Is Condolulations A Word?

Occasionally I find myself in a situation where I don’t know if I should offer someone congratulations or my condolences.   This is often at times when good news carries with it some heavy responsibility.

For example, a colleague of mine was just promoted at work.  It’s a good thing that his contributions were recognized, but a bad thing due to how much additional responsibility it brings.   I told him that I didn’t know if I should offer congrats or condolences.  His response was, “Don’t offer me anything”.

A friend  told me he’s expecting his first child, but didn’t seem happy about it.

Condolulations???

The difference between family and friends.

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It has been quite a while since I’ve last written.

Back in April I went through some very difficult times.

As some of my readers know, I grew up in a Mormon family. At 14 years old, I knew I couldn’t deal with the hateful, exclusionary culture. The more I met people from other backgrounds the more I knew I had been lied to.

The big Mormon sin is “denying the truth”. Your family will consider you “apostate” once you do, unless they need money. Money changes all morals.

Back in early April, I received a text message from one of my etiquette-less sisters saying “Dad is in the hospital and is incoherent”. All I can think is, what the fuck does that mean? I tried calling both my sisters and mother, left messages, and got no calls back. In panic-mode, I booked my travel.

Since none of my fat, lazy, drugged-up relations would return a call, I spent my layover in Phoenix calling area hospitals to find out where my dad was.

My first stop after getting my rental car was the hospital. I was able to spend some quality with my dad. My mother was surprised to see me. I flat out told her that if she bothered to return a call, she’d have known.

As much as it upset certain friends, I booked a centrally-located hotel. I was flying in blind and hot. I wanted to be close to deal with issues. It turns out, I only stayed at the hotel two of the five nights I had booked. My friends were an absolute godsend. They got drunk with me and listened to me bitch about my bag-of-shit family.

My dad was stabilizing and I returned home on Tuesday. He called me that night. The last thing he ever said to me was, their coming to do bed-check, I have to go. He died Thursday morning.

I got another text message from the same aforementioned sister saying that “apparently the funeral is on Monday at *”. Apparently? I called and left messages again and got no response. I had to find out from the paper that it was actually on Tuesday.

I wasn’t mentioned as a speaker on the program, but try and fucking stop me.

Two separate groups of friends, who had never met my dad, came to the funeral to support me. This meant more to me than I can verbalize.

Over Labor Day this year, it was really important to me to go see my friends under better circumstances. My non-biological nieces were also going to be there. I had three groups of friends, all of whom had known me for at least 20 years. It was open-season on my ass.

I did not visit my biological family. They demonstrated to me, for the last time, that I do not matter. I’m beyond done.

Families aren’t always biological.