The anger returns. I’m less torn up about the anger, more resolved and perhaps even comforted by it.
Fuck you, fuck you forever and always for not being there for him when he needed you the most, for not being there when you fucking should have BECAUSE HE WAS YOUR FUCKING SON AND YOU ADOPTED HIM, YOU CHOSE HIM, HE WAS YOUR FUCKING BROTHER THAT WAS THERE FOR YOU, YOU AWFUL EXCUSE FOR A FUCKING PERSON.
Dennis cried at the service and said something about how he was short-changed. FUCK YOU. You know who was shortchanged? YOUR FUCKING SON, THE ONE YOU IGNORED FOR MONTHS BEFORE HE DIED, THE ONE WHO YOU ACTED LIKE WAS DEAD LONG BEFORE HE WAS. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s a good thing you gave away those tools to your now ex-son in law, the tools that were meant to go to Chris, the tools he told you meant so much to him, that he wanted to pass down to his son. And you gave them away, you gave them away as soon as he died.
I DON’T EVER WANT TO HEAR THE WORD BRENDA AGAIN. SHE’S DEAD TO ME. AND I SURE AS FUCK DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THE TATTOO SHE GOT FOR CHRIS, THE BROTHER SHE NEVER FUCKING ONCE SAW IN THE 9 MONTHS BEFORE HE DIED. BUT YOU SURE AS FUCK MADE SURE TO TAKE CARE OF HER DAUGHTER SO SHE COULD GO ON 2 FUCKING VACATIONS DURING THAT TIME.
ad astra per aspera 