pardner

I suppose it's good when loved ones die in early November. You can spend the major holidays in a sort of daze, and before you know it, your first Christmas without them is done and gone.

Hell, it was even my aunt's birthday in the end of November. Got that over with too.

I miss her an awful lot. I tend to miss her whenever I'm starting to like a new boy, since she'd always be the first one I'd tell. Not this time.

Y'know, I delivered that eulogy, and it was like a final stamp on the whole thing. I was so heartbroken until then, so messed up, and then, after that... it was over. When the service ended, people were crowding around me. They kept telling me what a wonderful job I'd done, how much I'd touched them, how well I'd described my aunt. They wanted to tell me stories about her, wanted to explain their relationship with her to me as if my recognition of how well they'd fulfilled their duty towards her would validate everything. It was like they wanted my forgiveness for not knowing her.

I was surrounded by hypocrites.

Later that night, I got a phone call from my aunt's caretaker. I'd met her a few times, not for more than five minutes here and there. She told me that she was sorry she hadn't gotten a chance to talk to me after the funeral, but she wanted to thank me. She said that my aunt had told her everything about me, had always been bragging about me and how good of a kid I was. She told me I'd done a wonderful job, and that I'd been loved even more than I realized. Then, she said goodbye. Both of us knew we probably would never speak again. Another bit of closure.

I miss watching bad Lifetime movies with her. I miss playing rummy with her... she was the one who taught me all the card games I know. I miss picking out earrings for her to wear, I miss eating her macaroni and cheese, I miss listening to her convoluted stories about my mother's childhood. She told me once that I was the only person she could talk to about dying, since the rest of our family couldn't bear to hear it. Too sensitive, she said. So she would tell me about her opinions of God. She told me that she was sure she'd see her mother and her sister again. She told me who she was leaving her furniture to.

And I couldn't stand any of it. I was breaking inside through all these conversations. But I did it. I was there for her to talk to, because I was the only one who loved her enough to be able to bear it.

She made me want to go to college and be something to be proud of. She convinced me that there was someone out there for me who I could spend the rest of my life with. She told all her neighbors how pretty I was, she had my prom picture set out to show to everyone.

The last time I talked to her, I was leaving the hospital and she said, "Don't worry... we'll do one of our weekend things again as soon as I go home." I agreed, kissed her goodbye, and left. And she never went home.

I used to tell her that she drove me crazy. She'd just chuckle and tell me, "That may be true, but you'll miss me when I'm gone."

And I do. Whaddya know.

(no subject)

Lindsy, my fingernails are pink and sparkly. Why?

Um, I think that boy-things are kind of nice.

Ok, bye.