Broken

So. Weekend. All in all, I gotta say: it sucked.

Friday night I was waiting for Lauren to come over with booze and food, and I was reading various blogs in the living room while Donovan played in his room. Nik was out. Suddenly, the living room lights go out. I get up, a notice that Donovan's TV had shut off, but his lights were on. I realized we must have blown a circuit. It's not that unusual, considering my building is sort of old and we run a lot of high power appliances over here.

As I walked back to Donovan's room, I heard him start to freak out. I found him sitting on his bed, crying hysterically. I assumed he was just scared because of the TV suddenly turning off. Sudden, unexpected things freak him out pretty regularly. I picked him up and he clung to me like a vice. He could barely talk.

I took him into the kitchen and tried to calm him down. He was inconsolable. He started to scare me. I asked him over and over again why he was so terrified, and he just said that it was because his TV turned off. I picked him up and sat him on the counter by the fridge and started getting him some juice. It was then that I noticed that a few fingers on his hand were black. My insides froze. I grabbed his hand and asked him how he did it. He said it was pen, from when he was drawing earlier. I grilled him more until finally, he blurted out "I STUCK A PIN IN THE PLUG." And then he went into hysterics again, this time with me along for the ride. I called Nik, screamed and rambled...I didn't know what to do. He seemed fine; sure, he was scared as shit but he was talking and walking and didn't seem off at all, but I what the fuck do I know about electrocution? Maybe his brain was sizzling in his skull RIGHT THAT SECOND and I didn't know it. Nik calmed me down, Donovan calmed down, and all was well.

Lauren showed up with the booze, and I promptly fell asleep on my couch while she watched Harry Potter.

Saturday morning brought a screaming brawl with Nik because sometimes my boyfriend can be an idiot. We made up pretty quickly, and the rest of Saturday passed without event.

Sunday afternoon, feeling inexplicably down and tired, I went to lay down. A few hours later, Nik woke me up. He said my mother called (I haven't spoken to mother in over two months) and said that my cousin Melanie had slipped into a coma and that maybe I should try to get in touch with Theresa (Melanie's sister, and my favorite cousin.) I got up and called my mom back. I learned about Melanie's condition and made small amends with my mom.

Less than twenty minutes later, my mom called back to tell me that Melanie died.

Melanie was 35 years old. She would have been 36 in January. She lived a sad, pitiful life of illness, both physical and mental. The scope of the tragedy extends beyond her death, into her life, and the fact that she never knew happiness in this world. Melanie was as good as estranged from most of my family, including me. The butt of many jokes and the source of a lot of irritation, it was easy to forget that there was a person, a human being with emotions and needs and pain, under the layers of insanity. What brings the grief into stark relief is that she may have never known that we loved her. How could she? We never told her. Let it be our penance for our lack of compassion toward her that we bear that guilt forever.

Additionally difficult today is the fact that I'm not there with my family, because I'm estranged from them, too. Twelve years ago this past November, my grandfather died of cancer. During his illness, my family essentially lived together under one roof, caring for him and one another; a single unit. How far we've fallen, how much we've broken since then.

Now, on the day of a death of a cousin, niece, daughter and sister, we are divided. We each are kept apart by our grudges and our misdeeds. We've all forgotten that, despite our actions, we're still people. We've all hurt and been hurt. Everyone we've lost in the few years has left behind a world of regret. Things we should have said, actions we should have forgiven.  When are we going to learn?  Maybe we are just irrevocably  broken.

Comments

[marni]

You really have a way with words. Such beauty in all the pain. I'm sure Melanie knows - now - how much she was loved. I hope amends can be made before it is all too late.

SO glad Donovan is OK. That must have been terrifying! Bet that little one learned his lesson though.

Hugs.

[t]

nearly a year and half later - I don't know that I read this. Or I did, but in my acute grief forgot it quickly.
I have to say I disagree with your summary of Melanie's life. As her sister, and the only one (besides my mother) who had a relationship with her every single year of her life, I don't think her life was pitiful at all. Maybe that is why some of the family couldn't bear to be kind to her: they thought she was pitiful. They didn't know her, they knew only a strand of her. But she was not pitiful, neither was her life. Oh, there were tough - horrible - weeks, months, and years, but there was a lot of happiness and success. Melanie was in a relationship with the love her life for seven years. SEVEN years. Who has that, in our family? It's rare. And if she were granted the gift of silver hair, I don't doubt they'd grow old together.
Melanie had her own home, her kittens, and she took care of the bills and she took care of her man. Acie fell apart when she died, not only because of grief, but because his wife - his life support - was gone.
I did my best to highlight her achievements and graces in the eulogy I gave. Maybe no one was listening.
I know your aim was not hurtful here, it just really bothered me to read this view of my sister. She flourished in many moments of her life. And, yes, she faltered too.