September 26, 2009

• Sunday is my mother’s memorial, something I wasn’t in favor of but will attend.  I have not participated in its production, which they may hold against me.  My brother’s girlfriend encouraged me in my stand.  She was Lois’s favorite, of us girls.

  I invited my childhood best friend, the realtor, who grew up across the street and knows firsthand what my mother was like.  My mother couldn’t stand my friend because she was fun, she had imagination, she was devious, and she was daring.  She, too, had a horrible mother, so we made the most of our time away from the house.

  Her mother, who drove into a tree at high noon on the 4th of July, is buried at the mortuary where our little production is to be held.  She is bringing along her husband I’ve never met.  They married during the years we weren’t speaking, after the fiasco over her not selling my house.  You may remember me saying I actually know all about him.  My youngest was best friends with his youngest, at one time.  I know ALL his dirt. 

  But she is happy.  My mother is dead.  My siblings will feel holy.  All is well.

  • 1:39 am
  • 4 Comments