falling into my hands
Saturday I was told my grandmother was dead. Not recently, but months prior. She wasn't much for listening or understanding. She always found blame in others and not in herself. She died June 20th and I found out only a few days ago. When was someone from my fathers side of the family going to tell me? Come to find out my mother was searching names on the internet and decided to type in her name. My grandmother was just another name on a list of the recently deceased. There's more to the story then a simple search.
After discovering her death date she decides to call my godmother. My godmother is my fathers cousin. Karen lives in CT with her husband and her children are spread out. During the brief phone call to Karen my mother asks when her son was going to find out. Well her response was "its not up to me to call your son". This coming from my godmother(whom I don't really care for). They went at it for while, arguing about family issues and why no one took the initiative. During the verbal tussle my father came in the act. Karen was asking why I didn't have any compassion for him and that just added fuel to the fire. There was no funeral and ceremony, just a simple burning of a body. My father didn't go to his mothers service. My mother tells me that she didn't think I'd really care if I found out or not. Turns out, I don't really care but it opened my eyes to more of my fathers side of the family and why I'm so stubborn. I can't wrap my head around the fact that no one would contact me of my grandmothers death or that my godmother would say I should have compassion for a father who abandoned his son at 4 years old and picked up the bottle. Compassion for what? A homeless hermit who lives in a house his parents bought for him just to know where he was. Rumor has it my father threatened to run into the woods and never return after the divorce. What a complete waste.
This has opened my eyes to people and how we should and not treat one another. I've also come to the conclusion that I am no longer in fear of dying and haven't been ever since I was about 8 years old when my step father died. Death is a part of life and so is compassion but that emotion should be spared for special occasions. I can't say that I'm sad for sad for the old man, but to have compassion when I was never given a drop. That side of the family has a distorted view of what went on. I am supposed to give up everything and visit my father? No, that day will be saved for the disposal of his personal belongings after his death. I'm not one to go out of my way. I''ve become completely jaded toward relationships is doesn't even phase me anymore.
I've come to the realization that I'm destined to be alone and I'm okay with that. Most people make me want to destroy myself and if I can stay away from doing that then so be it. I'm can't stand most women and can't stand most men. I just do my best to keep a narrow view of the world and hope no one penetrates it. Someone almost got through this past summer and my guard went up as soon as I realized I actually enjoyed her company. From finding out about my grandmothers death I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. No one can tell you what's right and what's wrong. Who cares if you're 27, working as a medical janitor, living with your mother, renting a studio space to make abstract paints and dreaming of traveling the country for months at a time. I'm sure there are people just like me in the similar situation. I'm never alone because there's someone out there doing the same shit, but there comes a time when things must change.
Change for me is moving somewhere else, always has and always will. I can remember when I was a child moving from house to house. The longest I've spent in the same place was for ten years. Ten years too long as far as I'm concerned. Look at my track record form the past 5 years. I've lived in so many different addresses. I'm due for a new room.
This compassion is for the taking.
After discovering her death date she decides to call my godmother. My godmother is my fathers cousin. Karen lives in CT with her husband and her children are spread out. During the brief phone call to Karen my mother asks when her son was going to find out. Well her response was "its not up to me to call your son". This coming from my godmother(whom I don't really care for). They went at it for while, arguing about family issues and why no one took the initiative. During the verbal tussle my father came in the act. Karen was asking why I didn't have any compassion for him and that just added fuel to the fire. There was no funeral and ceremony, just a simple burning of a body. My father didn't go to his mothers service. My mother tells me that she didn't think I'd really care if I found out or not. Turns out, I don't really care but it opened my eyes to more of my fathers side of the family and why I'm so stubborn. I can't wrap my head around the fact that no one would contact me of my grandmothers death or that my godmother would say I should have compassion for a father who abandoned his son at 4 years old and picked up the bottle. Compassion for what? A homeless hermit who lives in a house his parents bought for him just to know where he was. Rumor has it my father threatened to run into the woods and never return after the divorce. What a complete waste.
This has opened my eyes to people and how we should and not treat one another. I've also come to the conclusion that I am no longer in fear of dying and haven't been ever since I was about 8 years old when my step father died. Death is a part of life and so is compassion but that emotion should be spared for special occasions. I can't say that I'm sad for sad for the old man, but to have compassion when I was never given a drop. That side of the family has a distorted view of what went on. I am supposed to give up everything and visit my father? No, that day will be saved for the disposal of his personal belongings after his death. I'm not one to go out of my way. I''ve become completely jaded toward relationships is doesn't even phase me anymore.
I've come to the realization that I'm destined to be alone and I'm okay with that. Most people make me want to destroy myself and if I can stay away from doing that then so be it. I'm can't stand most women and can't stand most men. I just do my best to keep a narrow view of the world and hope no one penetrates it. Someone almost got through this past summer and my guard went up as soon as I realized I actually enjoyed her company. From finding out about my grandmothers death I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. No one can tell you what's right and what's wrong. Who cares if you're 27, working as a medical janitor, living with your mother, renting a studio space to make abstract paints and dreaming of traveling the country for months at a time. I'm sure there are people just like me in the similar situation. I'm never alone because there's someone out there doing the same shit, but there comes a time when things must change.
Change for me is moving somewhere else, always has and always will. I can remember when I was a child moving from house to house. The longest I've spent in the same place was for ten years. Ten years too long as far as I'm concerned. Look at my track record form the past 5 years. I've lived in so many different addresses. I'm due for a new room.
This compassion is for the taking.