I arrive at Love Field in Dallas; my nephew, Frank Jr., picks me up. “How you doing son?” I ask him. “I’m fine Uncle Henry.” Frank Junior never called me Uncle Hank. If fact, he seldom spoke to me at all when I was around unless I spoke to him first and then it was always one syllable words. He never liked me for some reason, but what the hell, we’re both grown now. To be honest I haven’t liked him since he’s been grown. We go to my sister’s house and see all my kin. I’m the outcast because I don’t hold a steady job, plus I’m disabled, plus I’m under suspicion because I’m an ex-cop. To hell with them! I kiss my sis, open a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, hear the silent gasps of four of my cousins who are sitting around the kitchen table telling each other lies. I pour two fingers and toss it down. I pour another slug, turn and salute those assholes, hear another gasp and toss the fiery liquid down. I then turn my back to them and ask my kid sister how she’s holding up. “I’m okay, Hank, we’ve been expecting it to happen for a long time now. The cancer just finally got him, that’s all.” I hug her and hold her close. My mother is gone, Frances is my last living blood kin. I endure this shit, this displeasure of being around these asshole relatives, only because of my sister. I love her very much. What can I say about funerals; I never liked them, I‘ve never felt at ease around dead folks, even perps. I personally put away. Funerals are strictly for the living, to play mourner with the other persons who are still living, and to show their supposedly grief for this poor, dead creature whose lying cold dead before them. Bullshit, funerals; they’re boring, sad, repetitive; they’re not about dead people at all and never will be. Frank was a good man; as a dead man, he’s dead. He is gone. Forever he’s gone…hopefully to a better place somewhere, if it exists. Life does go on here for those struggling few who left living.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 22:49:17 +0000
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