I am not sorry. Kel, old enough to know better but young enough to do it anyway. Middle aged, married, engineer, manager, queer, ADHD. Detroit: Become Human, Conniel shipper, Bill and Frank from TLOU. And photography, crochet, shit talking. Pooping sunshine and rainbows, Airstream nerd. AO3: PaddlingDingo
I debated posting about this. It’s a hard topic, and a hard week. I’ve decided that I’m going to post this, but I have one ask. If you know me in “real life”, please don’t speak of this to anyone. You can reach out to me, but please do not reach out to any of the parties involved or share it outside of Tumblr. I just need to get it off my chest.
Trigger warnings for death, drug overdose, and grief. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; this is a grim entry.
Monday. I had just gotten home and sat down to eat some dinner. My husband was laid off last month, and the energy around the house is a little low. A lot to process there. The phone rings just as we’re starting to eat. It’s my stepson’s mother. She’s in tears. She says we need to get to stepson’s house, that he needs his father. That her youngest son is dead.
Her youngest son lives with my stepson. We really don’t know what to do with this, but there’s only so many questions you can ask. We tell her we’ll go immediately. We don’t know what has happened. It’s going to take an hour to get there so we drop everything. We text my stepson and his wife. My daughter in law calls moments later, also in tears. She explains that stepson’s brother overdosed.
He lives with my stepson. Which means, my stepson just found his brother dead.
We’re convinced we’re going to sit with them while they wait to take a body away. But we’re an hour out. We call a friend of stepson’s, who can be there in 20 minutes. He drops everything and goes.
We’re halfway there and we’re in shock. Everyone is in shock. That’s when we get a text that the paramedics got a pulse, and they’re transporting to the hospital. We call the friend, and he’s 2 minutes away. We call stepson and tell him to wait, that we’ve sent help. He’s too upset to drive. We tell him to wait, help is almost there.
We reroute to the hospital. In a surreal turn, it’s the hospital a block from the clinic I worked at back in the 90s. As we’re about to turn into the hospital, my husband says, “I think they’re behind us.” I look in the side view mirror and there’s the ambulance, still a ways off. We hurry into the hospital lot, but while we’re looking for parking, the ambulance arrives. It drives right past us.
I can see in the window. I already know. This is bad. This is a worst case scenario. This is about to be the worst night of many people’s lives.
We’re the first ones there. At the front desk, they haven’t checked him in yet. Even when they do, they’re giving very little. We’re not family (although after a point, everyone started writing my husband off as an uncle just to reduce the hassle). My husband sits, but I pace like a caged tiger, checking at the front desk. Is he checked in yet? They finally tell me that we can see him in 8 minutes. I don’t need to see him. I need to be there to make sure that his family can see him. I am pacing.
Finally his grandmother and his other brother arrive, and I’ll never forget their faces. I hug them. And that’s my vigil, now, I wait for people to walk in the door, I take in their grief. I let them know that they have help. I try to take a fraction of their grief. It’s like taking a cup of water out of the ocean. It’s useless. I know it is.
They start letting people back to see E (as I’ll call him). E isn’t in the room; they’ve taken him for a CT scan. My husband stays with E’s grandmother and other brother. I know where the room is now and how to direct people there if needed. I go back to my lobby vigil. My husband and I exchange updates, me from the lobby and him from the room, to take the communication burden off of the family.
E’s parents arrive. His mother wants answers and she’s upset but crisp. She knows her shit.
More arrive. Sister. My stepson and his wife. The other grandparents. Stepsister. Cousins. Only 2 can go back at a time. They let us break some rules because of how grim it is.
I try to get a double drop of Swedish Fish from the vending machine. The trick hasn’t worked in years, modern vending machines are too smart, but I don’t know what else to do with myself.
I move everyone into a corner of the waiting area, to try to coral the grief into a space that’s not spilling into everyone else. I try to be comforting, but the other grandmother hates me and I know it. She lets me hug her anyway. We have news it’s brain damage, but she doesn’t want to know. I’m surrounded by people whose world is shattering. They’re processing at different rates. Some want the specifics. Others need to be alone with their pain. E’s grandfather sits alone.
My daughter in law lets me hug her. My stepson barely lets me, he’s stiff as a board. I already know he thinks it’s his fault. Details slowly start to leak out, a picture that takes hours for me to get my head around. After finding his brother, my stepson administered two doses of Narcan and started CPR. His wife, a nurse, then took over. They’re tired. They’re traumatized. They wish they’d realized sooner, they wish they’d checked on him, they wish they hadn’t just let him sit in his room while they cooked dinner. Wish. Wish. Wish.
My daughter in law looks like she’s curling up on herself, while my stepson sits with his spine too straight. They still haven’t gotten to go back and see him, and that’s unfair, too. They did everything to try to save him, they did everything *right*… just not in time. And that’s not their fault. They’ve seen the worst of everyone, but they haven’t got to see E yet. Finally they send them back and I don’t know if I’m relieved or horrified.
My stepson’s friend is sitting there. I go over and tell him if he needs to get back to his wife and kid, we can take stepson and his wife home. He says, “I’m not going anywhere.” He is resolute. This is why my husband called him; he’s that kind of friend. He stays at stepson’s side. He’s probably more comfort than we are, but also, he’s a lot closer to E. His heart is breaking, too.
There is a man named Alex with a broken arm. He’s been here 5 hours and he’s hungry, and doesn’t have money to get anything out of the vending machine. I’m on my way over to the vending machines and this is a problem I can solve. I take Alex to the vending machine and buy him a sandwich, chips, cookies, and a soda. I try to get some water for the family but the vending machine is shit. I think about just kicking the shit out of it but there’s two cameras. I don’t want to be removed from the hospital for beating up a vending machine for an overpriced bottle of water.
They let everyone go back before they transfer him. We fill the room. E’s grandfather walks up and just turns and leaves, letting out a choked “I can’t.” I stay in the room for a bit, my hand on E’s mother’s shoulder. There’s nothing I can do.
To contextualize, this is my husband’s ex. We haven’t always gotten along. But over the years we all formed respect and eventually friendship. I can’t imagine her hurt, and I don’t think I want to. My hand on her shoulder is the lamest gesture in the world, but it’s all I have. We’re standing around her son on a ventilator. It’s grim, and it’s terrible. It’s heartbreaking but there’s no way to process this, to deal with the sight. I saw E on New Year’s Eve. We played the Trolley Problem game. It was a brutal round and we laughed so hard.
It’s not fair. It’s not right. He’s 26. This isn’t supposed to happen. The wrongness and shock of it fills every corner of the room. His pulse is 205. His blood pressure is something high but I don’t remember. It was a lot of flashing numbers to me, even though I know how to read all of those displays. It’s just a lot.
I leave, not because I can’t stand it, but because some of the family is struggling and I want to go check on them. His other brother just can’t keep looking. He’s stoic but it’s in that contained way. He’s going to explode, at some point. The sister and stepsister are with him outside.
E’s uncle shows up. It’s all over his face. I know that E’s uncle lost a brother a long time ago, too. And I recognize that maybe everyone hoped they’d never have to feel that kind of pain again. I offer to take him aside to update him, because E’s grandmother is not ready to hear what’s happening. I’m trying to spare her. But E’s dad steps in and he’s blunt. He explains there’s no brain activity due to lack of oxygen.
E’s dad’s health is not great, he’s had 2 TIAs. His walking is unsteady. We get him to sit. I’m not certain his health can take the strain of this. Now we’re in double jeopardy.
Finally he’s transferred to neurology. We’re moved to a new area, where we cram in, taking up every chair possible. I leave the seats for the family and I sit on the floor. The doctor explains there’s no brain activity, and answers questions. She pulls aside E’s parents. I know what this is, and I think we should probably go soon. We’ve done what we can. They’re going to let everyone go see him in pairs. We don’t need to go. That space should be for his family. But we do check to see if anyone needs food, if they need us to help. To drive anyone home. We offer to go check on stepson’s dog, and in my mind I’m thinking maybe we can make sure there’s just not anything left of what happened. My stepson says it’s fine, and we can’t make him give us a house key. His friend will drive him home.
There’s nothing left to do. We drive home in shock. E’s mother texts us that it means a lot that we were there.
There’s a thread of hope, but I can’t tell if it’s real or if everyone is pretending for each other’s sake.
For the night, he is stable, but no brain activity. Updates become more sporadic into Tuesday as everyone enters the holding pattern. I take the day off of work, I barely slept. I can’t focus. Anyone who asks me how I’m doing, I know we’re just kind of cracking a little. We want to be there if stepson needs us, but we don’t want to hover at the hospital. We wait at home.
Wednesday they plan for the brain death test, but his temperature drops low. They wait another day. We tell them to not worry about updating us. If it happens, it happens, but the last thing E’s mother needs is to remember to text her ex/father of her oldest child. I ask my stepson how he’s doing. He says “I don’t know how to answer that.” It’s fair. I just want to know that he’s safe, too.
E’s mother gets in a fight with the charge nurse, whereupon she states “I just want to be with my dying son.” The charge nurse shoots back with, “ALL of my patients are dying!” As if it’s about her. As if it’s personal. As if it’s not her job. E’s mother is filing a complaint. Good for her. I hope that nurse had a terrible day. All E’s mother says is “Her whooping started tonight.”
Even this upset, she’s still sharp, and she’s not taking shit. She’s always fought for her family, and here she’s at her most fierce.
Today he stabilized enough that they did the brain death test. 1pm. Everything went silent. I was at work. My manager quietly asks if I’ve heard anything. I say no, they did the brain death test at 1pm. We both know what that means.
If the news was good, my husband and I would have heard.
A couple of hours later, we get the news from E’s mom and from my stepson. They declared death at 1:27pm. It’s a formality at this point, a confirmation that must be done before what’s next.
My stepson asks if we’d like to see him, since there wasn’t much time left before they turned off life support. We decline. Not because we don’t care; we care a lot. More than I can even convey in this format. My husband isn’t sure if he can do it, or if it’s necessary. I want to be there for the family, but E is already gone. My attention is on the living, but at this point, there is nothing, at all, we can do. All I can think is how much trauma this family is going to be in. This is all I’ve thought about for days. I’ve known E his whole life, but this is his *family*.
I go to a friend’s house to eat pizza and crochet. I need a moment.
We get a text from E’s mom, a few hours ago. She says that they removed life support 30 minutes previous. She apologized for the lack of updates, there wasn’t much to say.
She’s right. There’s not. She’s lost her baby, and nothing, ever, will fix the hole in her heart. In all of their hearts.
I’m so sorry, E. And I’m so sorry for your family, who loved you fiercely.
The awful painful update. My stepson’s grandmother is mad at him because “he should be supporting the rest of the family.”
He took his brother in when no one else would.
He found his brother dead. He did everything he could to save him anyway, not knowing how long he was out.
He was the only one that stayed when they pulled life support, effectively watching him die twice. He held his hand and waited for them to take little hair clippings.
He’s been the strongest leg in this table of tragedy.
Why won’t she just let him rest?
My husband went over to see him and our DIL yesterday and ordered BBQ and they watched some TV.
going absolutely fucking insane over solas dragonage. he used to be a spirit. he was meant to be bisexual. he hates tea but still drinks it. he murdered the two people he loved most in the world. he pissed magic once (maybe). he pondered an orb. he played strip poker with blackwall. he sundered the fade from the waking world. he created the blight. he sent bitchy letters to elgar'nan. he's great at chess but then lost to a random named after a chess piece. he co-parented a spirit. he murdered the other co-parent. he speaks in iambic pentameter. he imagines the sight of you being dominated would be fascinating. he ghosted his ex for a year and then yanked their arm off. he loves frilly cakes. his greatest fear is dying alone. he's bald.
Okay okay we all know Johnny cash did his cover of Hurt and we were all like “ok he owns that now” but I watched the music video he made and I’m like “oh he OWNS it owns it”
It’s totally wild to me because most people agree that Trent Reznor is a master of his craft and Hurt is considered one of NIN’s best songs. Imagine having this great hit and 8 years later a musical legend who hasn’t done anything great in a long time and is ostensibly dying takes your song and fucking. Just fucking obliterates you
Holy hell that's video is…painful and stunning. If you grew up listening to Johnny Cash I think it'll hit even harder. And June Carter Cash is in the video, which takes hard and doubles it.
#i remember my friend vali saying#why is anyone trying to make songvids to this song?#the most emotionally gutting video has already been made#by johnny cash himself (@bossymarmalade)
I'm glad people who didn't know who are discovering it's a cover, not just because Trent Reznor deserves that much, but because I think the fact that Cash did not write it is crucial to the power of his version. This is a young man's song about suffering, about addiction and self-destruction in youth. And Cash is, in the most majestic possible way, taking that and going "oh kid, you have no idea", and changes the meaning without changing the lyrics (except for a single word). In his voice, on his face, in his aged hands on the guitar and piano, it becomes about the agonising brevity of life, the irretrievability of mistakes, and the inevitable loss of everything, including a recognisable self. But the creativity of repurposing only shows if you can still see what was originally there.
Been a hot minute or several very long months since I posted any updates on the house. This little weird 80s modular home that started out ugly and kind of a disaster has shaped up into a lovely home. I’m somehow unable to find a good picture of the tile in the entry, but it’s the same as what’s in front of the fireplace. I’ll try to get some better pictures later, it’s a little farther along than the last two.
We’re still sleeping in the Airstream because we don’t have a bed. It’s starting to get a little cold; we can keep the trailer warm enough, but we’ll get stir crazy trying to full on live in it right now. So at this point, we do most of our living inside the house, we shower, etc, and then cross the deck out to the Airstream. The crossing is getting more chilly these days. But we’re fortunate to at least have the option of being able to use the Airstream to sleep in.
I set up the DreamBox and while it’s not a TARDIS yet, it does make a decent temporary home office space while we sort things out. The siding is coming along. The one thing the house is really missing is some color inside, but I’m afraid to paint before we spend some more time in it and feel out what makes sense for what furniture we want to bring into the space. I really want to make the dining room a nice dark rich color, and my office will likely end up purple. I’m going to leave the sunroom the light green that it is, but I may consider painting one wall with a darker color. Or in the bedroom. I crave color and the house really isn’t there yet, but really, I haven’t had a space to inspire me like this house does. So we’ll see where it goes.
I really want a gorgeous green tile shower in the master bathroom. The smaller bathroom is mostly tile from a friend of ours down the street, and it’s just lovely and huge. The mirror is handmade, as is the light in the dining room (which is a recycled wine barrel). We really wanted some hand made touches, in addition to the amazing tile work that our contractor has been doing.
I don’t love an all white kitchen, but it’s what came with the house, and it has crazy amounts of storage, so I’ll take it. Might swap the gray tile out layer. Or paint the wall around the pantry.
I’ve heard some people say that wood trim makes a house look dated, but frankly I don’t care.
Chillin and writing at the new house tonight. I wish this move was over because trying to live in 2 residences at the same time is just difficult. I spend most weekends and a lot of free time packing, but I got sick recently and that slowed me down a lot. Rather than risk making myself sick for longer by working all day at the job and then rolling into packing, I just came down to the new house today. I can’t blow all my energy on moving if there’s nothing to move, although the new house has its own challenges, like the unhinged subset of residents in this neighborhood. The *drama*.
Not going to put up a heavy update as I want to get back to writing, but I did accidentally pick up 4 more employees, bringing the total number of humans directly reporting me to 13. They’re all in India, and the time zone management is really a drain. They’re all great and I’m excited to work with them, but trying to manage at distance for more than 4 people would probably have me confused about what time it even is. As is, I have 9 other people in India that I’m responsible for that don’t report to me, this is just like… who the fuck thought I could be responsible for like 22 people, have they met me? Anyway. I’m flying to India in a month to go just sit in person with all of them. Imagine all the writing I can do on the plane. I’m definitely making sure I’m not sitting next to anyone I work with that’s also flying out with me. I’m not explaining to my boss about the Bill and Frank stripper AU. Or how I accidentally named a dog after my boss in a story. IT JUST HAPPENED OK.
Please enjoy one shitty iPad picture of life in the living room, which is me in a hammock chair and my husband playing Dragon Age: Inquisition.
Seriously, guys, the cheer leading does help. Sometimes the only thing that gets the next chapter out is “I’m gonna do this for starfleetlinkuei69! ;_;”
For the record, this also applies to people who don't post WIPs. When I am deciding which of my various stories to work on, it's part vibes and part "What will make my Consistent Commenters happy?"
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