Living and Loving

I spoke to my mom today.

She's pretty stone and regurgative.

She just returned from a 2 week or so trip to Cancun.

With a scattered covered and smothered group of people.

Chunked. Diced. Waffle House good mix of people.

Jimmy Roselle died. It was the day after the Super Bowl... went to sleep... he was hot... he was dead.

Uncle Jimmy-

Uncle Jimmy was a fireman, good ole NYFD. Retired years ago. Lived in NJ. Was a giant Giants fan. And the man was a bear. As big as a bear. As cuddly as a bear. As warm as a bear.

And Uncle Jimmy was Dad's best friend from at least high school, if not before. They were two hot stud football players. "Hiiiii-ya Johnny. Do you wanna dance?" One step Two. Jimmy was my dad's best man in the wedding.

She told him Jimmy Roselle died.

Posted by F.Newara at 09:07 PM | Permalink

Somehow I want to start the entry differently than normal. Maybe it's a fear on some level. Maybe it's a reflection of how clearly I'm feeling messed up over the dad situation lately.

For the most part recently, I am feeling relief. And guilt for feeling relief. And I'm not overwhelmed by the grief. And it definitely feels guilty... when I feel it. But when I'm not feeling the guilt, I'm feeling good.

This entire month I've been wanting to go see dad. But at the same time, very hesitant. Whatever. I don't even feel like writing about it. We went. We watched basketball. He was happy to see us. It was nice.

Posted by F.Newara at 09:52 PM | Permalink