Shouldn’t trigger, unless language/the discussion of guilt bothers you.  

 

 

Today, I spoke to my mother, also known fondly as the ‘Oompa Loompa.’

 

We were trying to finalize this week’s Thanksgiving plans.  A couple entries ago,  I explained how she is still breast-feeding my 30 year old sister, who just had a baby of her own.   She goes there every day, cooks for her, does the housework, the laundry, et cetera, because apparently my sister doesn’t quite know yet how to allow someone else to hold the baby while she cooks or shops or does something productive around the house.  So, my mother continues to enables her and picks up the slack of being a wife, mother, grandmother, caretaker of a newborn, cook and housekeeper all rolled into one.  

 

Now, this isn’t a jab on my sister - I know we all have to learn somehow.  It’s her first baby.  I KNOW how hard it is and how overwhelming it can be when all they do is cry, cry, and CRY.  I know that sleep deprivation can render you useless at any given time…hell, I’m sleep deprived on a regular basis and don’t have a squalling infant to blame that on.  So I shrug off my feelings and tell myself she’ll know the ropes by the time her second kid arrives.  I do have to say though, the end result of my mother’s excessive coddling has been rough because now she’s exhausted and WE haven’t seen her in over a month.  The time I planned to go and see her was derailed when J and I both had a stomach bug and we wanted to remain cautious and stayed away from the baby.  Will be seeing my sister and the baby this Saturday, after Oompa Loompa comes here for Thanksgiving.  

 

This entry isn’t even about my sister, though.  Or the Oompa Loompa, even though much amusement can be derived from talking about her and her shenanigans…

 

Before we hung up, Oompa had some news for me.

 

Her brother, my uncle, the ‘Reverend,” his unholy disgustingness, is in the hospital.   

 

Little background information.  Other than looking like your classic creepy pedophile, he was always overweight and unhealthy.  He’s diabetic, has bad knees and always, always seemed to have something wrong with him.  Aside from mentally, of course.  And now, physically.  I’m surprised that no one else has the same effect from looking at him.  I personally want to literally projectile vomit whenever I see his face.  But I guess the point I’m trying to make…he was probably a fucking cat with nine or more lives in a previous life…I don’t understand why or how he’s still breathing.  If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve the air he breathes.  

 

Yet, he keeps coming back to life.

 

See…I remember this time from when I was eighteen and in college.  I was living at my father’s house since he lived closer to the campus.  I remember coming home from classes and my father telling me that my uncle was in the hospital, having suffered a massive heart attack earlier that afternoon. 

 

He survived that massive heart attack.

 

Then, when I was somewhere between 21 and 22, my grandmother passed, and we all remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me.  I might have cried if he didn’t survive that first heart attack, because this was before I came to realize that there was some suppressed feelings of animosity.  He was Uncle L, and I hate to admit it, but on some level, there was love for him, because that was simply what being a family member entitled you, regardless of what a piece of shit you really were.  And I know I’ve said it before but kids have unconditional affection for members of their families, especially the kids who don’t remember that they’re supposed to hate them.

 

He ended up in the hospital again, after my grandmother’s death (if you read the blog entry, ‘Want Some Fries With That Invalidation?’ then you may remember a rather uncomfortable encounter I had with him there) riddled with infection, and he survived that, too.

 

He underwent a quadruple bypass about three years ago.  He was told by his doctors that he was a ‘ticking time bomb’ and the bypass surgery posed multiple risks, but if he didn’t have it, he was toast…it would just be a matter of time…  Well…despite my secret prayers for a one-way ticket to hell, he survived the bypass surgery, too.

 

Apparently, right now, his tiny, black heart is causing him some issues (I didn’t care to ask what kind of issues) and they admitted him into the hospital last night.  She has plans to see him the week after Thanksgiving.  In the meantime, he’s going to rot there while they run tests to try and figure out what his problem is, this time.  

 

I hung up with Oompa Loompa and felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards.

 

Oh, my God, guys…  I’m feeling like I’m a horrible, horrible person.  Here I am…I’m SMILING like an idiot.  I might have chuckled, too.  I don’t think I’ve laughed completely yet, but…seriously?  Am I that heartless?  Am I capable of such hatred toward another person?  A SICK person at that?  I don’t think I like that about myself.  I wasn’t raised that way.  I was raised to be warm, loving, kind.  To be gentle.  To forgive.

Forgiveness is so tricky in this case, though.  I think I’d sooner forgive the man who SA’d me in 1996 than I would my uncle, and I can’t even remember why I hate him so much.  My brain simply denies me that information, and for now, that’s okay.

 

The thought of him being in the hospital is simply delightful.  The thought of him spending Thanksgiving by himself while I spend it with my loved ones, is pure joy.  Of course, if someone in the family would go pick his disgusting ass up, he’d come spend holidays with us but at this point, even my mother, his own sister, doesn’t want to take the two-hour trek each way, because not only would she have to go pick him up, she’d have to bring him back home to his cockroach-infested shit-sty.  Not to mention she knows well enough by now that if he is there, I will not be.  

 

I haven’t seen him since my sister’s (the new mother’s) wedding day.  It couldn’t be helped.  I made sure to avoid him completely.  Didn’t look at him, walked away when he walked past me in church to say hello.  I made sure to leave the room whenever he walked in.  And that’s been perfectly fine with me because I have not one shred of love left for this man and I’ve no desire to see him until he’s laid out in a coffin, or even more appropriate, a cheap-o cardboard box.  If it were up to me, that’s what he’d get, only because by law, he would have to be placed into a receptacle before being buried.  Then, I can spit into his dead, lips-sewn-shut face just before they put him in the ground.  

 

And then, after he’s been buried, I, Capulet, am having a party.  My house.  You’re all invited.  Lots of junk food and laughs to be had.  I will celebrate his departure from this world, just as strongly as I mourned my grandmother’s.   

 

I will have you all know, I feel terrible for having just said that.  Just plain terrible.  It’s not something that as a mother, I would ever teach my kids to feel when someone is sick, in pain or otherwise hurting.  The guilt over having said such cold things about another human being is present, but at the same time, I’ve been waiting a very, very long time for my non-human friend, Karma, to show up.  

 

I just wonder…how many chances at life is this man going to get?  What has he done to deserve all of these tomorrows?  Why do so many good people suffer, and these monstrous sons-of-bitches who prey on innocent children keep on ticking?  If that’s not the most fucked up thing in the world, I don’t know what is.

 

On another note, I’ve been told that his death (whenever Karma ever does do her fucking job) may bring forth a slew of memories, of actual remembrances.  Another epiphany may occur and I’ll know exactly why I hate him.  I will know why the thought of him being reduced into a pile of shit, maggots and formaldehyde makes me giddy enough to smile.  Maybe I won’t feel so guilty, if I find that later on, my suspicions turn out to be the truth I seek.  

 

Is that what Karma is waiting for?  For me to be ready?  I seriously  doubt that Karma is in tune with my suppressed memories, but either way, it’s taking too damn long for this pathetic excuse of a person to succumb to his shitty health.  

 

I apologize to you all if this has shined a different, unfavorable light onto me as a person.  I’ll be honest with you all, I don’t like what I hear, either, when it comes to my thoughts.  Like I said before, I never thought myself capable of taking pleasure in another’s suffering, regardless of how rotten a person they may be.  But I also promised myself that I’d never sugar-coat anything in my blogs, ever again.  

 

And so, I won’t.  I am sorry if I’ve offended anybody, because as much as I hate my uncle, I also hate the people who have hurt you, too.  I want Karma to take care of ALL of them!  I’ll not lie to anyone and say I have any sympathy for their abusers’ ‘misfortunes,’ shall we say…because I don’t.  I hate my uncle and I hate that people like him are still allowed to roam this Earth, I despise that these are the people who sully our beautiful existence and make us suffer.

 

On the other hand, I know so many others feel and hear these thoughts, too.  I think, though, that we all have our thirst for justice, whether it is served by way of a painful death or incarceration, it ultimately means we are free of the mental prisons these predators have sentenced us to life in.    

 

I think I’m going to be extra thankful this coming Thursday when I sit down to my turkey dinner, for the fact that I can safely say that I am a good enough person to feel even the smallest amount of guilt.  It may be misunderstood, it may be unwarranted because such despicable people do not deserve any of my guilt for feeling the way I do.  I know and have accepted that there are reasons I feel this way…even if these reasons aren’t known to me, they’re there, they exist.  And I can furthermore conclude that the guilt I feel for smiling at the thought of my uncle laying in a hospital bed, alone, stems from my having learned kindness, despite a tarnished childhood. 

 

I’ll be damned if I’m guilted into showing him any kindness, now.

 

With that, I want to take a moment to wish you all a blessed Thanksgiving.  Whether you’re spending it with family, friends or by yourselves, I hope you’ll take a moment or two to make the day special for yourselves because you, my friends, deserve that.  I know that so many of our lives are in disarray right now, and even though we struggle with our thoughts, there is always, ALWAYS something to smile about.  

 

Love,

Capulet