![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
(no subject)
[Warnings for deathiness, gore, and a minor spoiler for Signs.]
God knows it's hard to know what to say when people die. For example, it's a running joke in our office that whoever gets to sign a sympathy card first invariably writes, "Our thoughts and prayers are with you," and the poor bastards who are left to follow up have to come up with something else.
But I had a weird one yesterday. I went to the bank to clear up some stuff with one of Mom's accounts. The Lady With A Desk actually remembered her, which was nice, and did the usual condolences, and then said, "Was it a blessing, at least?" People keep asking me that. It's a well-meaning phrase, I guess, sort of like when you put your dog to sleep and at least it's not in pain anymore.
On the other hand, with a human being, it's also coded to mean, "Was it after years of ineffective chemo, with the barfing and the balding and the giant tumours?" or "Was she just dripping with agonizing sores that no painkiller could numb?" or "Did she finally kick it after a decade of being totally goon-a-rama geezer scooters until you thought you'd go nuts with the responsibility?" or "Was she, like, totally cut in half but still alive and pinned to a tree like Mel Gibson's wife in Signs?" I mean, what do you say to that?
"Uh, I suppose so," I said brilliantly. "Y'know. Considering it was death and all."
"That's good," she said.
This wasn't the first time. I swear, next person who asks that is getting, "It was fucking amazing. Her head spontaneously blew apart like Louis del Grande in Scanners. The whole neighborhood heard it. Our homeowner and medical insurance guys are in court right now, fighting over who has to pay to replace the drapes*."
Okay, I won't.
*This image courtesy of the time Mom dropped a jar of Prego sauce in the living room that went off like a grenade and made the place look like a Tobe Hooper film.
God knows it's hard to know what to say when people die. For example, it's a running joke in our office that whoever gets to sign a sympathy card first invariably writes, "Our thoughts and prayers are with you," and the poor bastards who are left to follow up have to come up with something else.
But I had a weird one yesterday. I went to the bank to clear up some stuff with one of Mom's accounts. The Lady With A Desk actually remembered her, which was nice, and did the usual condolences, and then said, "Was it a blessing, at least?" People keep asking me that. It's a well-meaning phrase, I guess, sort of like when you put your dog to sleep and at least it's not in pain anymore.
On the other hand, with a human being, it's also coded to mean, "Was it after years of ineffective chemo, with the barfing and the balding and the giant tumours?" or "Was she just dripping with agonizing sores that no painkiller could numb?" or "Did she finally kick it after a decade of being totally goon-a-rama geezer scooters until you thought you'd go nuts with the responsibility?" or "Was she, like, totally cut in half but still alive and pinned to a tree like Mel Gibson's wife in Signs?" I mean, what do you say to that?
"Uh, I suppose so," I said brilliantly. "Y'know. Considering it was death and all."
"That's good," she said.
This wasn't the first time. I swear, next person who asks that is getting, "It was fucking amazing. Her head spontaneously blew apart like Louis del Grande in Scanners. The whole neighborhood heard it. Our homeowner and medical insurance guys are in court right now, fighting over who has to pay to replace the drapes*."
Okay, I won't.
*This image courtesy of the time Mom dropped a jar of Prego sauce in the living room that went off like a grenade and made the place look like a Tobe Hooper film.
no subject
However, I have to say that the image from the Prego-sauce explosion is a fitting and wonderful tribute to your Mom, whose sense of humor (just from your LJ posts alone, since I wasn't lucky enough to meet her) seemed delightful and just a little wacky and firmly intact. I never met her and she was one of my favorite people.
no subject
We found hidden sauce splats for years afterward -- behind the fridge, under ledgey bits of furniture, etc.
no subject
White silk drapes. Ouch. *Custom*, even. No wonder she was contemplating suicide.
But in the end even the insurance guy's wife benefitted. Yay!
Also, a *good* insurance story. Not too many of those around.
no subject
no subject
{{Ann}}
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject