Where Then, Go The Spirits Of The Martyrs? How Then, Do They Find Peace In Their Sacrifice? The Demise
Where then, go the spirits of the martyrs? How then, do they find peace in their sacrifice? The demise of one for the many is that of a brave man But what happens when bravery is just a roll of the dice?
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Spare Change
The dimly lit chapel is silent. If my grandmother were still alive, she would be the only one crying for her son. People like my father, who was sometimes irrationally poetic, never take into account their cause of death when asking for an open casket funeral. I guess having the shit beaten out of you over a gambling debt doesn’t cross one’s mind as the way they’re going to die. I can’t say I never wished it on him though.
I’m standing at the back of the sanctuary, partially watching the people come to pay respects, partially lost in thought. There are few enough attenders that I can still see his coffin; simple and bright, like he was once. I truly thought I loved my father, but he was not a good man, in the end. The last two years were rough; learning that my father would sell out his family was rough. We weren’t slaves, but we would’ve been on the streets if I hadn’t dropped out of college to get a job. Hell, we all had to drop things; we had to sell my little brother Jamie’s piano. I’ll probably hate myself the rest of my life for taking that away from him, but I’d be damned if I let him starve. All our bills and costs now aren’t a quarter of what he took to throw at cards. I was relieved when I found out he bit it; I’ll probably hate myself a long time for that too.
I’ve made my way to the middle of the aisle, where Jamie’s standing. He hugs me tight, resting his head on my chest. Fourteen’s an awkward age where he understands what’s happening, but he doesn’t know how to deal with it. I imagine we could have been good friends if we’d have more time these last couple years, but I’ve been working and he’s been hiding up in his room; he really looked up to dad.
Dad. It’s a foreign word to me. I suppose I haven’t said it in well over a year, I haven’t really thought of him like that in so long. Hopefully Jamie still does, or did. It’s still weird he’s gone.
When I was nine, we made a bet, my dad and I. My baby brother had just been born, and I was upset because I thought I was going to be replaced by him. He bet me three bucks that Jamie would never replace me. Being nine, I didn’t understand what it meant to make that kind of bet, but I’m not ignorant to it now.
I find myself standing by my father’s body, some people looking at me, maybe waiting for me to say something. I reach into my pocket and grab a fiver; drop it in with him.
“Keep the change.”
I cut myself and now I'm really fucking sad
Well, much as cutting can feel satisfying, it can be emotionally strenuous and harmful. There's not much that works for everyone, but what works for me is to count the days (or the hours if it's that bad) that you refrain from self-harm and just think of beating your previous record whenever it crosses your mind. Just beating it by one day, and then one more, etc. I'm proud of you for seeking help. If you're under 16 and living in Canada/US (I'm not sure about elsewhere), Kids Help Phone is a fantastic resource, where you can remain anonymous. God bless you on your journey of recovery.
