I can't really decide what made me decide to start a "secret journal" but I know the idea has been growing for sometime. Too often I keep quiet when I should speak up. I'm trying to change though. I guess I just needed an outlet to share those things I'm too afraid to share out in the open. So, here goes. My first try at being honest with none other than myself (and you I guess)...
Today I went with my best friend to bury his mother. A little more than a year ago it was his dad and a year before that it was my mother. At least they feel that close together. It was a quieter, more subdued funeral than my mothers and all I could think about was her funeral. Yeah, a little selfish, but I can't help it. I remember at my mothers funeral her sister was wailing like a stuck pig. I hated it. She was her younger sister and not a very good one at that. She was only around when she wanted something and never even a fuck you. Everyone was loud, trying to cry and wail louder than the other, trying to prove that it was them that loved her more. Useless greedy asses, all of them.
This funeral is different though. Everyone is quietly paying their respects to a woman they all loved. No one made a show of themselves. The place is so full my dad and me have to stand against the wall in the back. I can see my best friend and his wife sitting up front, their heads together. The guy is like my brother. We always say so, but it's moments like this that I realize we're not. I don't know any of these people and I feel like I don't belong. I feel like shit because I've known the guy for ten years but I never even knew his mom's name. Some friend, right? And all I can think about is my mother.
And my Dad. I'm all too aware that my dad is going to die some day and that gives me a panicky feeling I can't shove down. He's always been the rock in my life and I'm not ready to give that up. I still feel like an awkward kid around him. I think he's thinking about mom too. I can see him crying under his glasses and he's trying to stop shaking. I pretend I don't notice and wipe away a few of my own.
What a horrible day. I hate funerals. I want to hug my dad when it's all done and tell him how much I love him. I don't of course. Instead, we make our way to my friend, my brother, and tell him if he needs anything to call. Sure.
Every since she died he's not the same. Yeah, he's remarried and I want him to be happy but I want my dad back. The one I knew growing up, the guy who used to holler out the window, "yeeehaaaa" on long drives to CCR. The same guy who used to tackle us on the floor tickling my brother and me. Then she'd jump in and resue us only to be ganged up on by all three of us in a tickle attack. The guy who used to get all the neighborhood kids together to play ball with. They all loved him. Yeah, there were some really crappy times we had together, a lot of them. But when they were good, they were great. It's those moments that I strive to get in my own family. My mom will never know my son. She never even knew my wife since I was still not talking to her when she died. I visit her now more than I did when she was alive. I know my dad does too because I see he always leaves the same kind of flowers and cleaned off the headstone. Our family fell apart when she died. We were on the ropes already, but she was what kept us together despite it all. I'll go see her tomorrow. Tell her I'm sorry again. What a day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Today I went with my best friend to bury his mother. A little more than a year ago it was his dad and a year before that it was my mother. At least they feel that close together. It was a quieter, more subdued funeral than my mothers and all I could think about was her funeral. Yeah, a little selfish, but I can't help it. I remember at my mothers funeral her sister was wailing like a stuck pig. I hated it. She was her younger sister and not a very good one at that. She was only around when she wanted something and never even a fuck you. Everyone was loud, trying to cry and wail louder than the other, trying to prove that it was them that loved her more. Useless greedy asses, all of them.
This funeral is different though. Everyone is quietly paying their respects to a woman they all loved. No one made a show of themselves. The place is so full my dad and me have to stand against the wall in the back. I can see my best friend and his wife sitting up front, their heads together. The guy is like my brother. We always say so, but it's moments like this that I realize we're not. I don't know any of these people and I feel like I don't belong. I feel like shit because I've known the guy for ten years but I never even knew his mom's name. Some friend, right? And all I can think about is my mother.
And my Dad. I'm all too aware that my dad is going to die some day and that gives me a panicky feeling I can't shove down. He's always been the rock in my life and I'm not ready to give that up. I still feel like an awkward kid around him. I think he's thinking about mom too. I can see him crying under his glasses and he's trying to stop shaking. I pretend I don't notice and wipe away a few of my own.
What a horrible day. I hate funerals. I want to hug my dad when it's all done and tell him how much I love him. I don't of course. Instead, we make our way to my friend, my brother, and tell him if he needs anything to call. Sure.
Every since she died he's not the same. Yeah, he's remarried and I want him to be happy but I want my dad back. The one I knew growing up, the guy who used to holler out the window, "yeeehaaaa" on long drives to CCR. The same guy who used to tackle us on the floor tickling my brother and me. Then she'd jump in and resue us only to be ganged up on by all three of us in a tickle attack. The guy who used to get all the neighborhood kids together to play ball with. They all loved him. Yeah, there were some really crappy times we had together, a lot of them. But when they were good, they were great. It's those moments that I strive to get in my own family. My mom will never know my son. She never even knew my wife since I was still not talking to her when she died. I visit her now more than I did when she was alive. I know my dad does too because I see he always leaves the same kind of flowers and cleaned off the headstone. Our family fell apart when she died. We were on the ropes already, but she was what kept us together despite it all. I'll go see her tomorrow. Tell her I'm sorry again. What a day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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