So, I have written a lot about parental narcissism. I could go back through these posts and figure out the exact range of years where I was most active, but y’all, I have had a majorly fucked up week and I can’t handle anything that might even be a little bit like a word problem.

Anyway, I have written many many words about my experience as the adult child of a malignant narcissist. I have written shit that was angry and sad and tired. The process allowed me to figure out who I am. The process allowed me to stop hating myself. Somewhere in that range of years that I can’t be bothered to identify, I learned that I wasn’t to be hated. I learned that I could be okay with myself.

So, my boogeyman died.

He just dropped dead. Last Tuesday.

I remember when I used to write about my dad and my issues and his issues, how it would be when he died. What would that look like. What would that post look like?

Then so much more time passed. I stopped wondering what it would be like. My dad has been declining in a big bad way for a few years now. It is not shocking that he died. But you know what? It is still goddamn shocking.

I have to say, getting a call from my baby sister where she is sobbing and saying she found dad dead in the garage is a terrible experience. 0/5 stars. Do not recommend.

That whole morning was fucked. F U C K E D.

It started with me making lunch plans via text with a work friend. We are both dealing with a lot of work stress, though our jobs are completely different.

In the middle of making lunch plans, she got fired.

I had texted her about the time we were going to meet up and then about a half hour later, she told me she got fired.

Then a few minutes later, my sister called.

She said no more than a few sentences before I told her that I would call her back. I lost feeling in my legs and arms and I felt removed from pretty much everything.

Oh, this is shock. Right? This is shock. Why are you shocked? He has been fucking dying for years now. Mom has been his caregiver for thirty fucking years and all you ever wanted was for her to be free and now she is. So why don’t your arms and legs want to work? 

Then my limbs worked again. I made stupid fucking painful calls to my sons. I gathered my things and I drove home.

My sisters and I did the things you have to do when an elderly parent dies. My parents have chosen to donate their bodies to the University of Cincinnati medical school. The arrangements for my father weren’t difficult. There will be no service and no funeral.

So yeah, my dad finally went to college!

I would so much love to wrap this fucking post up now. I would love that all I have left to say is that I feel more sadness than I thought I would. I would love to say that we’re all just navigating grief the way people have to do and then wrap up.

But no.

There’s more.

Yesterday morning. my sister (the same one who found our father) called to tell me that she was taking mom to the ER. Mom hurt her back a few months ago and was struggling a bit. She woke up yesterday and was in too much pain to move. My youngest sister lives with my parents (parent). Mom called out to her and said she needed help. My mother never needs help. My mother hates help. If she needs help, then there is something terribly wrong. She told my sister she thought her back was broken.

Then my mom walked to the car and into the hospital, so you know, no way this 84 year old, brand new widow had a broken fucking back. No way.

As it turns out, mom wasn’t completely honest about what happened. She got dizzy and passed out. That is how she hurt herself. And not only is her  back broken, but it is broken in two places.

My mother is a goddamn super hero. With two broken vertebrae.

Anyway, it’s been a shitty week. You know?

The good news is, and I cannot express enough how good this news is, is that mom is a candidate for vertebroplasty. She will get a cement-like substance injected into the two broken vertebrae and it is supposed to be like a miracle cure. She should be walking by later next week.

Seeing Martha in this much pain is difficult. Navigating the death of a horrible parent is difficult.

Randy and I are watching videos of Norm MacDonald. Which is helping.

I have to go back to work on Monday.

Wish me luck.