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Content warning: grief in the aftermath of death.
( To continue the story of Christmas evening... )
The first few days were ... tough. I cried for almost no reason. ( Read more... )
On Thursday the 26th Maugie and Patches invited me and a couple of other friends over to dinner. They gave me the courage to text Nick's parents from his phone (but identifying myself as myself, NOT as Nick, of course). The next morning Nick's mother wrote back, and we started exchanging messages. Apparently the ME's office had left her a phone message asking her to come to Baltimore to pick up her son's body, and she had thought it was a hoax at first. Well, duh, who wouldn't think that?!? I also had to explain a few things to her. She thought that Nick worked at the National Archives and that he was dating a woman (named Kathy) with a brain tumor. Uh, nope, not true at all. No wonder Nick didn't want me to meet his parents, in case I accidentally told the truth.
Anyhow, Nick's mother (a retired Episcopal priest) made arrangements with a Maryland funeral home to have Nick cremated. In the spring she will have his remains interred in the family plot in southern Michigan, where his grandparents are buried and where Nick's parents will eventually be interred. He won't be alone for eternity.
In the days afterward, Patches and another SCA friend, Clara, helped me go through all the stuff in my storage unit and pull out things that belonged to Nick and that his family might be interested in. (That was a *lot* of work.) Two other friends, Marilyn and Dave, came by my place and helped me take down the Christmas decorations. I'm glad I didn't have to do that alone because of all the floods of memories. Dave also unclogged the bathroom drains for me, and Marilyn brought me a lovely bouquet of flowers.
On January 9th I met Nick's mother and brother at the Blue and Green Cottage. (Nick's father didn't make the trip from San Antonio because he has Parkinson's.) Nick's mother was very pleasant, all things considered, and she didn't want to take too much stuff -- just family photos, letters to and from his late grandmother during World War II, a few shirts he sewed for himself, a couple of knickknacks. Nick's brother didn't say much. He is just not talkative, apparently. The two of them spent only about 90 minutes here.
There were a couple of things Nick's mother wanted that I couldn't find before her visit: a cardigan sweater that belonged to his grandfather and a Japanese sword that was some sort of spoils of WWII. Nick's brother came by, solo, to pick them up once I found them. He wasn't any more talkative.
Nick's mother and I had agreed on the disposition of Nick's stuff: I can keep the household goods, his clothes should go to charity, etc. To be honest, I think I'm going to keep his T-shirts because we took the same size. I just want to find a good place to donate his pants and miscellaneous stuff to -- a charity that will actually give the clothes to homeless people and/or refugees, as opposed to the places that resell only a small fraction of what they receive and throw the rest into either fabric recycling or the landfill. Given how Nick and I teetered on the edge of homelessness a couple of years ago, it seems only right to use his wardrobe to help people who really need the help. Especially in these cold, cruel days of the new Amerikan dictatorship.
I guess I haven't really probed all my feelings about Nick's passing. I'll put them in another post when I get a chance (I've got only a couple of days left before I disappear into the election-judging void for seven straight days -- primary for my county's special election). My emotions have veered all over the place, particularly in the last few weeks. They have taken me into some completely unexpected headspace. It's been an emotional roller-coaster.
( To continue the story of Christmas evening... )
The first few days were ... tough. I cried for almost no reason. ( Read more... )
On Thursday the 26th Maugie and Patches invited me and a couple of other friends over to dinner. They gave me the courage to text Nick's parents from his phone (but identifying myself as myself, NOT as Nick, of course). The next morning Nick's mother wrote back, and we started exchanging messages. Apparently the ME's office had left her a phone message asking her to come to Baltimore to pick up her son's body, and she had thought it was a hoax at first. Well, duh, who wouldn't think that?!? I also had to explain a few things to her. She thought that Nick worked at the National Archives and that he was dating a woman (named Kathy) with a brain tumor. Uh, nope, not true at all. No wonder Nick didn't want me to meet his parents, in case I accidentally told the truth.
Anyhow, Nick's mother (a retired Episcopal priest) made arrangements with a Maryland funeral home to have Nick cremated. In the spring she will have his remains interred in the family plot in southern Michigan, where his grandparents are buried and where Nick's parents will eventually be interred. He won't be alone for eternity.
In the days afterward, Patches and another SCA friend, Clara, helped me go through all the stuff in my storage unit and pull out things that belonged to Nick and that his family might be interested in. (That was a *lot* of work.) Two other friends, Marilyn and Dave, came by my place and helped me take down the Christmas decorations. I'm glad I didn't have to do that alone because of all the floods of memories. Dave also unclogged the bathroom drains for me, and Marilyn brought me a lovely bouquet of flowers.
On January 9th I met Nick's mother and brother at the Blue and Green Cottage. (Nick's father didn't make the trip from San Antonio because he has Parkinson's.) Nick's mother was very pleasant, all things considered, and she didn't want to take too much stuff -- just family photos, letters to and from his late grandmother during World War II, a few shirts he sewed for himself, a couple of knickknacks. Nick's brother didn't say much. He is just not talkative, apparently. The two of them spent only about 90 minutes here.
There were a couple of things Nick's mother wanted that I couldn't find before her visit: a cardigan sweater that belonged to his grandfather and a Japanese sword that was some sort of spoils of WWII. Nick's brother came by, solo, to pick them up once I found them. He wasn't any more talkative.
Nick's mother and I had agreed on the disposition of Nick's stuff: I can keep the household goods, his clothes should go to charity, etc. To be honest, I think I'm going to keep his T-shirts because we took the same size. I just want to find a good place to donate his pants and miscellaneous stuff to -- a charity that will actually give the clothes to homeless people and/or refugees, as opposed to the places that resell only a small fraction of what they receive and throw the rest into either fabric recycling or the landfill. Given how Nick and I teetered on the edge of homelessness a couple of years ago, it seems only right to use his wardrobe to help people who really need the help. Especially in these cold, cruel days of the new Amerikan dictatorship.
I guess I haven't really probed all my feelings about Nick's passing. I'll put them in another post when I get a chance (I've got only a couple of days left before I disappear into the election-judging void for seven straight days -- primary for my county's special election). My emotions have veered all over the place, particularly in the last few weeks. They have taken me into some completely unexpected headspace. It's been an emotional roller-coaster.
