This isn't as funny as Dick in a Box, but really what can be?
I love Brad Pitt. Not current Brad Pitt, I love my older (well, younger) Brad Pitt. Legends of the Fall Brad Pitt (Joel Tristan ring a bell?). I also love cop shows & crime documentaries. Ask my husband, I'll watch the same thing 3548375 times. I combined my love of crime shows & older (younger) Brad Pitt with the movie Seven (or Se7ven if you're serious about titles).
Because the movie is 15 years old, I feel safe talking about the ending of it. Go watch it really quick if you don't want it spoiled, but I figure if you've waited 15 years to watch it, me talking about it isn't going to do something magical for you.
Brad Pitt is married. He & Morgan Freeman are searching for a serial killer. In the end, he takes them out to the desert & a package comes. A box. Morgan Freeman opens it. Oh fuck, it's the fucking head of Brad Pitt's wife.
Talk about a bad day on the job.
No worries, Brad Pitt blows his brains out so that feeling in your gut that wants him dead leaves the theater happy. Yeah, sure, justice is nice but a serial killer is a waste of space & money, so Brad Pitt was right. And he's fucking Brad Pitt, the old (young) Brad Pitt. Man can do no wrong in my eyes.
So what does this have to do with anything?
Well, nothing really. I just wanted to talk about Brad Pitt while I could.
No, just joking.
Alright, I'll move past this lame shit.
I wasn't going to mention this because I don't want to give any "readers" of this blog that I may be related to the joy of knowing they worked me up.
On Jules' birthday, I received an email from that guy I married titled, "They still can't call him Jules."
In my gut, I instantly knew what this was about.
In case you don't know, my husband family isn't on our good side &, in fact, were told not to contact us anymore since August. On his birthday, knowing the only people who refuse to call him Jules is his parents. Ugh.
I was correct in my assumption. His parents & sister had sent Jules a gift to Adam, via UPS, at his work.
This pissed me off for several reasons. First off, seriously, why bother now? When they were involved with our lives, they could never send anything. In fact, Christmas 2008 gifts were given to us AT JOELS FUNERAL. Now they've learned to use the postal system? Second, send it to his work? Because, you know, I'm the meanie who'd just burn it, really my husband has no problem with them & would give the gift to Jules without an issue.
What does this have to do? Adam sent another email directly after, saying he felt like Morgan Freeman in Seven because the box was just like the box in the end of the movie, though he wasn't sure whose head would be in it. I do though. Mine. Whose else?
If I was going to have to recreate a Brad Pitt, I'd much rather create something with hot sex, not my head chopped off my body & shipped somewhere in a box.
Adam suggested doing something nice with it, like donating it. Me, being fired up, refused that option. I was packing that shit up & sending it back to them. Why? Because I'm bitter & didn't want them to know they got away with it. Plus, if they thought they did, they'd just send things to his work all the time, which isn't permitted. It's his work, not his personal delivery spot.
I didn't read it or open it. Adam, not being able to contain himself, did. He opened the card & it read "we love you very very much!" I personally wanted to throw up upon hearing that. Of course, I was also amused that it was signed, as if Jules would know who they were. Jules only met Adam's sister once when he was 6 weeks old, because she came up here & wanted to go to the Disney Store at our mall. And his parents only saw him maybe 6 times from the time he was born until he was 8 months old, but I think it's less. I'm being generous here. We didn't want to travel 3 hours with a newborn & they didn't want to come to our house, because I made them uncomfortable because I didn't like them & would show them how I didn't like them by folding laundry when they were here. Yes, seriously. They saw him at Joel's funeral, but I don't count that. It was a fucking funeral. Of course they count it. They even took "beautiful" family pictures, at said funeral, & cropped my sons urn out of the background to post them on online networking sites. Yes, seriously.
Back to the box. Adam wrote a nice letter, which even I thought came across mean, which is saying something since I once told these people I thought they were "the evils of the world," telling them that if they felt the need to buy gift for his children, to buy three gifts for charity in place of his children they wouldn't see. I packed up my bitterness & hate into the box & sent it to it's rightful owners.
Fast forward to last week. My front door is open because I'd been letting the dogs in & out. I let them in, about an hour later I let them out, & this time there is a large box at my door. I have no idea when it came, but Fed Ex had snuck a box to my house.
I feel that feeling as usual. I thought about throwing it in the road, but I resist the urge. I drag it in the house & notice the address isn't from his parents, but another relative. And yes, everyone is very aware of what has happened with his immediate family & us.
I open it because I can't stop myself. An unwrapped toy. A Christmas card. A card that tells me that Jesus will forgive me for anything I've done if I ask for forgiveness & that if I pray enough all of my worldly, simple problems, will go away.
No mention of my dead son. No mention of "hope you guys did alright during the holidays" since our son just died. Just some delusional "hope to see you soon!" & a Jesus message. Yeah, I don't expect friends to acknowledge him but people who call themselves family? Damn right I do. He wasn't just my son, he was your family, too. He's wrote off that easily? Our pain is wrote off that easily? If it had been someone else, I'm sure it would have been mentioned in the card, but he isn't. He's just an astrick on the family tree.
And you stay silent, never bother to check in with us about anything all this time, but you send a card & a gift a month late? The husband let the extended family know they were welcomed in our lives, they were the ones who chose not to during this time. Minus, of course, a random facebook message here or there from some, sometimes angry because they are convinced I'm mocking them but making jokes about our pets for some reason, or just to say things like, "I guess you don't allow him to reply even during the holidays!" when I guess he didn't reply to an email or something from someone else. Because, you know, I'm amazing like that & can control my husbands internet usage, even when I don't know everything about it.
And cue Adam reading this & asking me, "who sent you a message like that?"
Well husband, you don't tell me each time you get things in the first place, therefore I don't feel obligated to let you know when I get things in reference to those things you "forget" to tell me. :)
I fine myself wanting to move, just to keep people from having my address. It's as though every time you think something dies & you can breath, it forces it way back up & you have to remember everything you've gone through, all that pain all over again.
Left alone. That is all I want. I don't want to make nice. There is nothing that can make this better. I said my entire pregnancy wit Joel, if he's born & they still make no attempt at being involved, they'd lose their chance forever. Just because Joel died, it doesn't mean that went out the window. I allowed that door to be opened because he died & I felt like they deserved the right to be there, but it wasn't just going to be left open as if nothing happened. My sons death wasn't going tobe used that way. And the actions & words we dealt with after his death just made matters even worse. I look back & I'm so angry at myself that when Joel died, while they were "visiting" us in the hospital & making small talk about people & other totally random, stupid shit, I just didn't scream, "What is your fucking problem? We jut sent our son to the fucking morgue & you're making jokes about your neighbors? You stand in the room with his body & make jokes about surgery scars with us?" How is laughing even possible at that point as you're standing 2 feet away from a dead baby, your dead grandson? You come to "visit" the next day after we send him for an autopsy & you don't do anything but make jokes & small talk about things like I mention, the only thing you really say worth while about us is that you're sad I didn't make my parents bring Jules almost an hour away so you could "visit" with him at the hospital? They're pumping antibiotics into me because they are worried I'll get an infection for having a dead baby in me for however long & such a long induction, & you're laughing about worthless shit?
Yes, my biggest regret is not screaming at these people & telling them to leave & never come back. That says alot I think.
I just want left alone. We all do, believe it or not. Of course they don't believe it. They'll continue to believe he's the victim in this, I'm the meanie whose caused all these problems & ruined Adam's life & now he has no choice in the matter because I make his life a living hell. As adults, even if you don't like it, we have the right to be left alone. And as parents for young children, we also have the right to make that decision for them. You don't have to like it, & you can spend the rest of your days curing me & my evil ways, refusing to believe anyone but me is at fault, & I don't care. Dealing with this time & time again makes me remember everything. From the complaints about me folding towels to joking while my son was having an autopsy preformed to bringing Christmas gifts 6 months after the holiday to my sons funeral. I would just like left alone.
But now that I've made that public that won't happen. Maybe I should have tried reversed psychology. Maybe next time. Until then, I'll continue to tell myself the advice my friend, Dawn, gave me over a year ago when this first started...don't waste time caring about people who don't care about you.
Of course I don't really care...I just want to destroy. But hey, I figure that counts as well.
No more opening boxes though. I'll kick them into the street if needed. Or, you know, burn them.
Ah, maturity still reins supreme. :)