These are the thoughts of a Texas transplant in West Michigan who makes his living as a newspaper reporter by evening, and a struggling novelist by day.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

when the dead get cold

i guess the mourning period is over.
for some anyway.

it seems that several of those who came and were there when dad was dying, some who came and stayed for days, talking in hushed tones, crying, praying, are now some that feel it necessary to talk ill of the widow and maybe the widow's children.

dad died wednesday, nov. 7.

shit started even before then with some unsavory sorts attempting to gain pity since self-centeredness failed to work. i am the sun, the earth and other planets revolve around me, please.

that seemed to have set the pace for things. and that lasted until i, for one, decided that i cared not for the sun and where it stood. i felt indifference to it. hush old man, sleep peaceful now. we care not what runs through wicked thoughts ina decayed brain full of hatred ang bile (bile?)

now, scarcely three months after dad died others have come forward. i guess jockeying to position.

they talk about mom, that she's never home, that she can't help with this or that, or take care of others. my sister, same shit.

why? these are the same folks who three months ago sat by dad's bedside and prayed. the same people who came. i think i already said this. but it frustrates me the think that people can change so quickly.

or perhaps they were always this way and dad's dying and his eventual death was simply a lapse in their manners.

i want to say, bugger off people. let my family be.

mom's in no shape to care for others. let her go out with friends for coffee or a movie or dinner. because she does these things, does it mean she's not sad? no. but she must do things to get on with her life. staying at home brings back so many memories of dad that it's best to leave for periods of time. why have the constant reminder.

i guess it's true what people say, once th body's cold, it's back t business. in spanish it sounds better: el muerto al poso, el vivo al negocio. in this case it's not good, though.

there are too many memories and feeling right now for any kind of mud-slinging and words.


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