For those of you that are new to this blog, feel free to click the photo of Bob to your left. The rest of this post may make more sense.
I watched the movie Brothers tonight. I was all, “Yeah, I heard this was a great flick.” and all.
I stupidly walked into a movie that was going to remind me of my own feelings about the recent death of a loved one. Fucking cinema.
It doesn’t matter that the film has absolutely nothing to do with the way Bob died. It’s the feelings that are triggered by watching something that reminds you of that dreadful call that you are one short on your list of living family members. That shit shoves you, so rudely, back to the exact moment when you received the aforementioned, life changing news.
I ended up, at one point, sitting in my smoking corner of the dining room, crying; puffing away on my ciggy, rocking back and forth with a kitty in my lap while tears streamed down my cheeks. My mind kept asking questions that it could not answer. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows what these questions are. I do not care to rehash those questions at this point.
As I set my laptop aside to go have another ciggy, I passed a photo of Bob that I keep on the mantle and I paused. It’s a photo of him as a small child. It’s black and white; printed on that old school, thick photo paper. All I could think as I passed that photo was, “What the fuck happened to you?”