Ghost First, Then Real Estate
Thursday, August 15th, 2024 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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72F and cloudy tonight with a chance of rain.
It was gloriously cloudy and cool all day, with showers here and there.
There wasn't even a vehicle at the house today when I drove by on the way to work.
I did notice that the lilac bush, which Dad & I planted by the side porch back in 2015, is also gone now!
So, again, it seems as though they're clearing obstacles close to the house, in preparation for the siding and the porch enclosure, but... like, I still don't get why they drywalled the upstairs so fast, in the first week, without touching the downstairs, or doing the windows or anything.
I mean, normally drywall is the last thing you do!
You tear out the plaster & Lath... then you redo the electric & plumbing... then you replace the windows... and deal with the floors... and you probably do the siding and roofing too.. before you finally do the drywall!
I dunno!
Is the malevolent spirit of Dad confusing the minds of these invaders, and driving fear into their hearts?
Like the drywall guys accidentally did the upstairs way too soon because of a mix up, which then lead to heated arguments and cost overruns right out of the gate.
And meanwhile other workers are getting spooked by creepy sounds and visions every time they try to disturb anything.
I keep thinking I'm hearing a very angry man shouting at me, and then there will be a bang on the wall, or on the floor!
And now they're just refusing to go in there and work anymore, which is why there was no vehicle on site today.
Meanwhile, ghost Dad is just 5-alarm furious that they threw away all his furniture and then cut down his bushes!
I got a letter today from BMO, addressed to both Dad and I.
It said that Dad's checking account is overdrawn by TWELVE DOLLARS!
And it's been twelve-dollars overdrawn for almost TWO MONTHS!
In the strongly worded letter, they warned that if money is not deposited soon to cover it... THE ACCOUNT MAY BE CLOSED!
OH NOO!
And they continue to call about it once or twice a day, like it's the most urgent banking matter in the universe!
But I am NOT putting one more dime of my money into their goddam bank!
And I'm also NEVER showing another asshole his goddam death certificate either!.. which is what I'm sure I'd have to do if I went there to formally close his stupid account.
Let it die a natural death... as his utility accounts die... and his president whithers and blows off the political stage like a tumble weed!
I feel like it may have been a mistake to have Dad cremated, and then wait nine months to bury the urn... keeping it in the livingroom that whole spring, summer, and fall.
We did that for financial reasons, but I fear the unintended result was to encourage him to stay Earthbound.
Like... they say the reasons for ancient rituals are often forgotten... until somebody finally skips the ritual, and then all hell breaks loose.
In this case, I think there's a reason why we bury somebody in a coffin within a week of their death... and it's because if you don't... they're souls are far more likely to stick around and create huge problems... especially if they had a dark side to begin with.
And when that happens, it's nearly impossible to get rid of them!
The Egyptians were all about mummification, specifically because they felt the soul can't move on unless the body is preserved.
And of course modern undertakers go to a lot of trouble to preserve the dead, at least long enough to make it through a wake.
The idea, I suppose, is that the soul gets some kind of closure, knowing that that earthly body they spent a whole life in, is still around somewhere, and that everybody still living got to give it one last look... and knows where to go visit it later.
But you wanna take care of that shit real fast, so that asshole moves on, and everybody can get back to their lives!
In Dad's case, you had this super-deeply devout Catholic who...
- Outlived all his peers.
- Died broke.
- Lived into a day where funerals cost 20K.
- Died right after the holidays.
- Had all of his family living in far flung states.
- Didn't think he was dying!
We simply couldn't afford to do a traditonal funeral the week he died and have all his kids and grandkids there for it!
Cremation was all we could afford, and the nine months was to give everybody time to plan and save up for the burial event.
So nobody was out to buck tradition... we were just doing what was practical, under the circumstances.
And those circumstances were thanks to his shitty planning!
Though I do blame his church too... as upset as they were that we'd subject one of their life-long extraordinary ministers to the disgrace of cremation, and deny them the right to see him off the same week he died!
Because hey!.. if it's so important this gets done for your extraordinary ministers... then you should have a fucking fund for those of them who can't afford to do it that way!.. and the fucking funeral homes should know all about it!
I mean, they were the holy support network and community he served his whole life, so in my mind, they let him down!
And then parishoners were even sending me letters, basically saying that he need them to pray for him at mass, but they CANT DO THAT, unless I PAY the church to include him in the list of lost souls or some bullshit!
Like FUCK YOU!
YOU KNEW HIM!.. YOU KNOW HE'S DEAD!.. JUST GRAB A GODDAM ROSARY AND PRAY FOR HIM, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK NEEDS TO BE DONE!
This is why I think the Catholic Church is so warped and dark!
So, at any rate...
Dad was already hyper-attached to the house in life, and I think when he died, he just stuck around for nine months, with his urn in the livingroom... getting all bent out of shape about everything.
Like, How dare he tear up the livingroom carpet and give away Mom's organ! kinda stuff.
I think he had/has three major issues;
- SHOCK about every change to his house.
- CONTEMPT for me, because I wasn't worthy of his house... being godless, progressive, unmarried, and childless.
- JEALOUSY As I mowed the lawn, and took his dog for walks with the cats in tow, and was basically living a happy life there, making it my own.
And consumed by those three demons, all he wanted was for me to get OUT!
But it would take more than power bumps and broken storm windows to do that, because, Fuck you!.. I belly crawled under the return duct in the dark crawl space, and turned the spooky basement into a neat shop! I'm not scared of no ghosts here!
So he sicked his bank on me instead!
The Sheriff will get you out for me!... Heh Haaa!.. and you'll be homeless!
Oh, you want to pay for defense lawyers with that AmEx card?... well guess what?... they're CUTTING your 16K limit down to nothing! Heh Haaaa!
And he won!.. he did it!
He got me out!
And he sat there at the head of his kitchen table, looking out the back room window, smoking a ghost Newport, and drinking a ghost Guinness, with Prowly still popping in, and the light still on... thinking, Now I finally get to enjoy this place BY MYSELF!
And then the invaders came to throw that kitchen table and it's chairs away, and get rid of all his and mom's other furniture, and cut down the front bushes and the lilac, and the juniper... and fuck with the walls... etc.
And right about now, he's starting to realize... I wasn't destroying his house and his memory... I was preserving it!
[as I write this, there's now lightning and thunder out my 11th story window, and it's raining.]
And now that I'm gone... there's nobody to stop his memory from being erased in that place, or to stop the house itself from being butchered beyond recognition!
But can he admit to himself that he was to blame for the misery we are both now experiencing?
Or is he instead just grasping at straws... trying to kick them out, like he did to me... and looking to BMO to help, and finding that... it's over!
His mortgages are closed.
All he has left with them is a checking account, with a balance of negative twelve dollars.
And whenever my phone rings with that caller ID that says simply, "BMO," I imagine his voice... the way he'd call out to me when he fell and couldn't get up... "Pat!... Paaat!... Help me!... You have to DO something!"
And in my head, all I can think is, No, YOU have to do something, Dad!
You have to either let go, and cross the fuck over?... or you have to admit you've been evil, and get back on my side!
Because I'm not even gonna try to buy that house back if I think he's still in malevolent ghost mode, hovering over the place!
Cuz if he is... either the deal will fall through... or he'll fuck me up all over again, once I'm back in there.
So to sum...
What I'm saying tonight is that yes, I need to get a real estate agent if I want that house back.
BUT...
I have to resolve the issues with Dad's troubled soul first!
And I have NO IDEA how to do that, right now!
But there is a thunderstorm raging outside that began in the midst of writing this entry, so I suppose that means just airing this, might've been progress?
I dunno!
Dad!.. I'm two months into a new life now!
I no longer need your blessing, or cooperation... or your banks blessing... or your church's blessing... to follow this new path!
If you want your grandkids to come back to that house ever again... or anybody who lives there to utter your name or remember you existed all... you need MY cooperation!
So either get your shit together, and give me a big fat green light... or leave me and my phone, the fuck alone!
°¦}
