When I never loved you, and I never liked you, and I know you were always up to no damn good.

How do I grieve, when my ****** loved you but I knew you were trash. I hate to speak so poorly of the dead, but you are actually gone, and I’ve got to get this new reality into my head.

I was sitting right next to her, when her phone rang on a Saturday afternoon. It was supposed to be a good day. Celebrating my favorite Gemini by kayaking and eating lunch and hanging out. We don’t do this often, and the day’s happiness was short-lived.

Instead, I watch the joy evaporate from her face.

The contortions of her face as the dramatic news traveled from her ears through her limbic system as she sat 5 inches away from me was something I will never, ever forget.

10 years is a long time to entertain somebody’s love. And I’ve watched it be a battleground since day one. The violence, the drug addiction, the chaos and instability. The arrests. Domestic Abuse. Homelessness. Pregnancies.

So how am I supposed to feel right now, knowing she can’t run away to you anymore? Something happened and you became a bloated lifeless mass discovered on a boat. I don’t know how to feel, maybe happy for you because whatever it is that you’ve struggled with for all these years, you don’t have to struggle with anymore?

Grateful that you can’t do anymore damage? Maybe relieved, because you can’t cause any more trouble from the vast emptiness of the universe to which you’ve returned.

Maybe stressed, because I know that she loves you still and this could trigger another downfall (I pray it doesn’t happen).

It is sad to think that you never could come out from the spell of addiction. It takes too many young lives, absolutely merciless, and it almost feels by design in the modern American world. Another one. You never reached 35, and that’s just sad.

You never saw yourself in the mirror as someone worth fighting for, that much is clear. I don’t know your head. You never had my love, and you never had my respect, but I always held onto hope that maybe you could be someone that I respected or loved in a familial type of way. One day in the future, “when he gets his shit together”, sometimes I would think, not very often. But sometimes.

I never associated your name or your being with positivity. It was always bad. It was always drama. I love my sibling and you hurt her, so why would I ever have a positive thought about you? I’ve seen the scratches, the black eyes, the arrest records.

There are always 3 sides to a story, and I only ever had one, I can admit my bias, and now I’ll never know the truth.

I feel numb while she’s crying. It’s sad but I don’t feel that sad. I don’t know how to feel. I am hyper aware of the physical impermanence of being alive here on Earth, it’s always been interesting to me. There are some people who are surrounded by death and loss, and I am not one of them. I assume my hugs and hand holding do nothing to comfort the other.

Perhaps I’m not grieving correctly. Not sad enough, maybe I should have cried or had regrets about telling you to fuck off so many times. So, tell me, how do I grieve a scumbag?

Rest in Peace. You can do no more damage; you are free from the restrictions of biological existence. I am sure, in my heart and in some ways that you are around still.

You know who loves you and always forgave you for the bullshit you put them through, so please, be her angel now and look after her.

As I prepare for this new reality where you do not exist, I hope that no-one else comes along to fill your shoes. I hope my sibling never meets anyone like you ever again. Your power over her is gone, your influence is gone. It’s sad that you are not here, but a new reality awaits, and I am sure from the other side you are capable of being a force for good. A force for good that you were never able to be while alive on Earth.

Rest In Peace C.R.W. – June 2023.

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