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My mother was a complete and utter mess of a woman. I almost couldn’t recognize Teresa Battaglia, the force of nature, under those baggy eyes and running mascara.
Her tears didn’t need permission to fall. She had no control over them, an endless supply mercilessly spilling out of her green eyes. They were dull and gray today, color had no business being in this place today.
I watched as she cried harder, screaming as they lowered him into the ground, into his eternal resting place. My father held her up. That was how messed up she was. He hadn’t come near her in more than ten years, getting them in the same room was already close to a myth. So seeing him hold my mother to his chest and help her walk out of this damn place come as a shock as well as a reality check to the gravity of the fucking situation for anyone too thick to see. Or feel.
Me? I just sat there, holding my wife’s hand, as everyone came by offering me and my family their condolences as if it made a difference. As if any of this could bring him back.
I couldn’t wait to get out of here. Find the culprit and make him pay. I was filled with nothing but pain and fury, burning in equal measures inside of me. One would have to give, there was simply no space for both. And I knew the pain never would.
There was a rising hell in me bringing out all my demons as I prepared myself to unleash it all into a vengeful vendetta. I needed to focus on the fury for now, so that the pain wouldn’t swallow me whole.
Because after dying it was time for rebirth. I just needed to get the fuck out of here. The show was too much to put up with and I couldn’t hold my armor anymore. It was all so fucking useless. So fucking fake. None of it, absolutely nothing would bring him back and that was the only thing I wanted.
To be continued…
