“They Don’t Think Anything, Because They’re Dead.”
“To lose one parent Mr. Worthing may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both; looks like carelessness.” -Lady Bracknell. The Importance of Being Earnest.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I officially became an orphan a few months before my 21st birthday. And if you didn’t know, SURPRISE, I guess you don’t know me after all. Anywho, apparently I have an odd habit of telling people in the most outlandish ways that two of my favorite people have died (as evidenced by this post). I’ve often made jokes about their deaths or randomly dropped the bomb in the middle of talking about something as commonplace as a pinball machine (big ups to my bestie for successfully navigating that conversation.) I usually avoid the subject altogether unless someone asks me directly about them (for example, at a dinner with about 8 of my friends, and 3 parents…boy, did that make for an awkward five minutes. Luckily, the same situation had happened before, so for me it was practically a walk in the park.) I also have a habit of referring to my parents in present tense by mistake which is sure to confuse some people; oopsie.
One of my favorite awkward situations occurred when 2 of my friends spent the night over my house last summer. For privacy purposes, we’ll call them friend A and friend B. Friend A and I had been talking about how I have no finesse when it came to telling people my parents were deceased. At that time, I was gearing up for a new school year and knew the subject was bound to come up. So I decided maybe, just maybe, I should try to get better at telling people. This whole conversation happened before friend B arrived. Friend B gets there, unpacks and we all chat for a bit before s/he asks me
“So, where are your parents?”
Me: “Dead.” -I look briefly at friend A before we both burst into uncontrollable laughter-
Friend A: (to me, through laughs) “You didn’t even try.”
Meanwhile friend B follows suit and joins in on the laughter not understanding what just happened before we go downtown for the day. After retuning home that night, friend B notices that my house is still dark.
Friend B: “But seriously though, where are your parents?”
Me: “Friend B, they’re really dead.”
Now of course this whole scenario prompted Friend B to feel bad and confide in friend A that s/he didn’t know my parents were dead. I told her/him not to feel bad. After all, I hadn’t said anything so they couldn’t have known. That statement from people always kills me (though not literally, of course) “Omg, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Lol, duh! Of course you didn’t know, if you did I would hope you would’ve spared us all this awkwardness, (Though in this case, I’m 99.99 precent positive that I told him/her about my mom. But, as I’m not 1000% sure like the tragic women on Maury, I’ll give him/her the benefit of the doubt.)
Now obviously, my reactions to my parents’ deaths may make some people feel very uncomfortable (or so I’ve been told). Honestly, after I tell someone, I usually have the annoying chore of consoling them, as if they are the ones that are really affected by my loss and grief. Smh foolery. But luckily, I’ve recently decided that I simply give zero fucks about how other people feel in this situation. I’m now President of what one of my favorite cousins likes to call “The Fuck Your Feelings Club”.
So I’ll break the news in whatever fashion I want, when I want, how I want, and most importantly if I want. If people were smart and did their research like me (shameless plug for my senior thesis) they’d realize that my humor or my seemingly nonchalant attitude on the subject is nothing more than a coping mechanism that I have every right to utilize. So keep your “I’m sorry for your loss” comments to yourself and for god’s sake lose that pitying, puppy dog face (it only make me want to kick you so you actually do cry) and don’t judge me for dealing with something of this magnitude my way. Because, let’s be serious, things have been and will always be my way, or the highway. -sips tea-
