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shoulda woulda coulda

There are few things in life that can mess you up like the loss of a parent but the guilt of not being there for everyone else is a pretty close second. I should have went home when it was bad, I should have stayed, I should have helped more. My family is not that close but my brother had to carry the weight of this on his shoulders since he was closest. He had to mow the lawn and carry down the air conditioners and move the couch when the hospital bed came in. He had to help plan the funeral while I waited to see when I could even get home.
I dread going home and facing people. I dread the line of people who I won’t recognize waiting to “console” me.
It’s hard to really wrap your head around having someone there one minute and then gone the next. I don’t think I’m processing well.
When I go I want a party, New Orleans style. I want a fucking parade down the street with some ska music and I want you all to get good and drunk. And I hope I come back to haunt something, at least then I’ll make a story.


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