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I woke up feeling weird, disjointed.
I'd fallen asleep last night thinking about my uncle's wife. Not the stupid one with the Chia pet head who hates me because I addressed an invitation to my wedding for them as "Mr. Eugene Bangle and guest" because I couldn't remember her last name and they weren't married at that point. But, the wife which came before her (he's had four, total).
Nancy.
She was a bit strange. Though calling her that is a little like saying that water is kind of wet. Nancy had a hard life; she'd been through an abusive marriage, been hit by a fucking train, had leukemia, was anorexic, and an alcoholic. I remember her blanching tomatoes so she could peel them. It seemed like all that woman ingested was peeled tomatoes, diet 7-Up, chicken wings, vodka, and my father's dog's epilepsy medication.
My uncle loved her desperately, though. And they lived with my father, sharing the small house that he owns out in the goddamn middle of nowhere. When I was young and I still visited my dad on weekends, I remember her braiding my hair for me and how she used to tuck the very end of the braid into the rubber band. That always annoyed me because it was such a bitch to get out.
She was a nice enough woman, one of the most serene appearing people I've ever met. Though I reckon that came from all the booze and the barbituates.
I'm not completely sure what she died from, to tell you the truth. I just know that there had been a very bad period when they were trying to get her away from the liquor and having to hide the dog's pills, but that it wasn't working rather well. All I know is that my father came home from work one day and found her dead on the dining room floor.
Phone calls were made and I trotted myself out to the sticks for her funeral, ignoring the comments from some people also attending. Well, I'm sure you didn't have any difficulty finding something to wear!
I don't know why I had been thinking of all of this last night. It's not close to the anniversary of her death or anything like that. It just popped into my head while I was trying to sleep. I had previously been thinking about the Engineer leaving for DC on Thursday, four days away to install the World War II memorial he's been working on for the past year or so. Don't know where it all came from.
But, I was lying there. Remembering what it felt like for her to brush my hair. The utter quiet and stillness of the room we sat in. And how it was the only time her hands didn't shake.
I'd fallen asleep last night thinking about my uncle's wife. Not the stupid one with the Chia pet head who hates me because I addressed an invitation to my wedding for them as "Mr. Eugene Bangle and guest" because I couldn't remember her last name and they weren't married at that point. But, the wife which came before her (he's had four, total).
Nancy.
She was a bit strange. Though calling her that is a little like saying that water is kind of wet. Nancy had a hard life; she'd been through an abusive marriage, been hit by a fucking train, had leukemia, was anorexic, and an alcoholic. I remember her blanching tomatoes so she could peel them. It seemed like all that woman ingested was peeled tomatoes, diet 7-Up, chicken wings, vodka, and my father's dog's epilepsy medication.
My uncle loved her desperately, though. And they lived with my father, sharing the small house that he owns out in the goddamn middle of nowhere. When I was young and I still visited my dad on weekends, I remember her braiding my hair for me and how she used to tuck the very end of the braid into the rubber band. That always annoyed me because it was such a bitch to get out.
She was a nice enough woman, one of the most serene appearing people I've ever met. Though I reckon that came from all the booze and the barbituates.
I'm not completely sure what she died from, to tell you the truth. I just know that there had been a very bad period when they were trying to get her away from the liquor and having to hide the dog's pills, but that it wasn't working rather well. All I know is that my father came home from work one day and found her dead on the dining room floor.
Phone calls were made and I trotted myself out to the sticks for her funeral, ignoring the comments from some people also attending. Well, I'm sure you didn't have any difficulty finding something to wear!
I don't know why I had been thinking of all of this last night. It's not close to the anniversary of her death or anything like that. It just popped into my head while I was trying to sleep. I had previously been thinking about the Engineer leaving for DC on Thursday, four days away to install the World War II memorial he's been working on for the past year or so. Don't know where it all came from.
But, I was lying there. Remembering what it felt like for her to brush my hair. The utter quiet and stillness of the room we sat in. And how it was the only time her hands didn't shake.
