Let me tell you how not to say good-bye
My mothers funeral was packed with people inside and outside the Aposotolic Faith Church. It was a church across from my Grandma’s house. There were so many strangers who spoke nice about my mother. Being 6 you could guess what I was doing in the gold/black checkered dress with black stockings and a matching hair bow. I ran with my brother and sister’s cousin around the church like a normal child who had no clue on what actually happened. One of my 5 aunts gave us the look of death and we went back to our areas.
My mom had no casket; they could not piece back together the meat puzzle of limbs left by Phil. So cremation was the only option. You would think the ashes would have been kept for us to have as adults. But…. NO! We went to the graveyard and my Grandma dumped her ashes on my late drunk/violent Grandfather’s grave. How would I ever say good-bye to her? There is no headstone to ever come see, no flower to place in a vase and no nothing to see and remember. Grandma said, “She’s at peace.”
We went back to my Grandma’s home to have dinner. If you don’t believe in karma, GOD, Satan, spirits, etc. this would have scared you. As we sat down eating one of my Aunts said, “Gene was going to kill herself eventually, someone beat her to it.” Everyone started yelling. My Aunt said, “I don’t care stop pretending she did good.” All I knew was the lights started to flicker on and off. Everyone said,”Stop” to my Aunt! She got mad and walked out. I don’t recall her saying much bad about my mother after that. I was wondering what would happen to us? I hoped I wouldnt have to live in the same house my mother was murdered in. I didn’t know who would make that decision but I wanted to never see this house or these people again.
My mother didn’t trust her own family for a reason and I didn’t want to find out why….