A Death in the Family 

Family and friends were falsely hearty.   I listened in on their stories, and could hardly believe they were talking about the same person!   They talked of his generosity and of missing him…

I walked away, sickened by their cloying sentiments and sugary expletives.

Don’t speak ill of the dead.  They say.  Why the hell not?   He was a shifty lazy good for nothing…  But, I miss him like hell.

 With the realisation came a yawning chasm in the pit of my stomach, as it hit me, I’ll never ever see him again.   Who’s perfect anyway?   He was fun to be with; he had an irresistible charm, a ready wit, and just the right turn of phrase for any situation. He could change tears, into uncontrollable laughter, with a look.   Yes he smoked, and he drank, Guinness (ugh), and he was totally incapable of resisting a bet.   He would pay back a fiver at tea break then borrow it again, at lunch time, for ‘a sure thing’ that’s still running to this day!   But, what the heck, he was my brother.”

 In the weeks that followed his passing I found myself doing all manner of crazy things, totally out of character.   Like ordering a Guinness at the local, strangely, it didn’t seem to taste that bad.   I caught myself cadging a ciggy from a friend, just as he used to do, but I don’t actually smoke.   I continued to experience crazy urges to do things I’ve never done before.    I couldn’t stop myself putting ten bob, on a horse, and it came in first;  I could feel his joy in that moment.

“You know, your brother used to tap a pencil on his teeth like that.” An acquaintance commented.  

“Just like Joe!” Another remarked on the way I balled my tongue into the side of my cheek when concentrating.  

During that period I experienced many foreign emotions, and cravings; I roamed the streets late one night trying to locate and buy pickled eggs. 

   The alien feelings slowly faded with time.   Looking back it seemed as if Joe was saying goodbye to us all, the world in general but his friends in particular, through me.   For weeks he shared my life and thoughts, contributing of himself.   Who would begrudge him that?   A belated drink, a fag, a flutter, or even the odd stray thought.

  “But the strangest thing of all is that I still feel he’s here with me, in my mind, I can ask him any question and he answers, with his old familiar wit and candour, in that worldly wise manner he cultivated so painstakingly; and you know something?   I’ll never forget him, or mum, dad or any of the others, who passed before me, because they still share my life.   They won’t let me forget them and I wouldn't want to.   Because, when it's my time, I know they’ll be there waiting to welcome me.”

“Godbless ya kiddo!”    He’ll say, with that lopsided grin on his face…

   “You know, I never really told him, how much I love him, but it doesn’t matter…   He knows; I guess he always did!”