Narcissism–Scenes From the Front Line — The Funeral

IMG_3238Apparently it happened during the “Commish”. I had never watched the “Commish”, but the name of the program will be forever etched on my mind, because my sister repeated the story time after time, as though by the retelling she may either have been able to change the outcome or at least make sense of what had happened.

She had been living with this fella for a time, the details are fuzzy now, but I would guess about a year and a half. He seemed a quiet kind of man that had been beat up by life and had resolved to just hide at home as much as possible. He was nice to my sister and she needed the company, so I was happy that he was living with her.

When she called me to tell me that he had died, suddenly, on their sofa, there was no emotion in her voice. She had managed to transport herself to that safe place where emotions can’t enter and she was shielded from the pain of watching her lover die before the medics arrived.

Now we were on the way to the funeral. I lived about an hour from my sister’s place and the main road between us was a divided highway. In this part of the country, the speed limit of 100 km (60 miles) per hour was more of a suggestion and the average speed was around 120 km/hour (70 miles/hr). Bob usually drove faster than this and would stay in the left lane (which is supposed to be for the faster traffic) during any of our highway travels.

Earlier that day, I had explained to him that I wanted to arrive a little early. That way, I could console my sister, have some time alone with her and make sure she was alright before the service. My hope was that I could then slip away immediately after the funeral instead of staying around when she would be busy speaking to everybody.

Bob knew this. He delayed our departure significantly. He always had excuses and reasons. I’m sure that he felt that the four hour delay in completing any task that he had to do would be unacceptable. Everyone knew how important he was…

Once we were on the highway, it got worse. He pulled into the right hand lane and did 100 km/hour, or less, the entire drive. I could feel my anger crawling up the back of my throat. I tried to encourage him to go faster and he made excuses. I was worried about my sister and how our lateness would impact her. I was frustrated and felt powerless.

Then, he decided to stop (which he never does) to get coffees and drinks. The girls were ecstatic because they never got to stop like this unless the trip was hours and hours long. So, I could not complain about this unexpected and certainly unprecedented stop on the highway.

We arrived late. The entire service had been delayed awaiting our arrival and my sister had decided to start when some of the guests had started to become impatient and let her know that they were going to have to leave.

Of course for me it meant that I arrived furious. I was so upset that it was difficult to calm myself down. This was one in a long string of events meant to make me look bad. Showing up at a funeral late and furious… He knew that it would be difficult to compose myself completely and yes, he had won again.

The Narcissist Survival Guide now available

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Drive

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Fax

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Interview

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Call

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Cavity

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Pants

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Trailer

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — Biking

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Doctor

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — New Job

Vicki Remembered

Image Today would have been my older sister’s 55th birthday. She will however, remain forever young, because she was stolen from me at the untimely age of 36.

I miss her more than anyone knows. I long for her company during those good times when we could while away the hours, talking about nothing and everything. I know that she would have enjoyed many aspects of my life now, sharing them with me, adding her insights, humour and support. I miss her dearly.

For the first part of my life, she was my greatest cheerleader and closest confident. I hope that her passing took her to a better place where she is happy and joyful. Happy Birthday Vicki, I wish you were here to share in the cake and turtles.

The Great Train Accident — Chapter 2

IMG_0874My closest cousin became engaged to be married and asked my sister, Vicki, and me to be bridesmaids. This cousin was the daughter of my mother’s brother. I never really knew him very well, but I did know that he owned a monkey. When he was out of work for a while, he came to live with us briefly and brought his monkey.

Haven’t you always wanted a monkey? This monkey was horrifying and used to hiss and spit and was not “house trained”. I don’t actually remember having the monkey live with us, but I do remember hearing about how horrible it was to have it in the house.

The weather has suddenly turned cold outside. I can see the wind blowing the leaves of the trees around in my front yard. The geese are starting to fly in ever enlarging groups and although they don’t actually migrate anymore, I think that they still like getting together this time of year to talk about why they don’t bother to fly south.

I haven’t noticed any leaves changing colour yet, but it was really hot until last Friday, so the leaves really shouldn’t be starting to change yet.

My sister was still living in our hometown and I was now in second year university. The university town was two hours away from where I used to live, so we came up with a great idea. We would meet half way, where coincidentally there was a large city, to co-ordinate bridesmaid’s dresses and accessories.

We had a plan. I would take the train to the city and Vicki would meet me at the train station. Something went wrong with my train. I’m not sure what. Nothing significant. There may have been a minor accident with a car at one of the crossings or perhaps an engine problem, I don’t actually know, but I was late arriving.

The train station, like most buildings of this nature, had a large open floor designed to accommodate the people as they enter when the train arrives. The space is generally mostly empty, but needs to be large to allow the passengers and their families to enter all at once. As I entered the train station, I saw Vicki sitting in a small dining area at a table on the other side of this large open space. When she saw me enter the station she jumped up and ran across the open area towards me and threw her arms around me. She said something about my being late and I told her that something had happened and she exclaimed, “I knew you were in a car accident and that something terrible had gone wrong!”

I hadn’t said this. It was very abnormal for my sister to be this emotional when she saw me and it was very peculiar that she nearly shouted this when she said it. I decided that she must have just gotten nervous waiting for me in the railway station and had started to worry. It would have been a long day for her already because she would’ve travelled an hour to get there as well.

The place that we were going to, to have our dresses fitted, was downtown. Like most cities, the original design was to have the train station right downtown and this city was no exception. We had about three blocks to walk down the street and around a corner.

So, we started to head towards the doors. In Canada, most of the public entranceways are composed of two sets of doors with an area in between. I believe this is to stop wind from blowing directly into the building. The floors in this area are often equipped with drains, or grating at least, so that snow can fall off here and melt instead of being carried into the main part of the building.

We went through the first set of doors just as a woman came in the other set. There was a moment when we were all in this entranceway together. My sister grabbed the woman’s arm and said, “Your son is about to die.” Judging by the reaction that this woman had, she did in fact have a son.

Well, my speculation about Vicki being tired and perhaps worried certainly did not explain her spouting prophecy. I became quite nervous. She did not calm down. We walked the three blocks to the dress shop, tried on our dresses and found matching shoes and she was tense and freaked out the entire time.

Luckily, she did not alarm anyone else with her predictions, but she was definitely not behaving normally.

When I arrived back at home I called my father. I had barely spoken to him since I had left with my mother. He had called a couple of times and I heard that he had brought up my mother’s erratic behaviour during the divorce, but he never asked me to visit nor did he visit me.

The excuse that he had always used was that in order to speak to me, he would have to deal with his ex wife and that he found that this was enough of a barrier to not bother. So, when I left her house I called to let him know that I was no longer living with her. He assumed that I had called looking for money and had made it clear that he was not going to give me any. I decided to just let it be and did not bother him after that.

So, I got my father on the phone and did my best to try to explain to him what had happened on my shopping trip with Vicki. I expressed my concern about her mental well being and asked him what we should be doing. He essentially told me that it was all in my mind and that I was exaggerating and that it was nothing to worry about. How I wish he had been correct.

Read the entire book, now available
Read the entire book, now available

Keep Reading: Lambs to Slaughter

www.wendypowell.ca

Narcissism–Scenes From the Front Line — The Funeral

IMG_3238Apparently it happened during the “Commish”. I had never watched the “Commish”, but the name of the program will be forever etched on my mind, because my sister repeated the story time after time, as though by the retelling she may either have been able to change the outcome or at least make sense of what had happened.

She had been living with this fella for a time, the details are fuzzy now, but I would guess about a year and a half. He seemed a quiet kind of man that had been beat up by life and had resolved to just hide at home as much as possible. He was nice to my sister and she needed the company, so I was happy that he was living with her.

When she called me to tell me that he had died, suddenly, on their sofa, there was no emotion in her voice. She had managed to transport herself to that safe place where emotions can’t enter and she was shielded from the pain of watching her lover die before the medics arrived.

Now we were on the way to the funeral. I lived about an hour from my sister’s place and the main road between us was a divided highway. In this part of the country, the speed limit of 100 km (60 miles) per hour was more of a suggestion and the average speed was around 120 km/hour (70 miles/hr). Bob usually drove faster than this and would stay in the left lane (which is supposed to be for the faster traffic) during any of our highway travels.

Earlier that day, I had explained to him that I wanted to arrive a little early. That way, I could console my sister, have some time alone with her and make sure she was alright before the service. My hope was that I could then slip away immediately after the funeral instead of staying around when she would be busy speaking to everybody.

Bob knew this. He delayed our departure significantly. He always had excuses and reasons. I’m sure that he felt that the four hour delay in completing any task that he had to do would be unacceptable. Everyone knew how important he was…

Once we were on the highway, it got worse. He pulled into the right hand lane and did 100 km/hour, or less, the entire drive. I could feel my anger crawling up the back of my throat. I tried to encourage him to go faster and he made excuses. I was worried about my sister and how our lateness would impact her. I was frustrated and felt powerless.

Then, he decided to stop (which he never does) to get coffees and drinks. The girls were ecstatic because they never got to stop like this unless the trip was hours and hours long. So, I could not complain about this unexpected and certainly unprecedented stop on the highway.

We arrived late. The entire service had been delayed awaiting our arrival and my sister had decided to start when some of the guests had started to become impatient and let her know that they were going to have to leave.

Of course for me it meant that I arrived furious. I was so upset that it was difficult to calm myself down. This was one in a long string of events meant to make me look bad. Showing up at a funeral late and furious… He knew that it would be difficult to compose myself completely and yes, he had won again.

The Narcissist Survival Guide now available for

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Drive

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Fax

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Interview

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Call

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Cavity

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Pants

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Trailer

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — Biking

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Doctor

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — New Job

Vicki Remembered

Image Today would have been my older sister’s 54th birthday. She will however, remain forever young, because she was stolen from me at the untimely age of 36.

I miss her more than anyone knows. I long for her company during those good times when we could while away the hours, talking about nothing and everything. I know that she would have enjoyed many aspects of my life now, sharing them with me, adding her insights, humour and support. I miss her dearly.

For the first part of my life, she was my greatest cheerleader and closest confident. I hope that her passing took her to a better place where she is happy and joyful. Happy Birthday Vicki, I wish you were here to share in the cake and turtles.

The Great Train Accident — Chapter 2

IMG_0874My closest cousin became engaged to be married and asked my sister, Vicki, and me to be bridesmaids. This cousin was the daughter of my mother’s brother. I never really knew him very well, but I did know that he owned a monkey. When he was out of work for a while, he came to live with us briefly and brought his monkey.

Haven’t you always wanted a monkey? This monkey was horrifying and used to hiss and spit and was not “house trained”. I don’t actually remember having the monkey live with us, but I do remember hearing about how horrible it was to have it in the house.

The weather has suddenly turned cold outside. I can see the wind blowing the leaves of the trees around in my front yard. The geese are starting to fly in ever enlarging groups and although they don’t actually migrate anymore, I think that they still like getting together this time of year to talk about why they don’t bother to fly south.

I haven’t noticed any leaves changing colour yet, but it was really hot until last Friday, so the leaves really shouldn’t be starting to change yet.

My sister was still living in our hometown and I was now in second year university. The university town was two hours away from where I used to live, so we came up with a great idea. We would meet half way, where coincidentally there was a large city, to co-ordinate bridesmaid’s dresses and accessories.

We had a plan. I would take the train to the city and Vicki would meet me at the train station. Something went wrong with my train. I’m not sure what. Nothing significant. There may have been a minor accident with a car at one of the crossings or perhaps an engine problem, I don’t actually know, but I was late arriving.

The train station, like most buildings of this nature, had a large open floor designed to accommodate the people as they enter when the train arrives. The space is generally mostly empty, but needs to be large to allow the passengers and their families to enter all at once. As I entered the train station, I saw Vicki sitting in a small dining area at a table on the other side of this large open space. When she saw me enter the station she jumped up and ran across the open area towards me and threw her arms around me. She said something about my being late and I told her that something had happened and she exclaimed, “I knew you were in a car accident and that something terrible had gone wrong!”

I hadn’t said this. It was very abnormal for my sister to be this emotional when she saw me and it was very peculiar that she nearly shouted this when she said it. I decided that she must have just gotten nervous waiting for me in the railway station and had started to worry. It would have been a long day for her already because she would’ve travelled an hour to get there as well.

The place that we were going to, to have our dresses fitted, was downtown. Like most cities, the original design was to have the train station right downtown and this city was no exception. We had about three blocks to walk down the street and around a corner.

So, we started to head towards the doors. In Canada, most of the public entranceways are composed of two sets of doors with an area in between. I believe this is to stop wind from blowing directly into the building. The floors in this area are often equipped with drains, or grating at least, so that snow can fall off here and melt instead of being carried into the main part of the building.

We went through the first set of doors just as a woman came in the other set. There was a moment when we were all in this entranceway together. My sister grabbed the woman’s arm and said, “Your son is about to die.” Judging by the reaction that this woman had, she did in fact have a son.

Well, my speculation about Vicki being tired and perhaps worried certainly did not explain her spouting prophecy. I became quite nervous. She did not calm down. We walked the three blocks to the dress shop, tried on our dresses and found matching shoes and she was tense and freaked out the entire time.

Luckily, she did not alarm anyone else with her predictions, but she was definitely not behaving normally.

When I arrived back at home I called my father. I had barely spoken to him since I had left with my mother. He had called a couple of times and I heard that he had brought up my mother’s erratic behaviour during the divorce, but he never asked me to visit nor did he visit me.

The excuse that he had always used was that in order to speak to me, he would have to deal with his ex wife and that he found that this was enough of a barrier to not bother. So, when I left her house I called to let him know that I was no longer living with her. He assumed that I had called looking for money and had made it clear that he was not going to give me any. I decided to just let it be and did not bother him after that.

So, I got my father on the phone and did my best to try to explain to him what had happened on my shopping trip with Vicki. I expressed my concern about her mental well being and asked him what we should be doing. He essentially told me that it was all in my mind and that I was exaggerating and that it was nothing to worry about. How I wish he had been correct.

Read the entire book, now available
Read the entire book, now available

Keep Reading: Lambs to Slaughter

www.wendypowell.ca

Narcissism–Scenes From the Front Line — The Funeral

IMG_3238Apparently it happened during the “Commish”. I had never watched the “Commish”, but the name of the program will be forever etched on my mind, because my sister repeated the story time after time, as though by the retelling she may either have been able to change the outcome or at least make sense of what had happened.

She had been living with this fella for a time, the details are fuzzy now, but I would guess about a year and a half. He seemed a quiet kind of man that had been beat up by life and had resolved to just hide at home as much as possible. He was nice to my sister and she needed the company, so I was happy that he was living with her.

When she called me to tell me that he had died, suddenly, on their sofa, there was no emotion in her voice. She had managed to transport herself to that safe place where emotions can’t enter and she was shielded from the pain of watching her lover die before the medics arrived.

Now we were on the way to the funeral. I lived about an hour from my sister’s place and the main road between us was a divided highway. In this part of the country, the speed limit of 100 km (60 miles) per hour was more of a suggestion and the average speed was around 120 km/hour (70 miles/hr). Bob usually drove faster than this and would stay in the left lane (which is supposed to be for the faster traffic) during any of our highway travels.

Earlier that day, I had explained to him that I wanted to arrive a little early. That way, I could console my sister, have some time alone with her and make sure she was alright before the service. My hope was that I could then slip away immediately after the funeral instead of staying around when she would be busy speaking to everybody.

Bob knew this. He delayed our departure significantly. He always had excuses and reasons. I’m sure that he felt that the four hour delay in completing any task that he had to do would be unacceptable. Everyone knew how important he was…

Once we were on the highway, it got worse. He pulled into the right hand lane and did 100 km/hour, or less, the entire drive. I could feel my anger crawling up the back of my throat. I tried to encourage him to go faster and he made excuses. I was worried about my sister and how our lateness would impact her. I was frustrated and felt powerless.

Then, he decided to stop (which he never does) to get coffees and drinks. The girls were ecstatic because they never got to stop like this unless the trip was hours and hours long. So, I could not complain about this unexpected and certainly unprecedented stop on the highway.

We arrived late. The entire service had been delayed awaiting our arrival and my sister had decided to start when some of the guests had started to become impatient and let her know that they were going to have to leave.

Of course for me it meant that I arrived furious. I was so upset that it was difficult to calm myself down. This was one in a long string of events meant to make me look bad. Showing up at a funeral late and furious… He knew that it would be difficult to compose myself completely and yes, he had won again.

The Narcissist Survival Guide now available for

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Drive

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Fax

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Interview

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Call

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Cavity

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Pants

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Trailer

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — Biking

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Doctor

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — New Job

Narcissism–Scenes From the Front Line — The Funeral

IMG_3238Apparently it happened during the “Commish”. I had never watched the “Commish”, but the name of the program will be forever etched on my mind, because my sister repeated the story time after time, as though by the retelling she may either have been able to change the outcome or at least make sense of what had happened.

She had been living with this fella for a time, the details are fuzzy now, but I would guess about a year and a half. He seemed a quiet kind of man that had been beat up by life and had resolved to just hide at home as much as possible. He was nice to my sister and she needed the company, so I was happy that he was living with her.

When she called me to tell me that he had died, suddenly, on their sofa, there was no emotion in her voice. She had managed to transport herself to that safe place where emotions can’t enter and she was shielded from the pain of watching her lover die before the medics arrived.

Now we were on the way to the funeral. I lived about an hour from my sister’s place and the main road between us was a divided highway. In this part of the country, the speed limit of 100 km (60 miles) per hour was more of a suggestion and the average speed was around 120 km/hour (70 miles/hr). Bob usually drove faster than this and would stay in the left lane (which is supposed to be for the faster traffic) during any of our highway travels.

Earlier that day, I had explained to him that I wanted to arrive a little early. That way, I could console my sister, have some time alone with her and make sure she was alright before the service. My hope was that I could then slip away immediately after the funeral instead of staying around when she would be busy speaking to everybody.

Bob knew this. He delayed our departure significantly. He always had excuses and reasons. I’m sure that he felt that the four hour delay in completing any task that he had to do would be unacceptable. Everyone knew how important he was…

Once we were on the highway, it got worse. He pulled into the right hand lane and did 100 km/hour, or less, the entire drive. I could feel my anger crawling up the back of my throat. I tried to encourage him to go faster and he made excuses. I was worried about my sister and how our lateness would impact her. I was frustrated and felt powerless.

Then, he decided to stop (which he never does) to get coffees and drinks. The girls were ecstatic because they never got to stop like this unless the trip was hours and hours long. So, I could not complain about this unexpected and certainly unprecedented stop on the highway.

We arrived late. The entire service had been delayed awaiting our arrival and my sister had decided to start when some of the guests had started to become impatient and let her know that they were going to have to leave.

Of course for me it meant that I arrived furious. I was so upset that it was difficult to calm myself down. This was one in a long string of events meant to make me look bad. Showing up at a funeral late and furious… He knew that it would be difficult to compose myself completely and yes, he had won again.

The Narcissist Survival Guide now available

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Drive

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Fax

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Interview

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Call

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Cavity

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Pants

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Trailer

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — Biking

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — The Doctor

Narcissism-Scenes From the Front Line — New Job