I’ve spent the last week probably being the most angry I have ever been in my life. A lot of that anger is directed at my family and how I don’t think anyone ever did enough or cared enough for my brother. I have cousins who say they hadn’t talked to or seen Ed in months (you think your life is that busy? Well, he’s dead now, so I guess you will never talk to him again); I have relatives who used to come over who would barely talk to Ed, and then lo and behold, they are crying at his funeral, probably more for themselves for being so petty and superficial rather than the fact that my brother is gone. And then there are my parents, who are criticizing everyone and accusing everyone of not caring. “So what if they came to the funeral? I didn’t ask them to come. They took the day off? It’s not like it was unpaid leave; it was paid time off for all of them.” It’s such a negative, petty, miserable, sad world at home. To be surrounded by this constantly would probably drive anyone to jump off a bridge.
I dreamt last night that Ed was in his casket in his bedroom, with the lid open, so we could see his serene face. He is fully dressed in the suit and purple tie that I pressed for his final time being clothed. My parents dumped all their clean laundry on top of him to begin folding. I started cursing them non-stop, asking them what in the world they were doing and to take all of that laundry off of my dead brother.
I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that my Ed is no longer a part of this world with us. But I have not accepted the stupidity of our family and the world around us that mistreated him.