Apparently my father has died

I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother, Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets. Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer. Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200809/1

On Sep 2, 8:28 pm, "Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote:
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother, Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets. Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer. Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.


There's nothing you can do about those feelings except _forgive
yourself_ They are the natural result of the way he behaved. I never
had that much emotion toward my dad, because he died when I was six
and had been out of the house for a few years before that. But I used
to dread his visits. I remember some redeeming things. Hw was awfully
nice to my mother's mother who was in a wheelchair with arthiritis.
But he was a hateful bum, for the most part.

None of that was my fault. That sort of thing is not the child's fault
and the adult the child becomes cannot change it. My sig file is
automatic unless I choose one deliberately. The one that is in place
is random but wow.

--
Will in New Haven
"Frankly, I think the chances of having a happy childhood while you're
still a kid going through it are pretty slim." Edith Ann

"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:899d640415b47@uwe...
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he
passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed
they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.


{{{{{{{{{{Baha}}}}}}}}}}

I'm so sorry. Yes, feeling distant is a normal part of grief, as is anger
and numbness. I went through them all when my father died 35 years ago. I
still have a hard time relating to my emotions after he died and still hope
that he rots in a hot place and I don't believe in Hell.

Pam S.

I am very sorry Baha

"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:899d640415b47@uwe...
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he
passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed
they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see
if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return
to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain
benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to
see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother,
Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in
Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor
had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my
hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch
him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets.
Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember
some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I
could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves
his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer.
Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him
the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan
Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200809/1

On Sep 2, 7:28�pm, "Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote:
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother, Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets. Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer. Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.comhttp://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx/cat-anecdotes/200809/1

I'm so sorry, Baha. Grieve for the relationship that never was, or the
father that you wished you had, if you need to. Wish I had some wisdom
for you. I hope that you can work things out within yourself, and
that's
pretty much what you have to do, for your own sake.
(((((((((huges)))))))))))))))))
Sherry

It sounds to me that you mourned the person who was your father many,
many years ago. The person who has just passed away was someone who
unfortunately replaced everything your father should have been with
violence, pain and illness. Your father died when the mental illness
sparked by WWII took over that man's life.

Your responses, to me, sound sane. Of course you mourned your Fritzie
and Odessa-Dolly more; they loved you and returned every kindness you
showed them a thousand-fold.

Your best revenge, I'm sure you've heard before, is a life well
lived. It sounds to me that in your choice of husband (who sounds
like an absolute sweetheart) and the cats that are in your life, you
are getting revenge on a daily basis. You are showing that man how
happy he COULD have been had he been one iota more like you are.

Live your life in blessed peace. Love those around you and learn to
accept their love in return.

Hugs,
Tish

Baha via CatKB.com u18616@uwe wrote:

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets. Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer. Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

Baha,

I'm sorry you're going through this. It's certainly a weird situation, so
I'm not surprised that you're having a strange reaction, or non-reaction.
Not to mention that he was extremely abusive to you. And no matter what
nice things an abuser might also do, the abuse will still wound you. No
wonder you feel numb. I would, too, I'll bet. And your guilt sounds like
part of the victim pattern, too. You know, everything's your fault, right?
It's hard not to feel that way when you've been victimized by someone else.

You have a right to grieve in any way that suits you - or not to grieve
at all, if that's how it is. It's not a performance for others, and it's
not an obligation to anyone else, either. Nobody's judging you for how much
you do or don't cry for the man (and if someone does, they're way out of
line). Your feelings are your own business.

I know how you feel, because I often go numb around death. I've been
dry-eyed at so many funerals, I used to wonder if I were just a heartless
b*tch. So I've had many opportunities to think about this stuff, and the
above is what I've come up with. This is *your* experience. You get to have
it however you have it. You don't have to live up to anyone's expectations,
not even the ones who live in your head.

Oh, and I've cried much harder for cats than for people. Aside from the
fact that your cats have been far greater sources of love than your step-
dad ever was, I think it's often just easier to feel the grief for a pet.
The feelings are just more simple and straightforward, which is *not* to
say they are any less. Just less complicated. We don't have love/hate
relationships with cats, causing confusion and mixed feelings. Cats are
easy to love, and they're easy to grieve when they're gone (IME).

Hugs & purrs,

--
Joyce ^..^

(To email me, remove the X's from my user name.)

"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:899d640415b47@uwe...
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he
passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed
they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see
if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return
to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain
benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to
see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother,
Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in
Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor
had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my
hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch
him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets.
Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember
some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I
could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves
his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer.
Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him
the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan
Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.

Blessed be,
Baha


All I can do is send you my wishes for peace. And the kitties' purrs, of
course.


--
Theresa, Stinky and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

Baha via CatKB.com wrote:
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he
passed May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street
confirmed they had received notification, but do not keep death
records.

snip

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant.
My father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a
skiptracer. Is this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there
a part of the grief process they never covered, like the Blank Stage?
I feel more horribly for Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

This is called shock, and is a mix of different emotions. There's relief,
grief, guilt, confusion, but also the 'I don't care' and then guilt again
for thinking "I don't care" etc etc.

its OK, Baha, you are allowed to feel how you feel about it.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play
him the movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call
himself Alan Smithee, director and writer of my mental illness.
You're supposed to honor your parents.

And they are supposed to love you, support you, and to help you grow. Not
the opposite.

May God damn me to hell.

Not a chance. Any loving God would know the truth of the situation, gather
you into his/her/its/their arms and hold you until you without a doubt
knew - from the tip of your hair to the soles of your feet - that you are
loved. And you are.

{{{Baha}}}

Yowie
--
"because its more fun to be evil" - Jarppi, _The Dudesons_

People are what they are. Parents, especially years ago when no one wanted
to "admit" anything, could get away with horrible things.. Just be blessed
that you are who you are and important to someone, even if it is our kitty
friends. Be kind to yourself.
"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:899d640415b47@uwe...
I learned from one of the skiptracers at work that my adoptive father,
Miroslaw, has died. According to the Social Security Death Index, he
passed
May 20, just a few weeks ago. The SSA office across the street confirmed
they
had received notification, but do not keep death records.

The skiptracers had been helping me out every few months, checking to see
if
he had come back to the states at any point. Apparently it is required in
cases of dual citizenship (USA & Poland in this case) that a person return
to
the US every so many months or years to continue to receive certain
benefits
such as Social Security. "Mike" hadn't made his visit. People in my old
hometown had heard rumors of his falling off a roof of a Polish villa but
that was 4 years ago or more. He hadn't come to my wedding, almost 6 years
ago. Mike had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. I know I have a
stepmother, Wieslawa; I had heard of how she tried to effectively wipe all
evidence of any American taint from the face of Mike, forbidding him to
see
old friends on his visits and destroying any vestige of my mother,
Frances.
All that remains of my mother is a set of Magi figurines, handmade in
Poland,
that a neighbor had saved during one of her crazyass rants. That neighbor
had
saved it for nearly a decade until I got the nerve to retuen to my
hometown.
(It was a small place, and there were some ugly family rumors.)

I wish I could remember the Mike who loved my dear Fritzie, and snuck him
food when Mike thought no one was watching. Instead I remember the SOB who
tore my clothing off and beat me with a studded belt because I did catch
him,
and it threw him into a flashback like you hear about with Vietnam vets.
Mike
had been in the Nazi camps. I wish I could remember a father. I remember
some
guy who had me in his house and bitched about how much I cost. I wish I
could
remember a dad. There is a billion degree difference, as anyone who loves
his
father can tell you.

And I wish I weren't such an a$$hole for feeling so damnably distant. My
father died last May. I learned last Thursday at work, from a skiptracer.
Is
this the denial part everyone talks about? Or is there a part of the grief
process they never covered, like the Blank Stage? I feel more horribly for
Fritzie and Odessa-Dolly.

I hope he's in the kind of place where the powers that are can play him
the
movie of my life, and he can hide in the clouds and call himself Alan
Smithee,
director and writer of my mental illness. You're supposed to honor your
parents. May God damn me to hell.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200809/1