A funny funeral story, on this, the anniversary of my father's death

so I'm going to tell you a funny/horrific story about it, while I'm stuck here in memory lane:

My father hooked up with this creature (you'll see why I call her that, I hope), about three years before he died.  She was only the second of his girlfriends that I had ever met - he made a big deal about taking my brother and I out to dinner with them, once.  They both drank all during dinner, and I didn't drive, so I spent a good 30 minutes trying to get Big/Only Brother to take their keys away and drive us home, but instead wound up getting yelled at for being a baby, and driven home by an angry drunk, his semi-sloppy girlfriend, and my silent brother: such fun!

Their relationship was more like an episode of Cops than anything else: They both drank excessively, they both lost work because of it, they both had severe anger management issues, (and children under 10 -) It was obviously a match made in heaven!  They were on-again off-again to the extreme, having lived together at least twice over the course of their relationship.  To the best of my knowledge (mostly secondhand through my sister, who was 6-10 years old at the time, but also through Daddy himself, then and later on), there were physical fights, a lot of screaming matches and thrown telephones, holes punched in walls, and eventually, my daddy, during one of their mutual tantrums threatened her dad that if he didn't put her back on the phone he would kill him, and so there ultimately were restraining orders and jail time involved.  Which didn't stop them from getting together again when he got out of jail, or breaking up again after losing a baby the spring before he passed away.  (To this day, I don't really know if "losing the baby" was code for "she didn't want the baby, so she got rid of it" as my father professed, or not.  I actually didn't want to know anything about any of it, but my father was not the type to cry into his beer: he was the type to drink his beer, and everybody else's beer, and then try to cry on the closest available shoulder.)

So, when he died, they'd been broken up, after yet another mega fight, in which he screamed that she was a "murdering whore," and she collapsed in tears, drove away and called Child Protective Services on him.

Obviously, star-crossed lovers. 

So a month or two later, when he died, nobody thought to contact her, but his death was in the papers, of course, and they knew some of the same people, and her kid went to SisterK's school, so she found out.  And when we showed up at the funeral home for the viewing that night, early, like family does, my grandmother was over inspecting the flower arrangements (because, please, God, don't let her have to see her son in that box any more), and she noticed that the Ex-Girlfriend had sent a flower arrangement.  Which she promptly told the undertaker to dispose of.

They were removed from the room with very little fanfare - I figure most people didn't even know it had happened - and we continued with our torturous vigil (I Hate Wakes!  They Are Hideous! Please Don't Have A Viewing For Me ~ Just have the Post-Party Food Section, and then everybody can go home). 

About three hours in, I am sitting in the chair nearest the casket - nobody else could sit there, so it's where I sat - and one of my uncles (Daddy was one of 9 children) and my brother coming zipping across the room towards me, and my uncle asks me if I'm ok to walk.  (The funeral home was not accessible, but I was more walkable back then.) I just sat there trying to understand what the hell was happening, and he repeated himself: "Can you walk?" 

It was said so urgently that I thought something horrible had happened and we were leaving - somebody passed out (common both in my family and at our wakes); there was a fire; I didn't even know.  But as I stood up, I noticed that we were walking (as quickly as I could) with a crowd of people, but we were all headed toward the smoking room, the back of the building, instead of the exit.  I went along, still having no idea what the hell was happening, and then my uncle starts telling me that the Ex had shown up, and that Grandmother had said that she refused to be in the room with her (when she called CPS, she had made entirely false claims against my grandmother, as well), so that's why the mass evacuation.

There must have been 75 of us who scrambled from the two larger outer rooms and squished into that one tiny room for a good five minutes, before one of my uncles asked my grandmother if she wanted the Ex to leave.  When she said that she did, an embassy of uncles, brothers, and cousins stepped out into the main room, and told her that she was not welcome here, and that she would have to go.  I remember so clearly that the undertaker didn't seem ruffled by this at all - I assume family feuds are part of his routine - but later I had a cousin from my step-dad's family tell me that it was the 'craziest, most intimidating thing he had ever seen at a funeral', so it must have been shocking to some of the other people too.

She left when she was asked to leave, and stood outside crying for a while.  Which is where the funny comes in.  SisterJ (then 16) and a few of the younger cousins had been outside the whole time, and so they didn't know anything about the drama that had occurred inside.  When SisterJ saw the Ex, who she didn't know or recognize, crying, she went over and hugged her, offering comfort.  Two of our male cousins came outside as this was happening, and, after the Ex had left, told SisterJ about how she'd been comforting the enemy - the same person who'd upset Grandmother and had been asked to leave.  She was mortified, but it seemed to cheer everybody else up when they heard it, even Grandmother, who just put it down to SisterJ's sweet nature.  

And that's a little glimpse into the 'normal' of my family.  We evacuated a wake, forced someone else to leave, somebody hugged that person as they were ordered out, and then we all had a good chuckle about it.  If you don't know what to do with that information, I can't really blame you.  It's been ten years since my dad's funeral, and neither do I      

My great-aunt died tonight.

Or I guess, technically, not MY great-aunt. 

She was my dad's aunt, and since my dad is technically my step-dad, and since I have chosen to limit my interaction with him because he's an abusive narcissist, his side of the family has been pretty scarce in my life for a while.

It's probably not a thing, because they were never super involved in our lives in the first place, but it's definitely been noticeable.  Christmas cards, funerals and First Communions, basically - that's been our interaction in the last decade or so.  I think it actually has more to do with the fact that they don't spend time with him anymore either, because he's a generally miserable human being, and the byproduct has been that they don't spend any time with any of us.  Kind of sucks, but what are you going to do?


But back to the great-aunt: She was scarce, but not in a voluntary way.  She was 96 years old, and ill, and infirm, and after a fall a few years ago, afraid to leave her house, basically.  The house with stairs.  So i don't think I've seen her in person in about five plus years.

Which is too bad, because she was a really sweet person. 

Always kind to me, no matter what.  She wouldn't have given two shits that I choose not to really communicate with her nephew, because her husband was the same kind of guy, and I think she'd have probably cheered, if she'd known that some of us had gotten sick enough of his bullshit not to interact with him anymore. (Of course, there was also the 'what he says goes' element of her personality, so it's probably more 50/50 on which way that could have gone.)

But I kept in touch the only way I really could... through letters and cards.  Every new batch of pictures, I'd make a double or two and send them along to Auntie Lucy, with just a "Hey, thinking of you.  Thought you might to see how un-little the littles are getting." Something held over from living with Grandmother and watching her wait for the mail, or the phone to ring, or somebody to just pop in.  Even at her worst, when she wouldn't actually be so great during the visits, when there weren't any, she'd still be waiting for some.

It was certainly not difficult to drop Auntie Lucy a card every now and then and let her know she wasn't forgotten.  I even sent a card to her daughter once, because she was caring for her at home.  Because I've been in her position - or something close to it anyways - just saying "hey, I know this sucks.  It's so hard, and you're doing great even if it feels like you're messing it all up.  I'm around if you ever need to talk."  She never called, but I hope it made her feel a little bit less alone.  Because that's a lonely, rough road to walk.

So now, I have to figure out about wakes and a funeral.  And rearranging any doctor's appointments and whatever else needs to happen this week.  And try not to feel bad about not calling my dad to say I'm sorry she's gone. 

I am sorry she's gone, and I'm sorry I heard about it on goddamn Facebook first, but I'm not putting myself in a situation where I need to try and comfort him.  That's not my job, not anymore. 

And that feels shitty, to be honest: To say, I know my dad will be grieving, and I know that I'm not even going to do more than barely acknowledge it.  Because he'll be at the wakes and the funeral and everything else, and I'll have to see him and not make a scene, which means say "I'm so sorry," and not immediately run away when he tries to hug me or something. 

Boundaries are hard, even at the easiest of times.  They're definitely not going to be easy to hold right now, when everybody is hurting.  But I'm not opening anything even a centimeter more than I have to.

Because I deserve to be treated like an adult human with feelings, and he is incapable of that, so: boundaries are there to protect us both, honestly. Because as much as I'd like to vent my spleen, it would just wind up hurting the people around us - my sisters and such - so that's just going to stay safely spleened up, and I'm going to nod along and keep the walls strictly in place.


But I'm sad, tonight, because ... she was a nice lady, and she was always kind to me, and I know her daughters must be hurting, and even that he's hurting.  All of those things, and the fact that family is a mess, at all times, even the saddest. 

Deep breaths and strong boundaries.  Goals for the week.