Some ramblings
Jan. 25th, 2024 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flamingswordMeow.
I am doing about four loads of Bat’s laundry this evening, with about seven more to go, which is probably a bit less than completely sane, I know.
I get that we should just throw away all the fabric the cats peed on, but I kind of can’t bear to think of anything of his getting tossed that is remotely salvageable. I know that quite a few people will want mementos, and I want there to be things to give them that are not biohazards. I’m thinking about making a bunch of the last smellgoods I made him, to hand out at his memorial this spring, like the Party Favors OF DEATH! He would laugh at that, I think.
I’m mostly fine tonight, It’s just - nobody warned me that there would be this much cat vomit involved in cleaning up after dead people I care about. And I’m not easily grossed out or anything, I just … wasn’t prepared for being the only person taking on this part of Bat’s meager estate. Those chuckleheads better step up when we have to clear out the storage unit though. *shakes menacing fist*
I am now in a bacefook group text chat with people I have only met a few times, trying to get everything taken care of, and there are several of us, but I am probably the only one who isn’t too grossed out by Bat’s former living conditions to function. I think that’s why he reached out to me on this instead of them, maybe? That his trauma about having people in his room and possibly yelling played well with my disinclination to get loud for anything other than laughter. That my brain having the Mom Friend Override™️ was familiar enough that they were okay letting me Mom them a little.
Originally, the plan to move Bat was that he and I would be packing and cleaning together, and that would make it easier for their executive function to … y’know, function. More hands making lighter work and all. We were going to set up bimonthly task hangs with the gf they would be living near, and the three of us would daydrink and listen to 80’s New Wave and clean his place so that it didn’t get that bad again.
But then he got what was probably the flu, and his heart/blood pressure has not been great since the second time he got Covid, and I think he may have decided to take a bunch of Benadryl to sleep through being sick and cold during the freezing weather (because he’d done that before and been fine). I especially think so seeing as the cops have not come back to his next of kin and said anything about his death being unusual in any fashion. I think maybe he was still planning on his body responses to unwise levels of sedative use being the same as when he was pre-Covid/somewhat healthier. And then he just … died, instead.
Some of that is my personal speculation, and I don’t know that we will ever know for sure. Dallas is not known for the awesome competence of its cops, so 🤷.
Thanks for listening to me process. I’m getting a better handle on this particular grief, and am now mostly resigned to the feeling of occasionally coming across something that reminds me of Bat and feeling like I’ve swallowed a sharp piece of ice. But it feels like that a noticeable degree less than last week. So: progress. I’ll take it.
I am doing about four loads of Bat’s laundry this evening, with about seven more to go, which is probably a bit less than completely sane, I know.
I get that we should just throw away all the fabric the cats peed on, but I kind of can’t bear to think of anything of his getting tossed that is remotely salvageable. I know that quite a few people will want mementos, and I want there to be things to give them that are not biohazards. I’m thinking about making a bunch of the last smellgoods I made him, to hand out at his memorial this spring, like the Party Favors OF DEATH! He would laugh at that, I think.
I’m mostly fine tonight, It’s just - nobody warned me that there would be this much cat vomit involved in cleaning up after dead people I care about. And I’m not easily grossed out or anything, I just … wasn’t prepared for being the only person taking on this part of Bat’s meager estate. Those chuckleheads better step up when we have to clear out the storage unit though. *shakes menacing fist*
I am now in a bacefook group text chat with people I have only met a few times, trying to get everything taken care of, and there are several of us, but I am probably the only one who isn’t too grossed out by Bat’s former living conditions to function. I think that’s why he reached out to me on this instead of them, maybe? That his trauma about having people in his room and possibly yelling played well with my disinclination to get loud for anything other than laughter. That my brain having the Mom Friend Override™️ was familiar enough that they were okay letting me Mom them a little.
Originally, the plan to move Bat was that he and I would be packing and cleaning together, and that would make it easier for their executive function to … y’know, function. More hands making lighter work and all. We were going to set up bimonthly task hangs with the gf they would be living near, and the three of us would daydrink and listen to 80’s New Wave and clean his place so that it didn’t get that bad again.
But then he got what was probably the flu, and his heart/blood pressure has not been great since the second time he got Covid, and I think he may have decided to take a bunch of Benadryl to sleep through being sick and cold during the freezing weather (because he’d done that before and been fine). I especially think so seeing as the cops have not come back to his next of kin and said anything about his death being unusual in any fashion. I think maybe he was still planning on his body responses to unwise levels of sedative use being the same as when he was pre-Covid/somewhat healthier. And then he just … died, instead.
Some of that is my personal speculation, and I don’t know that we will ever know for sure. Dallas is not known for the awesome competence of its cops, so 🤷.
Thanks for listening to me process. I’m getting a better handle on this particular grief, and am now mostly resigned to the feeling of occasionally coming across something that reminds me of Bat and feeling like I’ve swallowed a sharp piece of ice. But it feels like that a noticeable degree less than last week. So: progress. I’ll take it.
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Date: 2024-02-01 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-01 05:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-01 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-01 06:14 am (UTC)Since making this post, more people have also been showing up to work on stuff in his room, so that’s a lot less overwhelming. And now the room is almost done. I’m not sure how we’re going to unpack his car, but … we’ll think of something. Yes, we will.