A Month & A Half….

That is, 1.5 months intil seven members of my family head to Central Europe.    As I busy myself with trip prep, I realized I hadn’t thought about you a long time.   Your name might come up in a conversation,  but when I speak about you. I do so in a very detached manner.    I’m not even aware of how detached until much later.
You’ve been gone” 16months.    You’d delight in the fact that I didn’t know that number off the top of my head.  I had to stop and think and actually tally the months in my head.
I’d call that progress.
In the beginnng, I missed you.    But then, it didn’t take me very long to realize how much it wasn’t you I missed.  I missed my normalcy.   How decent things were before you entered my life.    You kept things chaotic….and at a distance.   I hated that.
I found this letter I wrote you sometime after you left.      Basically, it says it all.
You’ll never get this missive.   I’ll never send it.  I’d if I could, where would I send it?    Heaven?  Uh…..there’s one principle reason that would be folly:  I don’t know if you made it there.
You were a Godly man, in your own way, I suppose, but I can’t imagine “Heaven” being anything like you, a self-professed “scholar”  would have envisioned…..if you made it.
And then again, maybe you did and it IS all brilliantly gilded with marshmallow like clouds with this Charlton Heston lookin’ mother fella perched in repose on one of the fluffier ones.    Boy oh boy, would I love to be a fly on the wall cloud  when or if  THAT first conversation ever took place:   you and God having a chat with you correcting him about certain creations you think He got wrong:  the Gaza Strip, ocelots and Visigoths.
I immediately wept after learning you had died, then cried for other reasons when I learned how.  Your heart, the detective intimated, exploded.  It “was a mess in there” he quoted the Medical Examiner saying.   I was in the hospital myself.  I’d just received a life-altering diagnosis myself.     At the time, I was overwhelmed.
But my situation was auto-immune, yours was self-induced.    You ate eggs and salami and all the things in bigger amounts that would assail the healthiest of hearts   Did you want to die?   No, but I don’t think you were too terribly keen on living.   You were grossly unhealthy from what I hear and having been a reporter and seen other cases of a person’s nonchalance to life in death, I can imagine what your corpse must’ve looked like.    The detective and the forensic team walked into your townhome and at first,  thought you looked homeless.  Then, he said  your home gave all the tell-tale signs of that of a hoarder.     I can’t speak to that.    I never saw your life as you lived it.    But it was never hard to imagine all your imperfections.

.I never had the desire to pursuit additional facts about your death, much less your life.   I know you were deceptive.   I was always 95 to 97 percent sure your existence was a lie based on a few truths.     You weren’t very convincing.     You would have been better off trying to pull off being Canadian.


At one time, you probably loved as much  as you could, but you would never allow anyone to love you in return.  You would loathe the responsibility.   I don’t understand that.   But I think,  I was also on an unhealthy road to learning how that process worked.  People might think me unkind for saying this, but I think of all things, you’d  understand the following statement better than anyone else–hadvyou not field or pretended to have died, I would never be free of you any other way.


 I understand so much now. How you disliked me the most when I was at my most human.   You liked me cold and hard though I could tell on  infrequent occasions  that veneer had been compromised,   That may be, but I never, ever came close to ever being the one who could scratch your surface.
I’m not allowing myself to be overly consumed by your dishonesty, perceived or otherwise.   I don’t know why, but I won’t allow it.  Maybe it’s because I won’t be duped again.   Maybe it’s because I’ve wizened up and will live better, longer because you lived yours so horribly wrong.  You were exemplary  for the best and worst reasons.   You’re gone and the method by which you left is no longer important.   Sometimes I think you died, other times I think you just had someone lie for you.    If that’s the case, you must have really wanted to be out of my life.
And if you are dead, and died in the way the detective described,  it wasn’t a very very pretty death.    I was told you died as a grossly overwieght man and a dirty, unkempt one at that.   They thought you were homeless.
You lied on the floor of your townhome for  four days.   It pains me to realize that your “death” went as as unnoticed as your life.    No one missed you.     I didn’t.    I figured you were just another typical heartless, male who wanted out, so you left.
I laugh now when I think you always said “no one cares”.    That was your pat response to everything.   Perhaps I did.  Perhaps, I cared despite you, in spite of you.  Perhaps, I loved you in my own skewed, distorted way.     As much as a fractured soul like me could love another warped soul like you.    Maybe I felt nothing and was just lonely, yet  craved your audible  company, but only from a distance.
My biggest problem is with your death, if you really died.    At times, more often than not to be honest, I really I don’t think you died.   You were so deceitful, cruel and lacking in basic human decency, that it’s overwhelmingly easy for me to believe you faked the whole thing.   I think you might have been in the process of making a major life change that certainly didn’t include me:   a move away from your home, your city…maybe even your state and faking your death was a convenient and permanent way to exit the scene, eliminate all debts and because you were a cruel bastard, break my heart in the process.    For someone like you, hurting me was icing on the cake.
But you see, you really didn’t break my heart.   Instead, you did me a huge favor,   Dead or alive, you and your abuse, your usary and sociopathic ways are out of my life.
My heart isn’t broken, it’s relieved.

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