The answers to my own questions will be based on posing them to myself.
Should somebody grieve for me when I die? Maybe. Do I think anybody will? No, I don’t.
When did I become a non-entity? I suppose I became a non-entity when it was decided that I was “clinically insane.” When did I become unimportant? I became unimportant when I could not return to the person I used to be.
Should I have mattered? Of course, but what I sometimes seem to forget or refuse to acknowledge is that even if I should have mattered, it doesn’t mean that I did. Some people matter and some people don’t.
Will anybody notice before I become rotting flesh and bones? No. There is nobody left to notice.
I will most likely be one of those people who become a foul odor. One of my neighbors, while walking their dog will notice the smell. I will have fallen or gotten sick and died and become just another “old person” in the neighborhood who “left.” I might very well also be anonymous because my neighbors don’t even know my real name.
I can’t help but think of the irony of it all. I spent almost my entire life, taking care of my children and that lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch and now, I am alone. Still, somehow I think I always knew I’d end up alone.
I spent my entire young life, wishing I had a family. I spend my entire married life, wishing I had a husband. And I have spent the last several years, wishing I still had children who wanted to me to be a part of their lives.
Loser smiled when he told me that he was going to have my name put on his tombstone, like I should be honored that he actually recognized me as somebody who mattered…for once. I wonder. Is he going to have his first wifes’ name and of course, that WTCs’ name put on there as well? And where would I fall as far as importance? Would I for once, get top billing or would I, as in the past, be relegated to last place?
I have left instructions that if that does occur, the tombstone is to be destroyed. It will be replaced, but without my name. I don’t want my name anywhere near his, in life or after death.
Nobody will be notified when I die. I have no “next-of-kin” listed on any documents. I have no “emergency contact numbers” listed anywhere. There will be no need for one of my children to have to “drive for hours and hours to go through my stuff.” There will be no ceremony. There will be no wake.
I don’t want the people who chose an abusive, serial adulterer and that WTC, to show up with their pretentiousness after I’m gone. How many of them would make hollow statements about how much they loved me? How many of them would shed crocodile tears? How many of them would express regret about how things turned out?
I used to tell my children that I wanted my flowers and kind words while I was alive…not after I was dead. When you’re dead, you’re dead. You can’t see or smell flowers. You can’t hear any kind words. You can’t hear any apologies. You aren’t going to know if somebody takes the time and trouble to visit you on your birthday.
I wanted them to visit me in life. I wanted them to talk to me in life. I wanted them to send me flowers in life. I wanted them to treat me like I mattered in life. Mostly, I wanted them to treat me like their mama.
I have seen people who wouldn’t give somebody the time of fucking day, yet they show up at their funeral and act like they actually gave a shit. I despise that behavior and it is not going to happen to me.
My grandchildren will never know me the way I knew my grandparents. They will never know me at all. I will just be the “crazy old grandma” that nobody talks about. I won’t be lucky enough to be the “abusive, drunken grandma” that everybody protected and speaks of fondly.
I will very likely become one of those unclaimed bodies, wrapped in plastic and sporting a toe tag…at least until my attorney shows up with a check. Then, I’ll turn into unclaimed ashes. There will be no distribution of those ashes. Nobody will be carrying them around in the trunk of their car, as I have done with mama for almost nine years.
My attorney can throw them into the dumpster or sprinkle them in the parking lot of his office. I don’t care.
He could decide to leave me a Jane Doe and keep the money. I’ll never know and again…I don’t care.
I used to think that I would like to be sprinkled on top of my grandparents’ graves but there is nobody to carry out that wish. But like I said, when you’re dead, you’re dead. Would I ever know if my wishes were carried out anyway?
I truly believe that I will be just as unimportant in death as I was in life….and with that….I am okay.
Maybe I’ll leave a mysterious stone somewhere, bearing four words. Then again, maybe I won’t.