My grandmother died on Wednesday morning, as I was traveling.
Beaker drove out on Friday with Miss T. We held the funeral mass on Saturday.
Everyone who came to the wake was either a neighbor (they all cried) or an old, old, old as in high school, friend of Ricky's.
I am very frustrated by my uncle.
So is Marina. She, however, is married to him. I give it less than a year; she's someone who falls on her feet.
They're going to try to keep the apartment. I give that less than a year, too.
There's a will. It's exactly as hellish as you might expect from my family, particularly since there is no money -- which is all that Ricky wants -- and the only thing I want, namely family pictures, records, and memorabilia, goes to Ricky. He's executor, too. Oh my God.
I'll go back out next week to try to put things in order. Ha.
It is easy to make excuses for why I was not closer to my grandmother. She was a very difficult person; she held herself back from everyone, emotionally and physically, and she could lash out viciously with little provocation.
For the last seven years, Ricky was living with her, and I found it very difficult to visit -- both because of his presence, and because of how they played off the worst in each other.
But I let that gap grow.
Ricky's high school friends remember me as a toddler running around the House (the one lost in my grandfather's bankruptcy); my grandmother took care of me then. I don't know if my mother was even around much. In her papers I found a couple of poems that seemed to have been written after she'd been caring for me as an infant, and then my mother took me back (one time that ended up with me with pneumonia, my mother back in the hospital). I remember so little of those years -- but my grandmother was the one, I think, the one who was there when I was small.
But after I was taken away from her over and over again -- by my mother, repeatedly, by my foster father trying to keep me, by the custody fight, by my growing up and moving into a wider world -- she was too hurt to let me in again. And I didn't fight it.
The only reason I saw her so often this past year is the IVF cycles. I didn't even go for Thanksgiving last year --- we were going to have a big dinner in January to make up for it --- and then the January cycle sucked and I got depressed and Beaker and Miss T. never came out to New York.
Ricky seems to believe that my family and I will continue to visit regularly.
On the one hand: what the FUCK?
On the other hand: they all hated each other for years, and what good did it do? Why should I carry on the tradition? (Plus, he could be a really effective anti-drug message, just being his lovely self.)
I am nominally nine weeks pregnant today. I feel and look pregnant. Nausea, huge sore breasts, a belly that's moderate in the mornings but balloons out through the day. Inability to concentrate. Fatigue. All just like last time at this stage.
It is killing me that it is all, almost certainly, meaningless -- the hormonal effects and physical displacements of a hard-working placenta, doing its best to support something fatally flawed. I can never really believe during the 2ww that the symptoms are meaningless -- but this is multiplied a thousandfold.
Tomorrow I go for my first ultrasound since seven weeks -- that was the bad one. Beaker is driving me, because I can't imagine getting myself home if the news is what we have to try to expect.