White Roses.


“Many miles many roads I have traveled.  Fallen down on the the way.  Many hearts many years have unraveled, leading up to today.”

It was December 2, over a decade ago.  I was nineteen, my father and I entered into to the parlor of death to look at her, her? What was that, it was not my mother, it was a horrendous looking waxed faced mannequin.  It was just family viewing before the actual shit show of a week would begin. We are Italian, these things go on for days.  There was this overwhelming stench of stargazer lilies, everything, I never wanted and everything she hated.  It then, I suppose, didn’t matter anymore what she wanted, she was dead.  I was enraged, why were there dead people flowers here? These flowers were hundreds of dollars.  All I ordered were white roses in simple clear vases, they were what symbolized her the most simple beauty.  There were also yellow roses to be layed by her graveside . . . she always would when she could bring me yellow roses.  She always placed flowers in a vase beside my bed, she would tell me that nothing bad can ever start your day when you just open up your eyes, see and smell some of the worlds treasures.  That is the kind of woman she was, so strong with this ability of forgiveness.  This has never been my forte, even then.  I was my decision to have an open or closed casket, I was horrified and had it closed, other family members at the time were unhappy that my father gave his nineteen year old daughter the power to do so.  FUCK YOU, that was my dead mother and no you don’t have any say, it was me and my father, the woman was ravaged by cancer, she was 50, it is closed, end of discussion.  There was though the option for people like her sister to “view” her.  I was having a hard enough time, my mother is dead . . . I am smoking in the smoking parlor in the funeral home.  Remember those?  I spent the entire night smoking in that room and I was not really a smoker.  My aunt made some horrible comments, the ones that I believe are unforgivable.  First off, do not fuck with my father, she was saying some crazy shit  . . . he did not do enough to keep her alive.  And me, through out her mothers entire sickness was so selfish, always making her mother take her here and there to buy her stuff.  She is beyond selfish. . . Bev, my mother, did not deserve this, people like this.  I understand that under extreme circumstances that people get delusional with grief.  I get it . . . it was her sister.  Nobody loved that woman more then my father, nobody loved her as a mother more then me.  So in my minds eye this is unforgivable.  Don’t you ever make my father feel like that you piece of shit.  I could have killed the bitch.  This is where it started for me.  Years later, letters on my birthday, cards you name it, even showing up at the house, I slammed the door in her face.  I can not, will not forgive her. Many may say that it is doing me more harm then good.  I have gotten past that point, I wish her whatever I would wish an acquaintance.  Nothing more then a meer nod.  I am over it now and you are dead to us.  Certain lines just in my book can not be crossed.  Yes we all say things we wish we didn’t.  We all can be assholes, me being a big one at times, but, somethings are just not forgivable.

I had this friend, she was more then a friend, she was more like my sister that I never had.  We were both only’s, we came from different sides of the track, mine being the better of the two.  She became my family.  We met at thirteen and were inseparable from that point on.  I always thought that I was lucky, I had my friends from childhood.  We all know how difficult it becomes as we enter adulthood to truly have that bond with people the way you do when you are growing up.  Nobody wants to take the time, nobody wants to know anybody’s shit . . . we all have our own.  When you have your childhood friends, it is your shit that makes them love you.  You go through it together and grow.  You know each other inside and out, you can be like, 25 and still paint each others nails.  We were opposites, in every nature even down to the she is barbie, I am goth angel.  At my mothers funeral she placed a letter inside of her coffin, my mother was the mother she never had and always wanted.  She in her letter, years later, told me how she said she would always make sure the I was ok and that she loved me. The closest thing to a sister, my best friend.  She started young having babies, getting married, not going to college.  We still maintained our bond even with her husbands hatred for me.  This was the beginning of the end.  He has hated me since we were kids, he always thought that I had some control over her.  I was the only friend of hers that kind of did my own thing.  He was total and complete white trash, quite frankly, so was she.  I did not care though, I loved her.  She never judged my stripping days, she wanted me happy . . . I think.  There was always some underlying twinge of jealousy with her.  I  usually brushed it aside, I did not think I had much to be jealous of.  Later I found out it was just me, she wished she could be more like me.  After her second child her marriage fell apart, it was always bad, actually horrendous, but it was not my place to judge.  Unless of course my opinion was asked.  All I ever said was, you are in your thirties, you have a long life ahead of you to be miserable . . . make the right choice.  Be happy.  I was in no way ever telling her to have an affair . . . woman up, break things off and then go about your business.  So much drama in that house hold, police, restraining orders against each other and then there was me.  The one that moved away, the one that was trying to find her way out of her own doings.  Just quiet frankly needing her girlfriend to be with, talk to, and color each others hair.  Here it comes, I was accused by “her” that I had placed a phone call to DCF stating that this home was very unstable, and her children should be removed.  It was my fault that her family had fallen apart . . . really? Really? Over my dead body would I have ever done something like this. I could never hurt one of the few people that I loved.  I guess she didn’t love me the same way.  I guess when your own personal world is crumbling you will go to any extent to save it.  Even if it means blaming the innocent one, the one that only wanted you happy and healthy.  Her husband won . . .no communication ever again.  My maid of honor is  no more, fucking dishonorable bitch. I am still a year later saddened beyond words, and heartbroken.  I am not mad, for I did nothing wrong.  I guess desperate people will do anything to save themselves.  Even by hurting ones that they loved.  I can never forgive this . . .  this is why I can not trust.  I wonder if we will ever see each other again . . . my only thoughts on this would be, “bitch I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”



~ by applejaxe on July 3, 2012.

2 Responses to “White Roses.”

  1. All of this, and the last sentence. I agree completely. When a person makes a decision as a adult about you that is so repellent? They don’t get to be forgiven. It’s like a felony, it is nice the person is sorry now, but they made the decision to cross a huge line. Just because they are sorry they got caught, they aren’t excused from prison. Same thing with faithless family and friends.

    Some people cannot understand because they have never given themselves boundaries. Or have let themselves see what actually is going on. Ignore them. It is your life and you get to be the judge and jury to determine the transgressions against you are to be forgiven fully or not.

    My thoughts :-), take care ~

  2. You hit the nail on the head . . . something are just not forgivable. I agree one hundred percent. People are such shit heads period. Here is the thing, they have to wake up everyday and still be them. That is unfortunate, usually they are are incredibly stupid and never get it. Lucky for people like us we do, we rise above and move on, wiser and a tad more jaded. But that is ok . . . it part of the charm. take care 🙂

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