So there are these five stages of grief, right? Anger is one of them. Mom has been at this stage for a while.
Unfortunately, it’s a scatter-shot kind of anger that, when interpreted incorrectly, can be fuel for an explosion. My sister flew in from Chicago today. Hello, fuse. Hello, fuel.
My dad’s sisters, who didn’t really show much support in my dad’s final days, were the spark. They arrived tonight as well.
In short, tonight really fucking sucked.
If anything came out of tonight, it was the revelation by my cousins that I can put down my alcohol, and I smoke. Mom probably knows, but I make sure not to indulge my nasty habit in front of her. I got locked out of the house when I went down the street to light up. So I had to go through a secondary way which meant passing through the downstairs level where said cousins, aunt and uncle live.
They offered me a beer. I didn’t refuse. They offered my visiting aunt a beer. She protested she wouldn’t be able to finish an entire bottle. I said, whatever you don’t drink, give it to me.
What I really want, though, are some margaritas. My cousins seem impressed by that.
I don’t lay all my cards out on the proverbial table. They don’t know these things about me because I chose not to reveal them. I like letting people form their own perception of me. In fact, I encourage it.
Because then I can shatter those preconceived notions.