I’ve struggled over whether I should even post this or not.  I’ve really been torn for the last month between not posting it and letting it rip with full force.  Jenny even warned me many times not to “take the bait if it’s dangled again.”  Despite her wise counsel, my growing anger has overridden my common sense (or, perhaps, kicked it in the ass so it would act).  In either case, I’m going to respond publicly because I owe it to Derek to make sure his legacy isn’t tainted by such selfish small-mindedness and malfeasance.

In July 2004 I wrote about my frustration with Derek’s situation at that time.  This was just before he fell into the final stages of his disease and began his last few months of life.  If you recall, I had been spending more and more time dealing with his situation, taking care of him and his life, and otherwise being increasingly overwhelmed by what I was faced with.  I had stressed to Derek repeatedly that we should call his family because his health was so bad and I didn’t want to have to make “the other call” later.  I felt, given his worsening condition, his family should be given an opportunity to be involved with his care and to spend some time with him before his death.

When I wrote that entry, I was at the end of my emotional rope.  I truly felt as though I were being run into the ground when there was help available simply by making a phone call.  I alone was dealing with so much of Derek’s pain and anguish and was inarguably frustrated by knowing I was being asked to deal with it alone despite my many recommendations that we engage those who would probably jump at the chance to help.

Unfortunately, his family used that post against me.  At least twice.  They saw it as me lashing out at a very sick man—a dying man.  They obviously didn’t read it or didn’t understand it.  For that, shame on them.  For me letting them get away with it, shame on me.  I am now correcting that error.  And not only because it continues to piss me off that they would spit in the face of the man who kept him alive for two years, who did such a great job handling his finances when he couldn’t (to a degree that made him very rich before he died), who reached out to them in his final months despite Derek himself telling me not to (I could have just denied them access altogether), and who sacrificed so much for a dear friend.

No, poppets, they weren’t grateful.  They weren’t supportive.  They used me for as long as was necessary, and then they discarded me like a used condom.  They denied me access to all of my possessions I sent with him solely because he wanted them, and that despite my knowing he’d never use them (things like thousands of dollars in electronic equipment, hundreds of movies, important artwork, a new laptop computer, and so on).  They raped and pillaged his financial resources in complete contradiction of his wishes (I wrote his will for him, so I sure as hell know what he wanted, and part of that was to make sure The Kids were well cared for; do you think I heard from them after the funeral? ha! not!).

Since I’m posting old drafts that never made it to the online bizarre that is my blog, I see no reason not to resurrect this demon again.  Because I don’t wish to leave the conversation as it is yet don’t want to isolate many readers who don’t know what has been said on a post from so long ago, I’ve decided to pull this comment forward and show you what I wrote in response yet never posted.  First, you should read the post I linked to above.  Second, here’s the main comment from his family that hit me below the belt:

Then you should have informed his family long before the situation got out of hand and long before you got “tired” of being “used”. You didn’t even have to use your name if you felt like you were betraying someone you grew annoyed with. An anonymous letter or phone call would have been all the information his family would have needed. A little something to raise a red flag that something was seriously wrong seeing as he disclosed that information from his own freinds and family. It is greatly appreciated for all that you have done. Please, in now way feel that that has gone unoticed. And for that, thank you. Your annoyance with Derek should have forced you to do alert his family a little sooner, don’t you think?

In response, I wrote the following:

First, don’t tell me what to do.  Were you there?  No, you ignored Derek’s health problems until it was too late.  You knew something was terribly wrong, yet you did nothing.  Considering that, don’t presume to think you can judge me in any way.

Second, don’t try to take your guilt out on me.  I didn’t fail him.  Despite feeling this way (which would be quite normal for anyone under such stress), I took care of him regardless of the personal sacrifices.

Where were you?

I am human and I do have feelings.  I was under tremendous stress at the time, so can you honestly fault me for feeling somewhat resentful?  Notice I said “I felt like” rather than saying “I was.”  There’s a big difference, so I suggest you pay attention to that next time.

I have feelings.  When I get stressed and fatigued and overwhelmed, things look far worse than they actually are.  Have you never been in a similar situation?  Unlikely.  Have you ever thought or felt something so strongly that later seemed an overreaction?  Or that was wholly incorrect later but seemed entirely true at the time given the overwhelming circumstances you were faced with?  Of course you have.

On a personal note, I will not be your whipping boy because you feel guilty for your own failures with Derek’s situation.  I didn’t ignore the signs that were so blatant and in my face.  I didn’t sit on my suspicions of his health crisis until it was too late.  I didn’t leave it for someone else to deal with when I knew my own family member was so terribly sick and probably dying.

Don’t take it out on me because you failed, because you weren’t there for him, because he trusted me with his life more than you.  The fact is you weren’t there for him and I was.  Despite how I may have felt when under this seemingly portentous strain, I didn’t turn my back on him.  On the contrary, I took care of him when you didn’t.

It may be easy for you to make such judgments with the benefit of hindsight, but I refuse to let you beat up on me because you feel guilty about your own failures in this situation.  I suggest you point that anger and guilt back at yourself where it’s due and just.

Another of Derek’s clueless brethren added to that the single word “bah” as though that was an appropriate way to respond to my heartfelt explanation.  ‘Bah’ is a derogatory, of course, and was meant solely to spit in my face even under the circumstances—and all just two weeks after his death.  Hadn’t I dealt with enough already?  Obviously it wasn’t anywhere near enough for them.

That’s when I wrote the following.  Keep in mind this is a draft and I make no claims as to its coherency, especially in this case when my emotions were both raw and under attack.  It’s a direct response.  I’d even go so far as to say it’s savage in its incompleteness.  Although I’m posting it “as is,” had I felt compelled to finish this back then and post it, I assure you it would have been significantly more direct than it is in its current form.  I would have spared not a single feeling.  Now, on to “Where were you?”…

Don’t presume to tell me what I should and should not have done.  You can’t possibly understand what it was like caring for him during that time, so how could you presume to know what I should and shouldn’t have done?  I gave my all to take care of him for you, yet you want to start throwing stones at me for actually being human.  How small of you.

The entire family confirmed to me that they had long suspected Derek was terribly ill given his physical condition when he last visited in 2002.  When he didn’t make it there for the holidays in 2003, again your suspicions were strengthened.  You knew he was sick.

The idea of an anonymous call or letter is preposterous.  You knew that when you said it.  Derek would have known it was I who told.  I didn’t care if the family knew who told them.  It was Derek who didn’t want you contacted.  He specifically told me not to call you.  It was his choice not to involve you, not mine, so don’t take your anger out on me.

Don’t for a minute think I don’t know what you’re doing.  I see it all too clearly.  I could go on waiting for another day, but who am I kidding imagining you care about the answer to your comments?  Is this the price that I must pay for helping Derek?  Is this the response I should expect for taking care of him?  Is this how you choose to honor his memory, by attacking the person who kept him alive for two years?

I’m ashamed for you.  I’m ashamed for the cloud you’ve placed over Derek’s death, for the darkness you’ve spewed over his grave as if it makes you important, caring, or even human, for the spittle you’ve slobbered on his tomb and his memory.  It’s disgusting.

Where were you for the last two years?  I know all of you suspected Derek was quite ill since he wasn’t able to visit for any of the holidays in 2003 (as he was hospitalized) and, according to the family’s own words, he looked terribly ill the last time he visited.  The entire family made it clear to me that they suspected something was horribly wrong with his health.  So, in the same spirit that you see fit to berate me for my feelings, I ask where in the hell were you?  Did you call?  Did you come to Dallas to find out what was wrong?  Did you demonstrate any concern or regard for Derek when you knew—YOU KNEW!—he was very sick?

Don’t you dare point a finger at me and fault me for being frustrated because I was doing your job for you.  Perhaps that’s precisely why Derek turned to me for help instead of you.  He said on many occasions he didn’t want you involved because this is precisely what would happen.  I should have listened to him.  I should have denied you any involvement until the story was complete.  No, I won’t be the target of your wrath simply because you’re struggling with your own failures in this matter and the fact that he had to turn to someone else when he was in desperate need and grasping at life.  Those aren’t my problems nor are they my fault.

It offends me—and it very much offends Derek’s memory—for you to take out your self-loathing frustrations on me.  It’s not my fault he didn’t trust his own family to be involved.  Your comments are probably a perfect example of why that’s true.  It’s not my fault you knew damn well that he was sick and did nothing—absolutely nothing about it.  Now that he’s gone, you’re trying to find someone to blame for your own feelings of guilt for your inaction and apparent lack of concern.  Well, it’s not going to be me.  If you couldn’t love him then, you won’t change history by pretending now.

You can point that finger right back at yourself because I won’t be your whipping boy.  I was there for him.  I sacrificed for him.  I held him when he cried, when he was overwhelmed with his own mortality and health crisis, when he needed a shoulder to cry on, when the bad news kept pouring in.  I helped give him strength to face the overwhelming, dare I say hopeless odds.  I took care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself.  I kept him alive and afloat.  I held his life in my hands and treated it as if it were my very own.  I took care of him as if he was my own family.  Hell, he was my own family, and certainly he was more family to me than he was to you, at least based on your own actions.

All of you are wholly unqualified to judge me.  Despite any frustration I may have felt during that time, at least I was there for him.  Don’t try to second-guess what I was going through since you were not there with me.  You ignored the problem, remember?  You knew he was sick and sat on your hands, only later to pretend that it mattered.  But you weren’t here.  You didn’t help.  Jenny could, for instance, give you an idea of what I went through over those years.  Rick and xocobra and Mom and Libby and David and Nathalie and Lee and a great many others could also tell you what I went through.  You sure as hell can’t because you wouldn’t face it, wouldn’t even try to be family to him.  No one—and I mean absolutely no one—can understand what it was like, how many sacrifices were necessary, and the pain and frustration and anguish I felt during that time.  Shame on you for thinking you could judge me in any way for doing the job you were unwilling to do.

The fact is that it was overwhelming, depressing and upsetting.  It was a burden I alone had to carry because that was what Derek wanted.  I knew he needed his family, but I couldn’t make him see that.  To assume to know when I should have called his family is presumptuous.  I had promised Derek on many occasions that I would not call them.  That was his choice and decision, and I honored his request until I felt it was no longer relevant.  At least I was willing to carry out his wishes.  I would stress that the frustration I felt was normal under circumstances very few people have ever experienced.

Ultimately no one—and again I stress absolutely no one—can understand fully what I went through while taking care of Derek.  It’s for that reason that I doubt anyone will ever be able to understand what this post means aside from me.  From the outside (and, in this context, everyone is on the outside except Derek and I), you may perceive that post to be me bashing Derek for being sick (that’s the tone I get from your comment).  From the outside, it’s easy to sit back and be an armchair quarterback providing all the right answers and all the correct feelings made possible through the gift of hindsight.  My post had no hindsight to guide it—only two years of real experience, real life, real pain and suffering, real frustration.

Remember, I was there.  Where were you?