is that there be absolutely no religiousity in my service. In fact my service should consist of those who care getting together playing my favorite songs, telling jokes that made me laugh and sharing stories. I can't think of a better tribute.
“Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.” —  Josephine Hart

fern hill

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Another death
« Reply #48 on: September 26, 2006, 11:36:36 AM »
Well, it's over, Debra, and it sounds like you made the best of it.

About wills and parties: I made a will recently and I included in it some money to buy booze and food for any of my friends and relations who want to get together after I'm dead. I have instructed them that they must tell funny stories about me.

Oh, and another funeral story. My granny was 97 when she died. She had 10 children, 30-something grandchildren, I don't know how many great-grandchildren, and the usual assortment of in-laws. At the wake we knew this was probably the last time we'd be together. There was a back room with sofas and coffee-machine. Three times the funeral director had to come back and tell us to keep it down. We were telling stories and laughing. Some people, my pickle-up-the-bum aunt in particular, found it unseemly. As one cousin said: 'For a funeral, this is a pretty good party.'


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Another death
« Reply #49 on: September 26, 2006, 11:39:21 AM »
Quote from: Debra
however, it is cold comfort to hear that all is well with her considering the pain she left behind.

Of course I did not want to hear them say bad things but why make of someone something they weren't?

I couldn't agree more about your feelings re: religion. But, you knew there'd be a but right? Forgiveness I have learned is a discipline. For me it has been a continuous effort to see the innocence in other people, most especially to those I feel done me wrong. I once thought that judging would give me more power and control over my own destiny/life/whatever. It didn't. The opposite was true and of course since I judged, of course I was bound to be judged in return. This was by family, some friends. I hated living that way, because it took the enchantment out of what is truly inside the heart of the ones I was judging. The judgement towards me was doled out disguised as medicine. How appropriate for those who decided they knew better than me. In any case, I had had enuf of that. I was pathologizing love, dysfunctional as it was.  I saw I was making distortions out of who people really were in their hearts. I kept seeing 'those' people as they were and not as they really are. So I placed some rose tinted glasses on and thought I'd look out from those for awhile. Instead of becoming goofy I was allowed to really see. I gave some really sick people 'wings'.  If my family member limits me to who I used to be, then I was doing the same to them. So thru the rose glasses I was able to give the person back their own mystery and hence claimed my own.

So I somehow found a way to forgive, privately. That means still lots of unspoken anger because I can't bring myself to give it all up yet. So I'm still on that wheel. I'm human. But so far I have learned as well that the only way I can see each person as they truly are (in their hearts) I have to look thru my own heart (the rose glasses). This may sound pretty corny to you, but it does change the perspective enough to scratch the surface of how I was meant to be. All of us were meant to be. So that is corny, enchantment and innocence. Animals helped me, because they are always enchanting and mostly innocent.  :wink:
"Democracy is not the law of the majority, it's the protection of the minority." -Albert Camus 1913-1960

anne cameron

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Another death
« Reply #50 on: September 26, 2006, 08:16:55 PM »
I think I came to much the same place by a whole other route.  My father was a total arstle.  He was a violent bully who so disgusted me with his treatment of my mother that I have spent my entire life involved in safe houses, transition houses, and havens of shelter for women seeking safety.  When I finally reared up on my hind legs and actively fought back I dam near killed him (hit him across the top of the head with a poker).  He was so brave he never again went at her in my presence but that didn't mean he stopped being a rotten bully.

I hated him.  I could feel it, I could taste it, and it walked with me every step I took.  So one day I got a phone call from my sister and my mom was in hiding again and the old man was on the rampage and I decided I was going to catch a ferry then drive seventy miles and kill him.  I headed out to do that but my brother intercepted me.  The old man had checked himself in on the psych ward and they had orders at the front desk not to allow me into the hospital but phone the cops if I showed up.

Thwarted.  Jesus I was mad!  So I turned around to drive back home and was muttering and festering and really just about as crazy as I knew he was and I thought just a minute.  There's more than one way to skin a rat.  So I killed him.  In my head.  I just killed him.  gone.  space in the air anywhere he was standing.  Didn't speak to him or of him.  Gone gone gone.

He became very ill, very old, very frail very quickly.  And I (still not sane!) decided the old bastard had been feeding on my hate, that the energy I had put into it had kept him going.  And when I stopped putting in that energy, he withered.  Then he died.  He was in hospital, gasping his last breaths and the whole family was telling me I should go up to see him and "clear" things and "make peace" and..and I said no, I wasn't doing any such thing, I wasn't even going to go to his funeral, he'd been dead to me for several years.

Then my sister phoned.  I love her beyond description.  She said she fully understood but it was going to break my mother's heart if I didn't show up for the funeral.

I had told him at one point that when he died I was going to wear a bright red dress and the highest heels in town.  Well, I didn't.  I wore jeans, tee shirt, cowboy boots and a denim jacket.  WHen the dreary dam hymns started I did not stand for them.  My darling uncle was sitting behind me.  I heard my aunt hissing at him to stand, get up, stand and I heard him say No, my baboo isn't standing and I'm damned if I will.  So there were more mouldy words and empty commiserations and all this bullshit and blether from a guy who had never set eyes on the old farts face and then another hymn.  And half a dozen of us sat it out.  By the time the last bumph was done and the mercifully last hymn was warbled there were a lot of us just sitting it out.  My mother knew nothing about it, we were sitting behind her but we got our stubborn mean-minded say.

I don't miss him.  I wish he'd died twenty years sooner.  But once I'd quit hating him it was as if... you know, you can fill a paper bag with water and stand holding it for quite a while before the bottom falls out...and I guess when I "killed" him and stopped hating him the bottom fell out of my bag.  Or something.

I'm a lot more tolerant of almost everybody than I ever was.  I can tell my sister, my brother, my cousins that I love them and do it without feeling restrained or self conscious or... there are still people I won't have in my life, but I don't "feel" any animosity toward them, I just don't want people like that cluttering up my personal space.  I have my boundaries as firmly fixed as ever, but with the bottom gone from that bag I don't feel I have to "defend" anything.

It's very liberating.  I wish I had "killed" the old fuck years sooner so I could have not wasted all those years putting so much energy into detesting him.  I could have been free a lot sooner!  And I could have walked tentatively toward sanity a lot sooner, too.

People ask me if I have a theory or an analysis as to why so many men treat their nearest and dearest so brutally.  And my answer is "because they can".

And it will take more than laws, more than jails to stop it.  But they're a great place to start!


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