I look for you in the obituaries during breaks at school.
I’m ten hours away. Functionally, you’re already dead to me.
However, I still feel responsible for the destruction you cause (because I’m aware, yet I don’t do anything about it).
It’s your fault Papa has permanent frown lines around his face.
He’s a good man and he doesn’t deserve that.
Papa deserves someone who would love him, be kind to him, and let him feel happy.
When you’re finally gone, I’m going to feel so relieved. I’d love to hear Papa whistling again. I can’t think of anybody who’d genuinely miss you. Nobody wants to go where you are because you make everybody walk on eggshells.
You’re a grumpy old witch.
Social workers think you mess your children up for kicks.
I make it through days without you crossing my mind, but something about Halloween creepiness reminded me of you again.
I can’t remember how old you are. I guess I could be checking the obituaries for a very long time, if I don’t forgive you and let it go.
I can forgive you for whatever you do to me, but I don’t know how to forgive you for Papa’s sadness.