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11/08/2003 Entry: "How My Mother Died - Part 1: "You will probably never see the age of 20."" Soon, the 16th "anniversary" of my mother's death is coming. I don't celebrate it, in fact, I often block it out, so I thought while I am bothered by her death, I want to illustrate a little as to why. I originally had this big entry planned about it, but I always get emotionally sidetracked, so this is the 10th or 11th attempt to write the story. Several things were going on at the end of 1986 that really changed in our family. The process of family erosion and the collapsing of my mother's denial fortress was really starting to crumble. Her drinking had now shifted patterns, and tranquilizers had been added to the mix. She was seeing two doctors, and both were giving her prescriptions for tranqs. This had been an ongoing process for years, but it was now to the point that even when she was sober, most of her life seemed to be a glazed acceptance towards the inevitable doom that was surely to come. I had a newfound sense of independence. I already had been working for two years by this point, paying for my own clothes, books, school supplies, and other essentials. I can't say I was really financially independent, because I didn't pay rent, taxes, utilities, or for half my food but pretty much everything else I paid for. I was cheap, too, and rarely bought anything I didn't need, because I was saving for college. In fact, I think the only "frivolous" thing I ever bought were a few sci-fi books. I had also had two years of court-ordered (and my requested) therapy which unscrewed me a lot, although looking back, I still took myself and life WAY too seriously. Therapy ended badly in 1987, but that's another story. By the end of 1986, though, I was already thinking how to live on my own. I didn't need my parents anymore, I thought. My father, since the child abuse trials, pretty much ignored me (which was good), and I was starting to resent the repetition of my mother 's drinking habits. I was becoming smarter, too, and not falling into those guilt traps she always set up. I spent most of my time either at school, after-school clubs, my job, or Kate's house. I really only used my house to sleep at, and occasionally get food from (when food was to be had). In October of 1986, our old cat Daisy died. She was old (16) and had been having seizures, so on the vet's advice, we had her put to sleep. This seemed to be the beginning of the end. I was really upset, and my mother just got drunk to deal with it. Something else had changed, though, and I knew it. I felt that when Daisy died, it was the first marker of the biggest change of my life. Things rapidly went downhill from there. My mother, in her anguish, bought a dog named "Prince Charming," which was a puppy from my friend Kate's mom's previous litter (she bred Pekingese for show). My mother had always wanted a dog, and in 1970, she had gotten one from the pound, and it had died ten days later from heartworms. This was always a symbolic excuse why we never had dogs, the "heartbreak." So getting a puppy was a big step in my mother's life. But then she got totally wasted and I had to take care of it, which, honestly, I didn't mind at all. I was trilled, because I knew this dog's parents and grandparents. But my father came home from one of his long business trips, saw the dog, and totally flipped out. He said that I had killed the cat to get the dog, taking advantage of my mother's drunkenness, and that this was proof I was a very bad and evil person indeed. My mother was passed out on her bed, so she couldn't explain anything. Luckily, Kate's mom took back the dog without complaint, stating she should have known better that something was wrong with my mother (she knew my family very well, and knew of my problems). When my mother came to a few days later, she did apologize to me, but she was devastated about losing the puppy. But good news came when I found I had been accepted to George Mason University, as well as the University of Hawaii at Hilo, although I could not afford out-of-state for the latter. This was good news, but then my mother started to worry how I was going to pay for college. I had saved up money, but only enough for one year. My father did NOT want to pay for my college, although he said if I didn't go to college, I was even MORE of a disappointment. I always thought of this as part of his ongoing hypocrisy (that an taking money relatives gave me since I was a kid for "my college fund" which I never saw). What I *didn't* know, and found out about 5 years later, was that my grandmother had sent money to pay for my college for two years. Wonder what became of that money, Arvid? Yeah. Along with my mother's family heirlooms, they are gone into the black hole you call your soul. My friend Neal also told me that his Christmas present from his parents was to fly me down to Texas to be with him right after Christmas, into New Year's. Then I got even better news: my friend Julie and I were to be guests artists at Evecon 4! Wow! Then my mother, in an act of defiance, cancelled Christmas. The story is in this entry. I actually thought this was good news, too! Ha ha. Hind sight is always 20/20. Then, I got devastating news in the beginning of December. For years, I had been having a lot of problems with physical exertion, and my heart rate had always been erratic. They found a heart murmur, and did a whole lot of tests on me. I didn't give us the results until after I got back from Evecon 4. Bad news, Grig. You're dying. I recall everything with granularity at that moment. I recall the doctor's office, the wallpaper, the brown vinyl doctor's table, the smell of iodine,. everything. Looooong story short, I was born with a heart defect, undetected probably since birth, and one of my ventricles had a huge lump on it, which stunted its growth, and when the rest of my heart grew, it did not. So I almost had a 3-chambered heart, which accounted for its rapid beating and irregular rhythm. I needed massive heart surgery, and my chances for survival, since this went undetected for so long, was scarce. That was the only time I have ever openly reacted to bad news with nervous laughter. "You mean," I said, "I spent half my life trying to attempt suicide, and when I am finally cured of wanting to kill myself, my own heart is going to do me in?" I didn't want surgery. I didn't want to have to be in the hospital, where people go to die. "What if I do nothing?" I asked. "Then you will probably never see the age of 20," said the doctor. He looked like he was going to cry. My mother was sobbing. Jesus H. Christ, WTF? Time out, God! Unfair! This game is rigged! I am 35 this month. I am not going to go into a side story of what happened with this, but you can probably guess I did not die. This is why this story is so hard to tell in a straight line; there's so much stuff interwoven into it. This entry needs like 50 footnotes, and parts of me go, "Oh, and THIS happened, too!" But to satisfy any short-term curiosity, it turns out I was probably misdiagnosed, my heart got better when I was on my own, but I spent a lot of my life (and still kind of do), thinking at any moment, I am going to keel over. Between the end of this sentence, and when I am 75. Continued...