Dear Mom
dear mom,
since there is no forwarding address in which to send this, i'm putting this here. if there is a g*d and s/he is all knowing and powerful, they can send you the link through whatever technology they are using in the afterlife these days. it could be twitter for all i know. i'd have said myspace, but that seems much more like something you'd find in hell. not that you would have know that since technology pretty much stopped for you after the touch-tone phone and the remote controlled television. i considered saying the combustion engine and local mail delivery, but now isn't the time to pick on you about your age.
please excuse some of the forthcoming slang, but i'll also assume if you get this there will also be an interpreter that can do any necessary translation for you. maybe something like that device you clip on in the movie "the last starfighter". not that you would recognize that movie either.
i digress as usual so let me refocus.
wtf! seriously. you've left a mess and at a terrible time. a bigger one than i ever caused you to clean up as a child, but i'm not comparing. just kvetching. and i know you know a little something about that. but i forgive you.
in fact, you're pardoned. forgiven of all the things you've done. at least by me. i can do this with a clear mind because aside from being faced with whatever challenges you've left behind that i'm not aware of -- and i do suspect i'll bump into a few of them -- you can create no new ones. you can exist in the afterlife and be caring, well intentioned, full of good thoughts and hopes, but the barrier of death will keep that from turning into yet another frustration. an emotional firewall of sorts.
well, that is assuming that ghosts, spirits, and all that stuff which go bump in the night don't actually exist. i figure if anybody can come back and give me a kick in the shorts, it will be you. but, i'll take my chances.
so........ it took you just under 30 years, but you got what you wanted. or at least what you always said you wanted. you're dead. so, how's that work'n for ya?
it reminds me of the adage i spew all too often -- be careful what you ask for, you might get it.
signed,
your loving son
for anyone reading this that might think the message is harsh... trust me. my mother gets it. i can hear her screaming my first name. my full first name in that unique tone of hers. she gets it and i know she appreciates it. because it's me and she's part to blame for that. for me. for the way i am.
Posted by ac at November 21, 2007 02:14 PM