I've been thinking lately about death. The complete inevitability of it, the importance we place on keeping it at bay and the way people react to the thought that death is fast approaching. Today I was at the bank opening a saving account and she asked me if I wanted to start a RSP savings as well. I said sure why not? Can't hurt right? As she was setting it up she turned to look at me and said "Should you be hit by a bus tomorrow all the money you put in here will move onto another person. Who do you want that person to be?" It wasn't the question that struck me so much it was rather he half blase half joking tone about the whole affair.
I remember watching the evening news with one of my friends awhile ago and it came on about how a suicide bomber had taken the lives of four people and injured dozens more. That was met with an equally blase statement.... "Only four? Hmm they got lucky."
It was one of those moments that I was glad I was me. I would not want to have that lack of perspective. Sure one hundred dead raises a lot more eyebrows but even one is too many.
My grandmother is dying. It's not the first time I've experienced this but this one is different. This woman was not a good woman. She is selfish, abusive and self-involved. About six years ago my family and her had what polite people might call a falling out. I was fourteen and we were sitting at the kitchen table. This incident was proceeded by months of manipulation and unrest. My little brother who was twelve at the time was playing with his food. Avoiding frozen store bought cabbage rolls. Can't say I blame him. She reaches across the table and brings her butter knife down against his knuckles. He gets up slams the chair into the table because no one does that to my brother. He doesn't stand for it. Right before he's about to walk away she pokes him in the stomach with her fork. All hell breaks loose. My grandmother tries to push him down the stairs that lead to the basement. Our designated "half of the house". My mother goes to stop her, my aunt goes to stop my mom and hands me the cigarette she was holding. I don't really remember how that whole episode stopped. All I remember is my uncontrolled screaming and the heat from that cigarette against my fingers. I hadn't been that scared since I felt the terror of my father raining down blows on my mother while I was in her lap.
That night after everything had died down and we were downstairs asleep she storms down drunker than hell. Stinking of rum. I don't see what happens because I'm in bed feigning sleep but I learn later that she was sitting on the couch beside my mom punching her in the face in her drunkard way. All I could hear was the "Are you going to hit me mother?" being repeated over and over. And apparently she was. We were packed off that night by my mom's boyfriend and I never saw her again. While the truck was being packed I was sitting with my brother outside looking up at the stars waiting for all this to be over. I hear sobbing and I look over at him. He's laying on his stomach with his head buried in his folded arms saying over and over "She better not hurt my hamster." Of that whole night that is what I remember most.
Its been six years since then. So she's dying now. Her liver is probably pickled. She wants to make amends. She wants to talk to us one last time. This is a woman who went from man to man letting every one of them beat or ignore or kick out every one of her four children. This is a woman who wanted to push MY little brother down the fuckin stairs. And because she's dying that means all of her sins are forgiven. My aunt says we should make peace. But frankly I think that's more than she will ever deserve.
I don't know if I will grieve her when she goes. I don't know if I'll ever forget her. But I know for sure that I will never forget that image of my little brother crying into his arms. And for that I know I will NEVER forgive her.
Death is a strange thing. It seems to humble us all. One thing I know for sure is that no more jay walking for this chick. If I get hit by a car in the crosswalk at least my mom can sue for wrongful death.
And that concludes our broadcast day.
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