CHAPTER 12 Love Is A Fickle Bitch

31 1 1

copyright 2017 Chris Smith  All rights reserved.



pulling the cosmos

swirling above

and around me



my resolve."


Now that Mom was in the Hospital, she was getting attention from everyone because she was officially "ill". It was like sounding off the town's tornado siren. But as far as I was concerned, my arm was tired from ringing the alarm for months at length.

I sent email updates months ago to a few loved ones about what was happening with Mom. I wondered if I had dreamed sending the emails out because the response was so quiet. Basically no one has responded. I didn't know if they didn't know what to say or had nothing to say. And I hadn't painted a pretty picture of what was going on with her either. It wasn't a pretty picture. But I'd been dealing with the chaos of her for months before she was "officially ill".

So I was a little dumbfounded at all the sudden concern. Yeah, well, where the fuck were you months ago...was my question.

Where were you?

Because for the past four years my Mom's whole world was crumbling into the dark abyss.

Where were you?

When I sat in the front row and watched the decomposition of my Mother's spirit.

If you loved her at all then where was the action to back it up?


I was detached. All these people were showing up. They were coming out of the woodwork. But I didn't trust them. I knew people were fickle. They loved you one minute and tore you down the next. They loved when it was convenient. When it suited them. Or they pretended to love you when they didn't. I could feel it in the looks and the hugs.

I had never subscribed to the automatic love, because we're related or have a history. In my world, love comes from actions, from demonstrations of showing up on a somewhat consistent basis. I'd learned long ago it was safer to keep my walls up and not hold out any hope for anyone showing up for myself or my family.

The influx of interest in Mom was overwhelming. There had been so much silence. Years of it. Now it was like Mom hit the front page news. People wanted to visit Mom in the Hospital, send flowers, and/or call her on the phone. They wanted updates on what was going on.

"Yeah, that's not something we want. We don't want people showing up, or calling. Mom isn't in the state of mind to handle it. And I don't think flowers would be a good idea either," Dad said one afternoon during his daily debriefing.

"I agree. I don't think people have any idea how bad she is right now. Mom getting on the phone with people, or them visiting. Flowers will die. But people want to do something," I said.

"Well, we'll have to think about that and see if we can come up with something they can do. Jim tried to stop by and see her," Dad said.

"What the fuck for?" I asked.

Jim wasn't even a loved one. He was a local spiritual adviser that we had worked with a few times, trying to attack Mom's issue from an energy level. We'd met him a few times, but we weren't close to him at all. I don't know how he found out Mom was even in the Hospital, probably from one of the veterans Dad knew or worked with.

A HARD RUN INTO HELL Book 4 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesRead this story for FREE!