Tricia.

(pic; Diane Arbus) (I am not in this pic.)


My cousin passed away at the weekend.
She was buried yesterday.
I didn't go to the funeral.
My excuse? I am not feeling that well.
I have a bad cold!
My head hurts!
My bones hurt!
My whole body aches!
I stayed in bed all day, in and out of sleep.
In and out of dreams.
The most vivid one;
'My step-aunt, (My deceased cousin's mother), kept prodding me with pointy witch fingers!'
Guilt?
Most probably.
My cousin had been in full time care most of her life.
The majority of it in a wheelchair.
She was both physically and mentally challenged.
I remember her most fondly as a big happy girl who was easily amused.
But that was when I was a kid myself, who was also easy to keep amused!
Her mother (with whom I have issues!) let her husband (he passed last year), look after this misfortune for most of her life. And a good part of his!
She died suddenly of a massive heart attack.
At the age of 54.
It was quick.
We're told she didn't suffer.
I am glad for that.

I am also glad I am ill.
It is my excuse.
I'm sick of funerals.
I have had quite enough for the time being, thank you.
Bring on the fucking happy times!
Give me more weddings!
And christenings even!

I will mourn Tricia in my own way.
In my own time.

I remember her smiling,
She is 11 years old,
Throwing a ball to and fro'
With me.
To and fro' In our garden.
Smiling.
Both of us.