So it took me a couple of days to pull myself together after your services. The gathering was fantastic. So many people attended. Your son pulled together a great playlist wish included so many of your favorite songs. The slideshow and booklets I created were a huge hit. The N’s were so amazing, they brought tons of food and helped set-up, we couldn’t have done it without them. We brought some of your scotch and everyone had a shot for a toast. Gino gave one toast and nearly broke down, he simply said “to my brother,” you would have been moved. Your brother gave a second toast, the typical “to friends and family here and lost.”
Your brother welcomed everyone and gave a brief history of your urn. Then I gave my eulogy. I was shaking like a leaf but managed to get through it without crying. It was so hard, honey. I asked if anyone else wanted to speak… well, you know how people are – no takers. So I moved on to the toast and made a couple cracks about how you would have loved to hear everyone coughing over the scotch. All-in-all it was lovely.
Then things turned terrible.
I held it together most of the day. But the dinner with your parents and family friends was torture. All the happy couples lining the tables caused me to break down. Your son and I went into the hall so I could get some privacy. Your brothers girlfriend then decides to be a fucking cheerleader, scolding me with “you were doing so good, come on, you can do it, you can do it”… WTH? I wanted to rip her cold black heart from her chest and shove it down her perky little throat. But your amazing son gave her the look of death and she ran for the hills. You raised him so well.
Earlier in the day your dad’s business partner shared a story with me about how you told him of the day we went to the renaissance fair and bought the leather bustier, and how he couldn’t share that story with me when you were alive. He hugged too long and was too friendly. Obviously the scotch was taking its’ toll. But then at the dinner he told me if I needed anything not to hesitate and tried to kiss me on the mouth, but I moved my head and played it off with a hug. As I was leaving he did the same, but this time I was caught off guard and the fucking insensitive, disrespectful troll from hell actually kissed me on the mouth… and I instantly went into shock.
I drove home in a blur of anger and devastation. YOUR lips were supposed to be the last which kissed me. He wounded me to my core with that simple drunken mistake. I felt like he took advantage of me and kicked me when I was already too wounded to defend myself. It’s a simple act that under other circumstances would have been blown off and we would have laughed about it; you probably would have teased him about it. But on that day, with your funeral fresh in my heart, your eulogy fresh on my tongue and your ashes in my car… it became an act of abuse.
I am so incredibly furious with him. I don’t want to tell your family, they wouldn’t understand what it did to me. They would think I am overreacting to a simple drunken act of kindness. No one will understand what a betrayal it was in my condition. The worst is that I have to see him again. If I want our wedding ring I need to interact with him to get it. I will bring someone with me, but I hope I can find a way around it. I really don’t want to see him ever again.
Your son and I spent Sunday in a fog of depression. Then yesterday your dad took your car away. Piece by piece you continue to disappear.
I made the appointment for counseling yesterday; going next Tuesday. Maybe she will help give me a little perspective.
I love you so much! I miss you so much!