intheheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
intheheart) wrote2013-03-06 02:58 am
intheheart) wrote2013-03-06 02:58 am
Entry tags:
- character: aaron kendall,
- character: andy ch kendall,
- character: bradley spitzer,
- character: christine warmind,
- character: clara hawkins kendall,
- character: danny sierbenski,
- character: farid amala,
- character: felipe claro,
- character: frank sierbenski,
- character: gail hirschfeld,
- character: gina caravecchio,
- character: hector marquez,
- character: ivy hirschfeld-kendall,
- character: jake foster,
- character: joanna amala,
- character: joy maserati,
- character: lars warmind,
- character: leah ch kendall,
- character: melanie newman pierce,
- character: michael sierbenski,
- character: nathan kendall,
- character: olivia marhenke,
- character: rebecca sierbenski,
- character: robert and susanna caravecchi,
- character: rose marie kendall,
- character: summer kendall,
- character: various warminds,
- character: yvonne marhenke,
- character: zachary ryan,
- drabble chains,
- warning
These Honored Dead
Title: These Honored Dead
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Autumn is the season of the dead.
Warnings: some ableist slurs, mentioned child abuse and sexism, lots of death including violence, implied homophobia and suicide.
1. Samhain
She went soft and quiet, the way she did everything.
Summer was always quiet, our cat-footed love. She could sneak up on both me and Zack, and we were both serving officers at the time. She told me once that she could also sneak up on her veteran father, which, I gotta say, is one hell of an accomplishment.
She was beautiful, too. So beautiful, and she didn't even know it. Smart and sexy and sweet and ours, our heart, our wife, the smooth to our rough.
I've lost them both now.
I don't know how to even begin anymore.
2. jack o’ lantern
When I was little, I went to my mother's for Halloween. She liked taking me trick-or-treating, both of us dressed up—it was something she could do. Of course, when I got older and got sisters, I went with them, but I'd still go to my mom's sometime before Halloween, and we'd carve a pumpkin together.
She's dead now, of course. My mom. She was a grandmother when she died, and she carved pumpkins with my kids too, making horrible faces for them to copy. She related to kids best that way.
She tried so hard for me, my mom.
3. trick-or-treat
So here's a secret: I love my mother.
I shouldn't love her. She abused my sister, and I see those scars on Danny every day. She failed me. She was our mother, and she let us down so badly we ran away and never looked back.
But she tried.
She tried so hard, after. Danny never would see it, but I... I think it was because she didn't hurt me the same way. I could see that she was trying even back then.
Danny never told her she loved her. I did, once, towards the end.
I hope it helped.
4. black cat
After I came out to my mother, I think she regarded me as something of a black sheep, or a black cat. Not bad luck, not exactly, and not an outcast, not exactly, just... not exactly what she wanted either.
It hurt. I won't lie. But she didn't cut me off, she just pretended I wasn't gay, somehow. She stopped that, eventually—she came to my wedding. I know how much that cost her, to let go of her denial.
I know I was not the perfect daughter, but she was not the perfect mother.
We loved each other anyway.
5. All Saints’ Day
On All Saints' Day we pray for the Church Triumphant, the righteous dead who have ascended to heaven. Christians all, of course, according to my pastor, and those beloved of our congregation especially. But not Daniel. Not on today. He belongs, according to my pastor, to the Church Suffering, Christians in purgatory, for driving drunk.
If he knew the truth, he'd say Daniel belongs in hell.
I don't believe that Daniel's in purgatory or hell. I knew him better than anyone alive, and he was a good man. One of the best.
I pray for him today. I always will.
6. Day of the Dead
When Graciela called, I nearly fainted. Thank God Theo was there—no one else could understand what it's like, losing a parent. Even Theo doesn't wholly understand; his father still lives, and anyway his parents both supported him.
Mine...
I am too far away to visit for Día de los Muertos, but I build a shrine in our home, mine and Theo's. I put their pictures on it, and a cross, and I sit with them, because it is my duty.
I don't say anything. I don't know what I could say.
I think they still loved me, at least.
7. bonfires
I hate bonfires.
For obvious reasons, yeah, but it's more than that. There's so much in a fire that I've tried to avoid. Unruly passion, anger, violence. Blood reds and scorching yellows. All of it raging, totally uncontrolled. My hand, scorching. My home, burning.
My family, dying.
I'll never understand this obsession with fire. It cleanses, people say, but they're wrong—it sterilizes. If the fire had its way, my family would be gone completely. As it is, there's hardly anything left of them, just four graves and my memory.
Always my memory. At least the fire can't take that.
8. All Hallows’ Eve
For the first week after my father died, it felt like I was moving underwater. I saw the same expression in my stepmother, those shattered eyes, that blank face. We leaned on each other and cried, sat together, mourned together. It hurt so much, this ocean of pain, and yet...
It felt sometimes like he wasn't gone, like he was there between us. There was something holy about my father, I think. Something he gave to us while he was alive. We carry that inside us, Joanna and I.
I'll never stop missing him, but that makes it hurt less.
9. Pomona
Her sous-chef said she sat down to have a quick rest in the middle of the dinner rush, and by the time anyone thought to check on her, she was dead. Isn't that weird?
It's almost impossible to conceive. Losing Mom was hard enough, but Chrissy was my sister, my mother figure. She seemed utterly indestructible, and to die like that, so sudden—
Well. It was somewhere she loved. Doing something she loved. She'd spoken to all of us and all her kids at least once that week, kissed her husband goodbye that afternoon.
Maybe it was what she wanted.
10. Parentalia
Yes, okay, I know, I get it, she's not my biological grandmother. Everybody at the funeral who didn't know Mom or me is giving me funny looks, like, what the hell are you doing here, this is a crowd of Celtic redheads, maybe you wanted the black funeral next door?
But fuck them. Gramma is my mom's mother, ergo, she's my grandmother. So what if my moms didn't give birth to me? Gramma still gave me Christmas presents and laughed at all of my bad jokes and admired my schoolwork.
Family's not always in blood.
I miss you already, Gramma.
11. souling
My mother died in a hospital bed after a long, slow fight with cancer. Chemotherapy, radiation, they tried everything and none of it helped. My mom lost weight and her hair and her strength.
I was with her, at least, at the end. I wouldn't have been, but Mom asked the nurse to call my school. I sat with her and held her hand, and she smiled at me, told me she loved me, and said she was going to sleep.
I swear I saw her leave her body, a flash of light and dust motes spinning in the sun.
12. witch
The witch in Ward Twelve finally died last night. Just- god, finally. I know that's a terrible thing to say but you don't understand. She'd scream and cuss at me when I didn't flirt with her. I mean, come on, she's like sixty. I'm nineteen, and anyway I have a girlfriend.
She was crazy too. Always going on about all these people who "wronged" her. After the first three times I ignored her she added me to that too. Wonder what the other gust did to piss her off.
Well, at least I never have to deal with her again.
13. mask
Mom looked relieved, when she died, and I think I know why.
She wasn't in a lot of pain. They had her really high on painkillers, I guess—she kept telling me and Andy that she was on the good shit, and giggling, because even at eighty-one Mom was still immature. Mama used to say that was part of her charm.
It was 'cause of Mama, I think. Since she died, Mom hadn't really been happy. I mean, she was happy, she loved me and Andy and our family, but it was like this mask.
I hope she's happy now.
14. ghoul
Somebody from somewhere in California called to tell me my dad was dead, and for a heartstopping moment I thought they meant my actual dad. But, no, they were talking about the biohazard. Which was one hell of a relief, let me tell you.
Yeah, I know, it sounds heartless, but you have to understand, my biohazard meant nothing to me—no, less than nothing. He was an evil little man who used people and treated women like objects. The world's better off without him in it.
I guess I'm sorry that somebody died. But he wasn't anybody to me.
15. goblin
So my father died.
I don't know how Michael knew. He told me, but I don't know how he found out—maybe Mom told him, I don't know, he still talks to her sometimes. Whatever, it doesn't matter, and you know, neither does my father being dead, because fuck him. He hated me and I hated him and I don't give a fuck that he's dead. I'm glad the asshole's out of my hair. Not that he was in it, but... you get me.
Maybe I would've liked to call him out. Just once.
But he's dead. So fuck that.
16. candles
He lit candles for me, when we were first dating, when we married, when I was pregnant with Summer. He told me he liked the way candlelight looked on my skin, on my hair. He loved my hair, even when it went gray. It wasn't the color, he said.
Candles mean love to me now. They mean his hands and his mouth on me, his head resting against my heart, his fingers laced through mine. They mean our children, picnics, dinners, storm blackouts, cuddling, kissing, making love. They mean him and me.
I'll light candles for him, at his funeral.
17. harvest
I guess it was his time to go. It wasn't like my mother, so young and in so much pain; he just fell asleep and didn't wake up. A massive stroke, so fast he couldn't have felt anything.
It still hurts, don't get me wrong. There's a hole in my heart now that will never be filled. But it... somehow it hurts less, knowing he wasn’t hurting, or anticipating. It was as easy and natural as death ever gets, and I know I'll see him soon.
He did everything easily. I guess it's no surprise he did this easily too.
18. occult
It was so normal—he tripped on the stairs. It was only three steps and if he'd been anyone else, if he hadn't had OI, he would have been fine.
They told me at the ER that he broke his neck on impact, that it was so fast he didn't feel any pain. He was only fifty-two. I had to call Danny.
You know what's stupid? I still feel him. I still talk to him. I still feel his arms around me, his breath on my neck. It's just... someone so alive couldn't die completely.
Maybe it's not so stupid.
19. scary movies
It was like a bad movie. Sirens wailing, gunshots, shouts and people screaming. All I could do was rock back and forth and cry. I tried, I really did, but I couldn't even lift my head until the noise stopped.
He was across the store. He wasn't breathing.
He didn't get shot. It was a heart attack. I might still have been able to save him, but he was across the store; I was too far away. I thought Felipe would hate me for that, but he didn't. He just held me, and we cried.
At least we're still together.
20. apple bobbing
I feel as if I never really knew my father until after he died.
Part of it was the things they never told us, of course. Words unspoken, secrets kept—my father's mistress and secret love, our unknown half-sister, jobs he had and lost, friends he never spoke to after we left LA. But part of it was my father the man, the adult.
I saw some of it as a child, pieces and flashes, apples bobbing to the surface of a dark, still pond. But I never put them all together until after he died.
It's my greatest regret.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Autumn is the season of the dead.
Warnings: some ableist slurs, mentioned child abuse and sexism, lots of death including violence, implied homophobia and suicide.
1. Samhain
She went soft and quiet, the way she did everything.
Summer was always quiet, our cat-footed love. She could sneak up on both me and Zack, and we were both serving officers at the time. She told me once that she could also sneak up on her veteran father, which, I gotta say, is one hell of an accomplishment.
She was beautiful, too. So beautiful, and she didn't even know it. Smart and sexy and sweet and ours, our heart, our wife, the smooth to our rough.
I've lost them both now.
I don't know how to even begin anymore.
2. jack o’ lantern
When I was little, I went to my mother's for Halloween. She liked taking me trick-or-treating, both of us dressed up—it was something she could do. Of course, when I got older and got sisters, I went with them, but I'd still go to my mom's sometime before Halloween, and we'd carve a pumpkin together.
She's dead now, of course. My mom. She was a grandmother when she died, and she carved pumpkins with my kids too, making horrible faces for them to copy. She related to kids best that way.
She tried so hard for me, my mom.
3. trick-or-treat
So here's a secret: I love my mother.
I shouldn't love her. She abused my sister, and I see those scars on Danny every day. She failed me. She was our mother, and she let us down so badly we ran away and never looked back.
But she tried.
She tried so hard, after. Danny never would see it, but I... I think it was because she didn't hurt me the same way. I could see that she was trying even back then.
Danny never told her she loved her. I did, once, towards the end.
I hope it helped.
4. black cat
After I came out to my mother, I think she regarded me as something of a black sheep, or a black cat. Not bad luck, not exactly, and not an outcast, not exactly, just... not exactly what she wanted either.
It hurt. I won't lie. But she didn't cut me off, she just pretended I wasn't gay, somehow. She stopped that, eventually—she came to my wedding. I know how much that cost her, to let go of her denial.
I know I was not the perfect daughter, but she was not the perfect mother.
We loved each other anyway.
5. All Saints’ Day
On All Saints' Day we pray for the Church Triumphant, the righteous dead who have ascended to heaven. Christians all, of course, according to my pastor, and those beloved of our congregation especially. But not Daniel. Not on today. He belongs, according to my pastor, to the Church Suffering, Christians in purgatory, for driving drunk.
If he knew the truth, he'd say Daniel belongs in hell.
I don't believe that Daniel's in purgatory or hell. I knew him better than anyone alive, and he was a good man. One of the best.
I pray for him today. I always will.
6. Day of the Dead
When Graciela called, I nearly fainted. Thank God Theo was there—no one else could understand what it's like, losing a parent. Even Theo doesn't wholly understand; his father still lives, and anyway his parents both supported him.
Mine...
I am too far away to visit for Día de los Muertos, but I build a shrine in our home, mine and Theo's. I put their pictures on it, and a cross, and I sit with them, because it is my duty.
I don't say anything. I don't know what I could say.
I think they still loved me, at least.
7. bonfires
I hate bonfires.
For obvious reasons, yeah, but it's more than that. There's so much in a fire that I've tried to avoid. Unruly passion, anger, violence. Blood reds and scorching yellows. All of it raging, totally uncontrolled. My hand, scorching. My home, burning.
My family, dying.
I'll never understand this obsession with fire. It cleanses, people say, but they're wrong—it sterilizes. If the fire had its way, my family would be gone completely. As it is, there's hardly anything left of them, just four graves and my memory.
Always my memory. At least the fire can't take that.
8. All Hallows’ Eve
For the first week after my father died, it felt like I was moving underwater. I saw the same expression in my stepmother, those shattered eyes, that blank face. We leaned on each other and cried, sat together, mourned together. It hurt so much, this ocean of pain, and yet...
It felt sometimes like he wasn't gone, like he was there between us. There was something holy about my father, I think. Something he gave to us while he was alive. We carry that inside us, Joanna and I.
I'll never stop missing him, but that makes it hurt less.
9. Pomona
Her sous-chef said she sat down to have a quick rest in the middle of the dinner rush, and by the time anyone thought to check on her, she was dead. Isn't that weird?
It's almost impossible to conceive. Losing Mom was hard enough, but Chrissy was my sister, my mother figure. She seemed utterly indestructible, and to die like that, so sudden—
Well. It was somewhere she loved. Doing something she loved. She'd spoken to all of us and all her kids at least once that week, kissed her husband goodbye that afternoon.
Maybe it was what she wanted.
10. Parentalia
Yes, okay, I know, I get it, she's not my biological grandmother. Everybody at the funeral who didn't know Mom or me is giving me funny looks, like, what the hell are you doing here, this is a crowd of Celtic redheads, maybe you wanted the black funeral next door?
But fuck them. Gramma is my mom's mother, ergo, she's my grandmother. So what if my moms didn't give birth to me? Gramma still gave me Christmas presents and laughed at all of my bad jokes and admired my schoolwork.
Family's not always in blood.
I miss you already, Gramma.
11. souling
My mother died in a hospital bed after a long, slow fight with cancer. Chemotherapy, radiation, they tried everything and none of it helped. My mom lost weight and her hair and her strength.
I was with her, at least, at the end. I wouldn't have been, but Mom asked the nurse to call my school. I sat with her and held her hand, and she smiled at me, told me she loved me, and said she was going to sleep.
I swear I saw her leave her body, a flash of light and dust motes spinning in the sun.
12. witch
The witch in Ward Twelve finally died last night. Just- god, finally. I know that's a terrible thing to say but you don't understand. She'd scream and cuss at me when I didn't flirt with her. I mean, come on, she's like sixty. I'm nineteen, and anyway I have a girlfriend.
She was crazy too. Always going on about all these people who "wronged" her. After the first three times I ignored her she added me to that too. Wonder what the other gust did to piss her off.
Well, at least I never have to deal with her again.
13. mask
Mom looked relieved, when she died, and I think I know why.
She wasn't in a lot of pain. They had her really high on painkillers, I guess—she kept telling me and Andy that she was on the good shit, and giggling, because even at eighty-one Mom was still immature. Mama used to say that was part of her charm.
It was 'cause of Mama, I think. Since she died, Mom hadn't really been happy. I mean, she was happy, she loved me and Andy and our family, but it was like this mask.
I hope she's happy now.
14. ghoul
Somebody from somewhere in California called to tell me my dad was dead, and for a heartstopping moment I thought they meant my actual dad. But, no, they were talking about the biohazard. Which was one hell of a relief, let me tell you.
Yeah, I know, it sounds heartless, but you have to understand, my biohazard meant nothing to me—no, less than nothing. He was an evil little man who used people and treated women like objects. The world's better off without him in it.
I guess I'm sorry that somebody died. But he wasn't anybody to me.
15. goblin
So my father died.
I don't know how Michael knew. He told me, but I don't know how he found out—maybe Mom told him, I don't know, he still talks to her sometimes. Whatever, it doesn't matter, and you know, neither does my father being dead, because fuck him. He hated me and I hated him and I don't give a fuck that he's dead. I'm glad the asshole's out of my hair. Not that he was in it, but... you get me.
Maybe I would've liked to call him out. Just once.
But he's dead. So fuck that.
16. candles
He lit candles for me, when we were first dating, when we married, when I was pregnant with Summer. He told me he liked the way candlelight looked on my skin, on my hair. He loved my hair, even when it went gray. It wasn't the color, he said.
Candles mean love to me now. They mean his hands and his mouth on me, his head resting against my heart, his fingers laced through mine. They mean our children, picnics, dinners, storm blackouts, cuddling, kissing, making love. They mean him and me.
I'll light candles for him, at his funeral.
17. harvest
I guess it was his time to go. It wasn't like my mother, so young and in so much pain; he just fell asleep and didn't wake up. A massive stroke, so fast he couldn't have felt anything.
It still hurts, don't get me wrong. There's a hole in my heart now that will never be filled. But it... somehow it hurts less, knowing he wasn’t hurting, or anticipating. It was as easy and natural as death ever gets, and I know I'll see him soon.
He did everything easily. I guess it's no surprise he did this easily too.
18. occult
It was so normal—he tripped on the stairs. It was only three steps and if he'd been anyone else, if he hadn't had OI, he would have been fine.
They told me at the ER that he broke his neck on impact, that it was so fast he didn't feel any pain. He was only fifty-two. I had to call Danny.
You know what's stupid? I still feel him. I still talk to him. I still feel his arms around me, his breath on my neck. It's just... someone so alive couldn't die completely.
Maybe it's not so stupid.
19. scary movies
It was like a bad movie. Sirens wailing, gunshots, shouts and people screaming. All I could do was rock back and forth and cry. I tried, I really did, but I couldn't even lift my head until the noise stopped.
He was across the store. He wasn't breathing.
He didn't get shot. It was a heart attack. I might still have been able to save him, but he was across the store; I was too far away. I thought Felipe would hate me for that, but he didn't. He just held me, and we cried.
At least we're still together.
20. apple bobbing
I feel as if I never really knew my father until after he died.
Part of it was the things they never told us, of course. Words unspoken, secrets kept—my father's mistress and secret love, our unknown half-sister, jobs he had and lost, friends he never spoke to after we left LA. But part of it was my father the man, the adult.
I saw some of it as a child, pieces and flashes, apples bobbing to the surface of a dark, still pond. But I never put them all together until after he died.
It's my greatest regret.