Three


Misfortune, it has been said, always comes in threes.
 
1. Noreen, my adopted grandmother has been in the hospital for 2 surgeries, in order to remove some blockage in her stomach and intestines.
This is in part, due to her Crohn’s Disease, as well her being 87. Still, it can’t be healthy to think you’re going for routine surgery, and then wake up with a tube down your throat, and another down your nose, along with an epidural connected along your spine for the pain.
Well, that’s over now, and she’s been removed from ICU, and is lying comfortably up on the 6th floor of St Mary’s Hospital (I was both there, incidentally) for her passing grade, so she can go home to her residence in St. Laurent.
 
2. Coleen’s making what will probably be her final trip down here to the Oshawa General Hospital to see her goodbye’s to her friend Anne.
Anne’s an alcoholic.
Been one all her life, as well as her mother and grand-mother before her. Coleen met her at the Bellwood Clinic years ago.
Thing though is, Anne has been pretty much what’s called a functioning alcoholic.
She ran an International company called DFIC after her father passed away, and she had a great crew of employees who acknowledged her problem, but helped keep things going when things got tough for her, cuz they loved her, as she did them.
Not many companies these days that can boast that!
The company is gone now though. Another victim of our global economy.
That’s what happens when you can make the same product at a cheaper price due to slave labour in China. There’s just no competing with that. But it killed Anne to see something her father had built come to an end.
She blamed herself, so she drank more, and now, all that’s left of her inside is raw meat.
The doctor’s are going to be taking her off the anti-coagulants today, now that her sister has returned from vacation. Anne is not expected to last much more than 10 days now.
Coleen, along with 3 other close friends, will be spending most of their time, in 4 hour shifts, at the hospital, to keep Anne company.
I would like to do so as well.
Anne wasn’t a bad person. She just took too much onto herself emotionally, and couldn’t let go. Add to that an abusive first marriage, a parasite of a daughter (and sister) who lived and sponged her way along through guilt, a second daughter who won’t even look at Anne, and a live-in alcoholic boyfriend (still married at the time. Catholic) who died last year, and you have a formula that had no conclusion except one.
 
3. Now the woman, I labeled as "Krazy Jan" is gone too. She passed away peacefully at Mount Sinai Hospital last week. The funeral was today.
I don’t understand why I feel so bad about this either, But I do.
It’s not liked we ended our "relationship" on a good note.
She was a prissy nut who ran to security like a little girl running to her mommy to tattle if she didn’t like what she heard or saw.
She had it in for several people in this building, including myself, for a variety of unfounded reasons.
Thing though is, she had become part of my accepted environment…One of those people that at least stands out from the crowds of people who you see daily passing by. That makes her relevant to me in some strange way, regardless of how I felt towards her personally.

Jan also did volunteer work down at the Toronto Humane Society, and helped make a lot of rescued animals lives a lot easier.
There aren’t a lot of people that can do that. It’s just too tasking on a person, to see that kind of stuff.
That makes Jan extremely brave in my eyes.
Still don’t like her, but I’m not going to sit here, typing, and take that away from her.
Jan was a brave, dedicated person to the things she was passionate about!!

There. I said it. Done. Finis. Complet. Finite.

I’m still going to miss that insufferable woman, damnit!!!
Different note: had a wonderful scare this morning when I turned on the news, and it wasn’t Christine Bentley.
CTV’s lead in story was of a double murder, 2 young women. It happened in Markham, on Larkin Road. This is where my aunt Nancy and uncle Doug live with their daughters.
It was only halfway through the story that the reporter gave the actual address. It was 50 numbers north of where they live. However, I was already on the phone calling my family.
I just needed to know that it wasn’t them, even though I was positive it wasn’t.
Kelly called me back to reassure me that she was very much alive. She’s home this week from York University, on what’s called Reading week (see Spring Break for definition)
Didn’t help when the CTV chopper panned over their house while broadcasting.

Bastards 😛
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