Oh, Facebook, why do you torture me so???
I love Facebook. I love keeping up with friends and family. I "chat" with nieces, nephews, sisters, sister-in-laws. I have political debates. I get to see what is going on with friends. This is stupid, but I get a lot of news from Facebook. I follow lots of pages. The page admins read tons of articles and post ones they feel are relevant. So, I get to read interesting articles without having to read a bunch of un-interesting ones. I have found internet news websites, that I would have normally not found. Anyway, I love Facebook.
BUT. It's a big butt. My anger gets fed via Facebook as well. I know, I know, just unfriend them. Why don't I do that? Good question. Maybe because I like my anger? No, I don't like it. I think it is because I have unresolved issues. I don't want to just bury them. Or let them go. I want to feel better about the person/people I am angry at. I just can't see that burying it, or letting it go is going to help. I feel like I need to work through the anger. If I just bury it in the backyard, I will always know that it is there. I can always go dig it back up again. Or, it could crawl right back out of the hole I put it in. Does that sound helpful? It doesn't sound helpful to me. I have to keep passing around this football until it wears out. I cannot put it in the closet, never to look at it again. If I stick the football in the closet, I can never move (move out, move forward). Moving would mean I had to clean or empty the closet. There's the football again.
I started this blog because of my anger. So, here is what made me mad today.
My Facebook profile picture is of John. This was one of the last pictures ever taken of him. John is not smiling, he is not posing. He was just standing there, and I snapped the picture. He just look so good to me then. He looked so John. So strong, so manly. So real. I have seen other pictures that I thought would make good/cute profile pics. But, I can't change the one I have now. Not yet, maybe one day.
My dad's wife, on the other hand, just changed her profile picture from one of them both, to one of just herself. I didn't go look at her page. It popped up on my newsfeed that she changed her profile picture. My husband died 4 months ago. Her husband died 2 months ago. Yes, I know, everyone grieves differently. But this is MY DAD!!!!! Everything having to do with her, has to do with me and my grief. I just got an email from her giving her new contact information. What? At this point, what the fuck do I want with that information? Unless she is ready to acknowledge my existence, my pain, my loss, fuck her. Unless she is willing to acknowledge that WE lost DADDY, fuck her. If she cannot understand what she did to us, in Corpus, when Daddy was in the hospital, fuck her.
It was not a fucking miracle that Daddy wasn't dead when Linda arrived at the hospital that day. Or that he was still alive when we arrived the day before. At that point, on that day, he wasn't dying. He still had a chance!!!!!!!!!!! Dr. Gregory and Dr. S (the cancer doctor) said it on Friday morning. The morning Stacy INSISTED Betsy and I be there to hear the doctors. Well, Stacy, we heard the doctors. I don't know what the fuck you heard, but I do know what we heard. The doctors were planning on Daddy going home the next Wednesday. Going home, not "going home to Jesus". Going HOME!!!! Stacy fucking called us down there because Daddy was dying!!!!!!! Our Dad. He wasn't dying then. I may never be able to forgive her for that. My daughter and nephew brought funeral clothes. And he still had a fighting chance.
I am not letting go of Facebook. It is a few hours of the day that I can just "check out". Why should I give that up? I am not "unfriending" Stacy. I have to work this out. I'm not going to hide. I'm not putting on blinders. I'm facing up.
You go, Suzy. I'll be right there with you, a little behind but still right there. And you're right, he WASN'T dying when we got there. The doctors told us both they were planning on outpatient dialysis and discharge from the hospital Wednesday. For the benefit of those reading who don't know, Stacy told Daddy the doctors said he was dying NOW--he didn't hear those words, we didn't hear those words, no one said those words but Stacy. She told him several times that his doctors said he was dying, she told one of us that he would be slipping into unconsciousness later that afternoon and that we should hurry so we could see him before that. The thing is, SHE WAS WRONG! She didn't hear anything the doctors said, we don't know WHAT she heard! Shit from her own head, apparently. If anyone wonders why Suzy is mad, there you go. I'm mad, too, she's just better at expressing it. So, again, YOU GO, SUZY!! Thank you for saying it for all of us.
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