I hate to leave you, but I hope you’ll know… where I’m going I’ll be seeing you

It’s odd, how this break in my reality finally came. But, fitting.

My Uncle John died. John Thomas. Saw this guy 2x in about twenty years, both because the “adults” in the family needed something, but I digress.

My cousin, that I don’t speak to (although I did speak to her more than most) texted me that Uncle John died like she read it was a DUI in the Bledsdoe Report. (Isn’t that what y’all call it?) When I expressed my condolences (and they were sincere) – that was taken as an invitation to give the the short autopsy play-by-play of how he was found dead.

Ya know, and this basically sums up communication with the family and the stories they tell in general. Absolute lack of any real love, devoid of emotion; everything is completely transactional and prescribed, almost to a fault. And I haven’t even fucking touched on the religious overtones and claims these people think they have omg. Insane, really, when I can rattle off five extremely concerning things that happened to one of us cousins inflicted on by the parents, not even getting to all the martial cheating bullshit. The fact that any of them got out a bible before getting out Blue Cross Blue Shield and getting a DEDICATED TEAM OF THERAPISTS for this behavior SHOULD CONCERN EVERYONE.

At any rate, when I realized the conversation was fucking weird, because this was simply not something a grown adult would do, this is where I disengaged and just blocked whatever I had left on social media from the “family”. No one with developed emotions that has empathy for others in humanity – much less to a human you are related to, behaves this way. At least, not people I want in my life.

Then, I had to reflect on all the conversations with the women in my family over the years. I never talked to the women in my family unless it was them gosipping, mostly about the boys, being inept and not being able to child rear (GUESS WHOSE FAULT THAT IS YALL LMAO).

You know, at the very least, becoming more self aware has been a gift.
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One of the things I remember fondly about my Uncle John was his laugh. Yeah, he was a mess, and he was always sort of high or drunk, but he was always smiling. And he would tell stupid jokes and have this throaty laugh in the back. As he aged, he still had such a boyish look to him. I wish life were kinder to him, I know he was sensitive and he was hurting and I hope he rests wherever he may be.