This Is The Only Way I Can Talk To You
This is the 3rd birthday you haven’t had since you died. This day pisses me off almost as much as the anniversary of when you died. We should be making plans for when you and Larry will drive up to eat to celebrate. I should be annoyed that I have to lose half a day for a breakfast.
All you had to do was stop fucking smoking.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.
Husband and I were talking today about getting casts removed. The first thing I think of, of course, is your story of the guy who invented the special saw:
The guy who invented the saw that can remove a cast but not cut skin was friends with my grandparents (mother’s parents). One day he came over and demonstrated on a pillow and freaked Eleanor the hell out.
There is no doubt whatsoever that there is much more to that story. But…it’s probably gone. I have one relative to ask for details but I don’t expect a lot. That hasn’t worked much anymore.
I hate it. I hate that you worked so hard to separate us from the rest of the family that no one is around for me to ask. Countless stories, a few recipes, and the like.
It pisses me off. I don’t feel comfortable going to get what recipes are on paper/in books because you left your life partner just as fucking broken as you left me. I don’t speak to him that often because I’m still trying to help myself through the bullshit you caused, I don’t have the spoons to help with his, so it would literally feel like I was only talking to him for the recipes.
Also, the photos. You lost the key to the cabinet with the photos a few years before you even got sick. Apparently at some point after, you and/or your partner figured out that he could remove part of the back to get to the photos.
But you fucking left them in there. It was open. Put them in a fucking box. Send them to your daughter.
You brought me the fucking samovar which I was over the fucking moon for, but never the photos?! Why not?
Like, how am I supposed to know what stupid shit you did for what reasons? Do you have any fucking clue how bad you fucked up me? How about my brother?! you were actually MORE cruel to him?! I can’t even begin to address how angry I am at how you treated him. I had no idea. You and your partner purposefully set my brother and I against one another. Like some fucked up game. Let’s piss them both off, stick them in a house together for two weeks, then let it end with them being angry at one another for like twenty fucking years.
The list of bullshit I have to deal with because of you could take up an entire novel. And in your fucked up brain, that’s a good thing. It would be about you and that’s what’s important.
It was always, ALWAYS about you.
I’m not sure I have enough years left in me to fully forgive you. I just don’t. I wish I could just forget about you, it would be a hell of a lot easier.