We found out yesterday about the passing of a good friend. And it’s left us all…well, grieving. Its always hard to describe grief. And yet we all understand it. I mean we’ve all been through it to one degree or another. But it fuckin sucks. Fuck you, grief.
I’m not gonna eulogize David–he was an awesome dude. Enough said. I always hated eulogies, obits and the like. They never do the person justice–they are never enough. All i can say is that he liked my kid and my dog, and they loved him: the definition of good people. He was my husband’s poker buddy–and that is one awesome group of dudes. See?
(fyi–my Old Man is the one in the tux, leaning in, with the spikey hair and ‘stache. Yeah, the one that kinda looks like muppet. )
But of course, when death hits close, it brings all kind of shit to the table–things you don’t want to think about, refuse to think about, really, STFU, i DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THIS. You know, what would happen to your kid, your family, yada yada yada, should you just not be there anymore.
And not to diminish what the parents of typical kids feel, when when your kid falls into that “other” category, this thought almost makes you shit yourself. Or at least might be a challenge for the sphincterally challenged.
ANd yes, yes. I know there are legal things i(we) can do to make sure our lil dinosaur is taken care of–i’m not talking about that. You think about the little things–who will patiently wait through each step of making a PB&J with him? who will know to scratch his back and play with his hair when he’s over the edge sensory-wise? Who will diligently fill out every last piece of fucking paperwork to make sure he gets every fucking service for which he is eligible?
Yes, yes. I know. I know. With a kid like this, who wouldn’t? Hell, i’m convinced the girls down at the bank would take full custody of him if we didn’t already have something in place. But as with the nature of in-your-head scenarios–they are always the worst.
And like a nag, they just WON’T SHUT UP.
So it’s 345am and i’m up, thinkin about shit i don’t want to think about, drinking decaf because it just doesn’t make sense to drink caffeinated coffee at 345. I was originally up because of a bad dream about–you guessed it–Benji. THe kind of dream that took every bit of energy i had not to go into his room and hug the snot out of him. Yeah. That kind. good times.
So, you’ll forgive if today’s post isn’t as snarky as promised. That’s the thing about death and bad news. it doesn’t pay attention to your schedules and plans. It just moves in and starts bogarting all your snacks and taking over the remote control and farting alot. Suck it, grief. Get the fuck off my couch.