Feeling Squashed

  Perhaps this is my mental illness speaking - or, at least, coming to the fore - but I'm feeling squashed, a bit.  I know that I'm the "odd woman out."  I'm a widow, with only a single sister (and her two children) and cousins as blood relatives; I work with animals because I prefer them to people, and I consider my two cats my children; my sister's husband's family, the Snows, have taken me under their wings, invited me to most family gatherings, and assured me that they are now "my family."  So why, has absolutely no one, including my sister, niece and nephew, contacted me since the death of Kent Snow?  Kent was the youngest of the six Snow siblings, and I have very fond memories of him - he passed away last week, at the age of 49.  The family has been crushed, as Kent was the youngest, and their Mother died before he was a year old, so the older siblings stood in as surrogate mothers.  I understand how they feel.  I went through that myself when my husband died.
  On Sunday night, the 7th, I spoke with my sister on the telephone.  It was the beginning of my one week of vacation - and I was looking forward to staying at home with my cats and sleeping in my own bed.  That Sunday night, Kathy told me that she, her husband Jim, and Jim's step-mother, Grandma Anne, were leaving at 8 a.m. on Monday (the 8th), to drive up and see Kent in South Dakota.  They would spend Monday evening, all day and night Tuesday, and Wednesday morning with Kent and his family before returning to Boulder.  Ken was in the hospital, still dealing with the after-effects of a second brain tumor removal surgery.  Kathy and Jim had arranged for the nest-door neighbor to pick up the mail and the newspaper each day.
   Monday evening, I saw a Facebook post from Kent's daughter, Karissa.  It implied that Kent had died and was looking down from heaven at the family.  I was shocked and surprised.  I checked my phone and e-mail messages, but there was nothing.  After about an hour, I called Connie, Kathy and Jim's neighbor, and let her know that, apparently, Kent had died.   I then called Enterprise Car Rentals, and arranged to have a car on hold for traveling to South Dakota, and transporting, possibly, Mike and Erin, as they have no car, either.  I then started making lists of all the things that Vanessa would have to deal with, remembering what happened when Jeffrey had died.  Still no phone call or e-mail message.  I had thought my sister would call, or word would be passed on via my niece or nephew.
   On Friday, when I had still not been contacted by anyone, I tore up the lists and cancelled the car rental.  On Sunday, I finally "Googled" Kent's name, and found his obituary - his Memorial Service had been held Friday evening, and his burial service, with full military honors, had taken place on Saturday.  I still had not been contacted by anyone, in any form, about Kent's death.
   Monday morning, bright and early, I moved back into Tessa's house - five doors away from Kathy and Jim's.  It was also Jim's 71st birthday - so I attached his birthday card to his front door, checking that their car was in the driveway, on my way to walk doggies.  We normally get together for supper to celebrate Jim's birthday.  Receiving no information, I just went on with my normal house-sitting routine.  At 5:30, Rosie's owner called and said that Jim had left a message at her house, asking me to call him.  I called and left a message on the home phone, stating where I was staying, and leaving contact numbers at 5:35.  I called again at 8:30, and actually spoke to Jim; he said they were eating and he'd call me back immediately.  I went to bed at 11, still waiting for a call.
  Yesterday evening, I called at 7:45 and spoke with Kathy.  I told her that I felt hurt because no one had called or even e-mailed me to inform me of Kent's demise.  She said they were tired and busy when Kent died, and she was sorry.  Period.  Ten minutes later, she called me to say that a Bones episode was happening on Assateague Island - I asked if it was about buried treasure, and when she said yes, I told her the episode was at least 5 years old, and that Hollywood's version of Assateague was Santa Catalina, and that Assateague had mountains on it...  She said that she just wanted me to be aware of the episode.  I thanked her and she went to watch the show.
   Is it just me? Do I have a real basis for feeling hurt? I know that I feel hurt, and that I'm angry with myself for letting myself feel hurt...  It's stupid.  It's paradoxical.  It's how I feel.