Dear Phelan

I don't care about that guy.  I don't know him.  I'm sad he's sick, but really...don't care.  Grieving.  Our mother died.  I don't care to hear about other people who are dying.  I'm busy crying about my mom.  And by the way...dad didn't go to school with you so he doesn't know who Gerry hung out with.

Dear mama

Give me patience to deal with your son Phelan.  he's driving us all insane.  You know how he gets.  Everytime we say something that doesn't quite please him he storms off saying "I might as well go home".  It's taking every ounce of will in me not to say "FUCKING LEAVE THEN".  I know that's you working in me.

 

I can't believe your gone, mom.  I just can't believe it.  I don't want to.  How the hell do I live without you?  I don't have anyone to talk to outloud anymore.  I didn't realize how much I talked to you or just how much I depended on you until you were gone. 

 

Your last days are haunting my brain and I wish it'd stop.  You were lying in the hospital bed twitching and rolling your eyes.  I said "Open your eyes if you want me to stay" and you opened them really wide.  But you did that anyway.  But I can't help but sit here and wonder if we did the right thing.  Were you aware of what was going on?  You had to be so scared.  It's more comforting to think you were already gone, but that one small reaction haunts me.  I need it to go away.  I need you to find a way to tell me that wasn't you asking me to stay...that it was your body doing fucked up things on its own.  I need those images to go away....I can't deal with them. 

 

 

Why did you die, Mom

I can't fucking do this.  I'm sick of being polite to people.  I'm sick of people thinking they want to talk to me about you and that I really want to hear what they fucking have to say.  I don't want to go to your viewing tomorrow.  The only thing that'll push me there is dad.  And I swear to god and sonny jesus...I have no patience for the D cousins.  They have no fucking excuse to not have stopped by the house by now.  None.  I won't accept excuses.  I won't be polite.  I don't want their fucking consolation.  I want them to come in, say goodbye and leave five minutes later.  That's all the fucking time I have for them. 

 

Some moments are better than others.  We're able to remember you and smile.  Not sure how that's going to work out today.  I didn't approve your obit, but I just can't do it.  I just can't.  I know dad wanted me to write it, but it's so hard.  Writing it makes it so real.  I don't want reality yet.  I want to wake up from this horrible nightmare.