And then this was my Twittascope for today. Oh, how so accurate Internetz? I'm thinking there is a Magic 8 Ball somewhere out there, or they have my phones bugged. Hmmm ...
You may feel as if you've been running on autopilot lately. It's not that you aren't aware of what's happening; it's just that you are spontaneously making choices while you are still in motion. However, you might modify your style today because you want to be more conscious of why you are deciding one thing and not another. Logical analysis can be helpful as long as you don't turn it into an obsession that disconnects you from your intuition.
Some of you know already that immediately following the death of our 18 year old cat last Sunday, I got word that my 44 year old nephew had died suddenly from a heart attack. He went to use the restroom at work and never came back.
I received a call from the woman he was renting a place from, she found my number in his cell phone. The irony of it all is that the call came exactly one year to the day from when he called me to tell me he had been released from prison. When he was 20 he was sentenced to life for felony murder for his drunken participation in a stupid robbery gone horribly wrong. His older brother turned state's evidence against him in exchange for a lighter sentence. In spite of expert testimony to the contrary, he was convicted.
He was a little slow, he was easily led, he was a follower. He was a good man in spite of it all. He was my late sister's baby, and his father (my sister's ex) stopped taking his calls from prison. So did the brother who put him there. After she died in 1994, I was all he had left. I sent him money when I could. I sent him towels, underwear, and candy at Christmas, and a Bible the year he asked for one. I wasn't a saint, sometimes I didn't take his calls either and never mind how I feel about that now.
He was paroled one year and four days before I got the call this week, after serving 23 years. He had a job at a metal works company. He had a cell phone and learned to text. He bought a car and paid cash for it from what he had saved while on 6 months of work release. Most of all, he had a surrogate family that had adopted him years earlier. He grew up with one of their boys and they kept in contact with him this whole time. He was renting a place on their property when he died and they are heartbroken. Until this past November, I hadn't seen him since Christmas 1980 just after my first son was born. He was 15 and I have pictures of him holding his new baby cousin. When we went to see our Marine Son™ at Thanksgiving I knew I couldn't pass back through Savannah without trying to see him. I called him and we met for coffee at a Waffle House just off I-95. We spent 45 minutes just chatting and looking at each other and he was bent and broken. Before we got back on the road to home we took pictures, and by then I could begin to see the kid I'd known in his eyes. He was in there and he was going to be okay. It struck me too, how much he looked like and was built like, my father. When we got back in the car I cried for miles and miles.
The last time I heard from him was a text last month: "Hey, Love! It's snowin'!"
Since Tuesday I have been planning a funeral long distance. I have called and waited for calls from medical examiners, funeral technicians, one attorney who won't release his cell phone and wallet to me until we can prove that the brother is nowhere to be found. "Suppose he shows up and sues the job site because we gave his things to you? He's really the direct next of kin." Sure, of course. Legally I get that. But then please explain to me why I should care? He hasn't been heard from since my sister's funeral in October 1994. His dad and mom are both deceased, so that leaves me to pick up the pieces.
After I direct the cantata tomorrow, Palm Sunday (twice, we're doing it at both services), we're hitting the road for Georgia. His service will be Monday afternoon at 3:00 in the church where he had found a spiritual home. After his cremation, I'm going to scatter his ashes over his mama's grave. He talked so many times about wanting to come back to Florida to see where she was buried. I think he'd like that, and I know she would.
Rest in Peace, Tom. You've earned it.
