Let Us Compare Mythologies

Mike's been over the past few nights. It's been nice having his company. Of course all three of us are sort of going through the grieving process together, concerning Tom and all. Mike is always a riot, as anyone who knows Mike knows, and going out to dinner always involves our usual music-geek games of guessing which 90's era bland-rock artist will pop up on the satellite radio station playing in the Ruby Tuesday's dining room during our meal; Black Crowes? Counting Crows? (and why do they both spell "crows" differently?) Sheryl Crow? Anything with the name Crow in it? Mike keeps swearing that the day he hears a Heavy D & the Boyz song in one of these places he's buying my entire dinner. But I am an infinitely patient woman. I can wait.

Most of my grieving for Grandma however has been in private, alone in my room, quietly reading old comic books until I fall asleep in bed. Not quite how I dealt with the grief of losing my Nana back in 1991 where I stayed in my room blasting Sonic Youth albums as loud as I could. I think it's just the double-whammy deaths over the past week that I guess have sort of rendered me numb, maybe. I mean I hate to say it, but I didn't think Tom's prognosis ever looked promising. Not optimistic, no, but realistic -- and being realistic helped me brace myself for what I was prepared for as the sadly inevitable.

But my grandmother was a surprise. Well, mostly. She had just gone into the hospital for some fairly routine checks on some breathing problems that she had shortly after her birthday a few weeks ago and they had scheduled to release her the next day until she suddenly became very nauseous and they rushed her back in for more tests. They had thinned her blood during the tests and as they began to inject the plasma back into her she started having a bad reaction to it and they whisked her in ICU for a period.

Then everything becomes sketchy. She contacts pneumonia. She can't breathe. Her lifesigns are faint. One doctor calls and advises us to gather the family for the possible passing, while another doctor insists that it's too early to tell -- that she could pull through in the next 24 hours. There were even discussions of detecting shadows in the X-rays of her liver, indicating possible cancerous growth. But in a few hours she was gone. Passed in her sleep, they say. But then again all doctors tell families that their loved ones pass peaceably in their sleep, don't they?

I was actually planning on visiting her this week on my next day off. I couldn't make it to her birthday but I talked to her on the phone, and I remember in our conversation how she was wailing, "Oh Melissa... I'm soooo oooold!" and I kept jibing her, "Naaah, Grandma. You're not old yet. I'll tell you when you'll start gettin' old." Funny how these would wind up being the last words I ever said to her.

Meanwhile I've been knuckling down in housework to keep my hands busy, but I've been deeply distracted at the record store for about two weeks. I've been stress-eating like a weight-lifter and my damn period can't decide whether it's coming or going. And it's two weeks early as it is.

I'm sorry, if anybody actually still reads this, for the erratic posts and everything. Once this week is over and Tom's and Grandma's funerals are over I hope to get back on the stick again and return as another semi-productive member of society. Today I may go out to my store and buy a few things I have stashed away, because I am in serious need of some comfort purchases. And maybe go on a gynormous power-walk around da hood and and get some fruit from the salad bar across the street. I've nearly gone up one pants size in the last few weeks. Shit. I hope I can still fit into my suit for the funerals this week.

Oh, and do me a big fav, you guys? Don't die on me right now, 'k? Really. Cuz I like you all too much to see you go so soon.