Sunday: 4:15 p.m. My Father is Dead


It had been a normal quiet Sunday. I had shopped for the weekend, so I did not have to venture out into the cold for anything, so I rested.

I got up around 6 because my phone had been ringing off the hook for hours, and I had ignored it. Only to wake up and sign into Face Book, and my cousin informed me that my mother had had a massive coronary and was very sick. As the story unfolded over the next few hours, both my parents were drinking heavily, daily.

There was a rift at home, to the point that my parents were no longer communicating, and my father had esophageal cancer and was very sick. At one point she refused to take him to chemo, so he took himself, until she had her coronary and ended up in hospital.

My mother was in hospital through Christmas, last. My brother had returned to Sarasota to take her back home with him, leaving my father in hospice. Over the weekend, the hospice called my brother to tell him my father would not make it through the weekend, and today at 4:15 my father died of Cancer.

This is the only picture I have of my father. Sitting in his office at their house.

What you all need to know is this …

From the story I was told tonight, my parents were very sick. My father had cancer and was dying. My mother had a massive coronary. She was hospitalized and was later transferred to my brothers home in Virginia.

My father died ALONE.

They had no friends to speak of. Nobody but my brother. I have not spoken to my brother in over twenty years. I do not know him and he does not know me. The only things about me he knows is what my parents fed him, from their bitter, vengeful and hateful hearts.

My brother will not make the call. So I rely on outside contact with extended family that my brother deigns to speak to. Even when they tell him that he should call me, he says that he will not call me.

So fuck me.

Eternal Rest grant him and may perpetual light shine upon him.

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