rusty_halo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rusty_halo) wrote2004-03-25 11:30 pm
rusty_halo) wrote2004-03-25 11:30 pm
(no subject)
I went to a vegan Thanksgiving at my coworker's house last Thanksgiving (because I didn't feel comfortable with my parents, who make absolutely no effort to accomodate the fact that I'm vegan, and like to do thinks like wave animal body parts in my face).
But they were bugging me to come home (god knows why, as they always ignore me once I'm there), so I did. In the car on the way to my parents' house, my dad told me that my cat Shadow had died several days before Thanksgiving. Apparently she "looked sick," so my mom let her into the house, and then found her dead later.
When I asked why they didn't tell me she had died, I was told "your mother tried calling, but you didn't answer." (I highly doubt that she called right away--she should have called me the instant that Shadow looked sick!) And my parents know that my cell phone is turned off when I'm in class, and sometimes doesn't ring even when it's on. How is the fact that I didn't answer my phone the one time that they called a justification for not calling again and telling me as soon as possible that someone I loved was dead? They tried calling once and then waited several days, until I came home, and told me in the fucking car.
I know my mother. This was her passive-agressive way of punishing me for "ignoring" her. (Never mind that I NEVER heard the goddamn phone ring!) I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I'm serious. This is how my mother is. She likes to punish me for not behaving the way she wants (she's always felt that I cared too much about the cats, and animals in general, and she's always hated Shadow because Shadows scares the birds away). And then she gets up on this self-righteous cross and tries to make me feel guilty for being selfish and immature and not being how she wants me to be.
I cried in the car with my dad for the half hour ride home. I stopped when I got home, because I didn't want to cry in front of my mother. I left as soon as I could. I could barely stand to look at her.
I realize now I should have told her how upset I was about Shadow. But honestly, I wasn't even able to even say Shadow's name out loud for weeks afterward. All I could think about was what did they do with her body? Did they bury her, or did they just throw her body on the trash heap? If they had buried her, wouldn't they have told me where her grave was? Was her body rotting right now? Were maggots crawling inside her? Was her fur rotting and falling out? How did it feel for her to die alone, with me, the only person who ever really loved her, miles and miles away? Why didn't I at least get to see her body and bury her and say goodbye to her? How could my parents take that away from me?
And even if I had told my mother about this, about how deeply this hurt me, would she have cared? I really don't think so. She would still have done what she wanted to do. My mother ignores everything I think and feel unless it's convenient for her. If I'm upset about something my father has done, well, that's clearly a serious important matter--because she can't stand my father and likes to hear her own viewpoint reinforced. But if I'm upset that she has gone in my room and rearranged my possessions--something that is, to me, a huge personal violation--it's irrelevant, and she'll do it again and again, self-righteously, and ignore how much it hurts me, and whine about how much I don't appreciate her. So in the end, I think even if she had known how I felt about Shadow, she wouldn't have cared. It wouldn't have made a difference. She would still have not told me that Vanilla was sick.
Vanilla was sick for two weeks and they didn't take her to the vet. She could have had something that was contagious and dangerous for the other cats. She could have had something that might have been easily cured. Maybe her death last week was inevitable, or maybe she could have lived to be twenty-five. No one will ever know.
She died near the end of last week--"the day your brother came home from college," which was either Wednesday or Thursday. I spoke to my brother that day shortly after he got home. Mom said Vanilla died an hour after he got home. She was right there dying as I talked to my dad and my brother and no one told me what was going on. Mom says she didn't tell me because I would have been upset (which is her being selfish and wanting to spare herself from having to deal with me upset) and because I would have wanted to take her to the vet. Mom never wants to pay the expense of taking the cats to the vet (I WOULD HAVE FUCKING PAID FOR IT!!). And she's tired of taking care of them. Sure, some part of her is sad, but another part is happy that she doesn't have to take care of Vanilla anymore. And she's happy that she didn't have to pay any kind of vet bill. For someone who was a member of our family for 17 years. For someone who trusted us to take care of her. They just let her die without doing anything because of money.
I called on Monday night after I got out of class--around 10pm. I talked to my mom for a half hour about nothing--my weekend, what's she been up to lately, etc. Finally as I was just about to get off the phone and get on the elevator to my apartment, she told me that Vanilla was dead. I started crying and asked her what happened. Then she explained the whole thing about how she was sick for two weeks and died last week, and that they didn't tell me because I'd have been upset and would have wanted to take her to the vet. I started sobbing and sobbing and choking and after ten minutes of "How could you???" and her petty excuses I couldn't speak and had to get off the phone. I ran up to my room and sobbed and screamed alone for a half hour. I've never been so upset or felt so intrinsically violated in my life. That was the last I spoke to my mom; no one's tried to contact me since.
The week Vanilla died, I was on spring break. I was re-reading books and reorganizing my bedroom, while a member of my family was dying. I could've so easily taken that week off of work and been with Vanilla. She needed me to comfort her. She deserved to know that I was there and that I cared and that I loved her. And I deserved to be there and to be able to comfort her and to be able to say goodbye to her.
No one who knew me the slightest bit or cared the slightest bit for me could have possibly made this choice. What my parents did was either the height of cruelty or the height of stupidity. They violated me to the deepest core of who I am. What they did is unforgivable.
If you can't tell, I'm a complete mess right now. This isn't getting better. I can't stop crying. I want to break things. I have my colloquium in two weeks and I should be studying for it and I can't concentrate on anything. All I can think about is that she's gone and I didn't get to see her and she died with these people who didn't care about her. And how could my parents do this????
But they were bugging me to come home (god knows why, as they always ignore me once I'm there), so I did. In the car on the way to my parents' house, my dad told me that my cat Shadow had died several days before Thanksgiving. Apparently she "looked sick," so my mom let her into the house, and then found her dead later.
When I asked why they didn't tell me she had died, I was told "your mother tried calling, but you didn't answer." (I highly doubt that she called right away--she should have called me the instant that Shadow looked sick!) And my parents know that my cell phone is turned off when I'm in class, and sometimes doesn't ring even when it's on. How is the fact that I didn't answer my phone the one time that they called a justification for not calling again and telling me as soon as possible that someone I loved was dead? They tried calling once and then waited several days, until I came home, and told me in the fucking car.
I know my mother. This was her passive-agressive way of punishing me for "ignoring" her. (Never mind that I NEVER heard the goddamn phone ring!) I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I'm serious. This is how my mother is. She likes to punish me for not behaving the way she wants (she's always felt that I cared too much about the cats, and animals in general, and she's always hated Shadow because Shadows scares the birds away). And then she gets up on this self-righteous cross and tries to make me feel guilty for being selfish and immature and not being how she wants me to be.
I cried in the car with my dad for the half hour ride home. I stopped when I got home, because I didn't want to cry in front of my mother. I left as soon as I could. I could barely stand to look at her.
I realize now I should have told her how upset I was about Shadow. But honestly, I wasn't even able to even say Shadow's name out loud for weeks afterward. All I could think about was what did they do with her body? Did they bury her, or did they just throw her body on the trash heap? If they had buried her, wouldn't they have told me where her grave was? Was her body rotting right now? Were maggots crawling inside her? Was her fur rotting and falling out? How did it feel for her to die alone, with me, the only person who ever really loved her, miles and miles away? Why didn't I at least get to see her body and bury her and say goodbye to her? How could my parents take that away from me?
And even if I had told my mother about this, about how deeply this hurt me, would she have cared? I really don't think so. She would still have done what she wanted to do. My mother ignores everything I think and feel unless it's convenient for her. If I'm upset about something my father has done, well, that's clearly a serious important matter--because she can't stand my father and likes to hear her own viewpoint reinforced. But if I'm upset that she has gone in my room and rearranged my possessions--something that is, to me, a huge personal violation--it's irrelevant, and she'll do it again and again, self-righteously, and ignore how much it hurts me, and whine about how much I don't appreciate her. So in the end, I think even if she had known how I felt about Shadow, she wouldn't have cared. It wouldn't have made a difference. She would still have not told me that Vanilla was sick.
Vanilla was sick for two weeks and they didn't take her to the vet. She could have had something that was contagious and dangerous for the other cats. She could have had something that might have been easily cured. Maybe her death last week was inevitable, or maybe she could have lived to be twenty-five. No one will ever know.
She died near the end of last week--"the day your brother came home from college," which was either Wednesday or Thursday. I spoke to my brother that day shortly after he got home. Mom said Vanilla died an hour after he got home. She was right there dying as I talked to my dad and my brother and no one told me what was going on. Mom says she didn't tell me because I would have been upset (which is her being selfish and wanting to spare herself from having to deal with me upset) and because I would have wanted to take her to the vet. Mom never wants to pay the expense of taking the cats to the vet (I WOULD HAVE FUCKING PAID FOR IT!!). And she's tired of taking care of them. Sure, some part of her is sad, but another part is happy that she doesn't have to take care of Vanilla anymore. And she's happy that she didn't have to pay any kind of vet bill. For someone who was a member of our family for 17 years. For someone who trusted us to take care of her. They just let her die without doing anything because of money.
I called on Monday night after I got out of class--around 10pm. I talked to my mom for a half hour about nothing--my weekend, what's she been up to lately, etc. Finally as I was just about to get off the phone and get on the elevator to my apartment, she told me that Vanilla was dead. I started crying and asked her what happened. Then she explained the whole thing about how she was sick for two weeks and died last week, and that they didn't tell me because I'd have been upset and would have wanted to take her to the vet. I started sobbing and sobbing and choking and after ten minutes of "How could you???" and her petty excuses I couldn't speak and had to get off the phone. I ran up to my room and sobbed and screamed alone for a half hour. I've never been so upset or felt so intrinsically violated in my life. That was the last I spoke to my mom; no one's tried to contact me since.
The week Vanilla died, I was on spring break. I was re-reading books and reorganizing my bedroom, while a member of my family was dying. I could've so easily taken that week off of work and been with Vanilla. She needed me to comfort her. She deserved to know that I was there and that I cared and that I loved her. And I deserved to be there and to be able to comfort her and to be able to say goodbye to her.
No one who knew me the slightest bit or cared the slightest bit for me could have possibly made this choice. What my parents did was either the height of cruelty or the height of stupidity. They violated me to the deepest core of who I am. What they did is unforgivable.
If you can't tell, I'm a complete mess right now. This isn't getting better. I can't stop crying. I want to break things. I have my colloquium in two weeks and I should be studying for it and I can't concentrate on anything. All I can think about is that she's gone and I didn't get to see her and she died with these people who didn't care about her. And how could my parents do this????