It Only Takes A Minute

for your life to change drastically.

Today started like any other day. It was about 9:30am, and I was settling in for another slow-season mundane day. My phone rang. A quick check of the screen showed it was the person at the front desk calling me. I thought she was calling with a question on something, so I finished my task before picking up.

"You have a call on line 1" she said. "It's a (insert name of my step-father-in-law here)".
"Oh" I said. "He's probably calling to shoot the breeze. I'm honestly not in that kind of mood this morning".
"Well, do you want to be busy right now? I can take a message" she said.

I thought about it, for a moment (I was at work and did have things to do), and then told her no, I'd take the call. I picked up and did my standard phone introduction. I heard his familiar "Hey" on the other end. Then silence. I could hear him breathing oddly, and he was fumbling for what to say. I got a little concerned. I waited for him to continue.

He said, "Where's Nelson?" I replied that he was at work. His voice started to quiver a bit, and he was breathing harder. He said, "I need you to find him for me....." as he trailed off. I've heard this before. It's usually followed by "(Insert name here) passed away". I start running down a list of names in my mind, and find that most have been the subject of this type of phone call already. Before I can finish my mental checklist, he finds the strength to finish his sentence. "I need you to tell him his mother........she's...........passed away".

He barely got it out before he lost it. I sat at my desk in stunned silence. "What?!?" I said. He just replied "yeah". The next minute was just an exchange of basic information in the form of short sentences.

Me: "When?"
Him: "Sometime last night."
Me: "What happened?!?"
Him: "Went to sleep. Didn't wake up."
Me: "Ok. I can't believe this."

I had to gather my thoughts. I just started rambling. "It's ok, it's going to be ok. I'll find Nelson. It may take me a while. I'm not sure where exactly he is. I'll have him call you, ok? Give me your phone number and I'll have him call you but it might take a little while." He gave me the number and I hung the phone up. I sat there for a minute. My co-workers (my mom among them) saw something was wrong. I looked at them all and said "My mother-in-law just died". They also sat in stunned silence. This prompted another Q&A session.

Them: "How old was she?"
Me: "She never said much about it. Between 55 and 57."
Them: "Was she sick?"
Me: "Her health isn't the best, but she wasn't in her last days or anything."
Them: "Wow. Just, wow."
Me: "Yeah".

Then came the part I was dreading. I broke the news to him before. My grandpa, his Aunt Doris and a few other family members, but this is a biggie. I was in no way prepared for this. My actions were going to change his life forever, and not for the better. I called up to the shop, but I asked for his boss instead. He informed me that Nelson was out on fleet maintenance, and had complained he wasn't feeling well (he'd been sick all weekend) and was going home. He knew something was wrong, and I informed him of what happened. I again had a similar exchange as I did with my coworkers. I said that I thought I'd wait until he got home, then run home and tell him what was happening. He agreed it was a good idea.

I had no sooner hung up the phone, when my direct line rang. I answered it. It was Nelson, calling from the road. I panicked. He was in a fairly good mood. "Can you do me a favor?" he says, going in to detail as to what he needed. I was quiet. He had to ask me twice. He kept asking me what was wrong, and I kept pushing it off. I told him I called the shop for him and they told me he was going home. He confirmed that. I told him I needed to talk to him, but I'd rather wait. After another minute or two of give-and-take, I finally let it out. There was some stunned silence, and more of the same two or three word sentences. I offered to come and get him. He declined. He said he was going to tie-up some loose ends, and he'd stop by the office before he went home to get his dad's phone number. We then went to lunch to just kind of take it all in and think about it.

So this is where the story ends, or so it seems. If only it were that easy. Most people who know us know that the relationship he and his mother had was anything but normal. The home she provided was an abusive and tumultuous one. Verbal insults and frequent beatings were the order of the day. I witnessed first hand that it seemed no matter what you did, she was never satisfied. He struggled to keep her happy. And then I came along.

With her being the consummate control freak, I got in the way. He no longer had to listen to her. He moved in with my parents and saw how a different family dynamic worked. He began to become more and more impatient with her and her way of life. Things between them got more and more strained. By the time we got married, it was a powder keg, and that was that catalyst that set it all off in the form of an ugly screaming match that had me worn to a frazzle, and resulted in him not speaking to her for upwards of four years.

He had trouble dealing with things that were done to him, so he just stuffed them, and it got worse and worse. Last year, I finally got him in to a good counseling program (and a word to the wise - if you can afford it, go outside of your health insurance system for the best programs). Their approach is a bit non-traditional, and lightly Christian based, but it's made a tremendous difference. When he stopped to see her last week (when he was at the meeting at corporate), he said he actually managed to have a nice visit using the tools they taught him. I thank the big guy upstairs for that. His last memory is at least a positive one.

So this is the situation I find myself in: I don't know how to grieve for her. I find myself caught between sadness and a demented form of relief, which turns in to guilt, and runs a vicious cycle. I keep telling myself that she was a tortured soul, and that I hope that in death, she finds some peace. Hopefully I can keep telling myself that, and I'll start to believe it. Until then, all I can do is help Nelson through this time. Despite everything, nothing changes the fact that no one should have to be an orphan at 33 (well, 34 next month). I can't imagine how that feels.