Forgive Me
Today, Aunt Tudi would have turned 70 years old.
I've been relatively okay up until now.
The Mother Unit and I were talking about how illogical the "buy more, save more" mantra that retailers so often use to encourage more consumption. And I told her about how, every week, Aunt Tudi would go to Wal-Mart and fall for so many of their tactics, and we would always leave with mounds of stuff we couldn't use, wouldn't use, and was a total waste of money and time.
And it occurred to me how impatient I was with Aunt Tudi at times like that, and how I'd lose my temper, and rush her, and complain.
I would give everything in the world just to be able to go to Wal-Mart with her one more time, and buy anything and everything she wanted and tons of stuff she might think she might want later on. And I would play any music she would want to hear in the car, if I had one, and I'd listen to everything she had to say, and engage in lengthy conversations with her, and pay her more attention, and not be put off by her inclination for nostalgia.
And I would play along at Christmas time, and not be such a Scrooge. I'd pretend to be more family-oriented, and participate in any of the celebrations she would want to attend. I'd listen to her political rants.
I would do anything she would want me to do, and I would do it gladly. Because I'd just be glad to have her around again.
I am not okay. Not by a longshot.
I see her dying, her eyes empty, and that's all I can see whenever I close my eyes. On her birthday, I keep seeing her die over and over again.
I am not okay.
I've been relatively okay up until now.
The Mother Unit and I were talking about how illogical the "buy more, save more" mantra that retailers so often use to encourage more consumption. And I told her about how, every week, Aunt Tudi would go to Wal-Mart and fall for so many of their tactics, and we would always leave with mounds of stuff we couldn't use, wouldn't use, and was a total waste of money and time.
And it occurred to me how impatient I was with Aunt Tudi at times like that, and how I'd lose my temper, and rush her, and complain.
I would give everything in the world just to be able to go to Wal-Mart with her one more time, and buy anything and everything she wanted and tons of stuff she might think she might want later on. And I would play any music she would want to hear in the car, if I had one, and I'd listen to everything she had to say, and engage in lengthy conversations with her, and pay her more attention, and not be put off by her inclination for nostalgia.
And I would play along at Christmas time, and not be such a Scrooge. I'd pretend to be more family-oriented, and participate in any of the celebrations she would want to attend. I'd listen to her political rants.
I would do anything she would want me to do, and I would do it gladly. Because I'd just be glad to have her around again.
I am not okay. Not by a longshot.
I see her dying, her eyes empty, and that's all I can see whenever I close my eyes. On her birthday, I keep seeing her die over and over again.
I am not okay.