Off the seat of a bicycle
Chapter 61 Mom Dies

My mother died of encephalitis later that year. She awoke in the hospital once but died five days later when an aneurism broke in her stomach. I was working at my doctor’s house when the call came in … and my older brother said Mom was comatose in the hospital.

My older brother and his wife and my sister were standing vigil at the hospital in Indianapolis, and my sister, who carried the family’s heart, told Mom it was ‘ok to go,’ and a few hours later she was gone. They called me early the next morning … oh god, I should have flown up to see her before she passed, but everybody hoped she would get better.

My sister said Mom had been shopping for health insurance in the prior weeks.

So Mom knew something was wrong and probably was afraid, but now it was over and she was gone. I tried, but never could cry, and somehow hope this book will let me vomit out the release that is so glaringly void.

What a horrific thing. She nick-named me ‘Weed’ when I grew so tall. She was always there and I’ve visited her grave, but it still racks me inside.
 
After the funeral, the whole family gathered at her house in Indiana and my older brother and I nearly came to blows. He insisted the family paw over her belongings and decide in a civilized manner who wanted what …

… but I didn’t want any of her stuff. I didn’t want an albatross around my neck. I was ill and making decisions fast how to land on my feet, but mostly I didn’t want to spend time with my family.

Standing in my dear mother’s living room, with every member of the family present, and in complete flashed-anger toward my brother, I said, ‘keep it or throw it away, I don’t care what happens to [Mom’s stuff]’…

… but even more unbelievable, the outburst was not greeted with outrage … it was just another day-at-the-family-ranch to shit on someone over the other person’s grave.

But my older brother was mad. He was the family champion; the one who never got beat up. He was the one who bullied us siblings, and took the biggest bowl of ice cream.

And he was named executor of Mom’s estate in her Will, so he got stuck going through the house alone, and I guess it tore him up, but I couldn’t deal with him. Maybe I was weak and couldn’t face Mom’s death, but somehow I knew my survival depended on disengaging from the entire event.

My sister lived in Mom’s house but she was an alcoholic and incapable of helping anyone. My younger brother lived in Chicago and didn’t have a reliable car … so nobody was there to help my older brother. The poor fucking jerk.

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