I spoke with my cousin the other day,
the one I haven’t seen in almost a decade.
Her mother’s dying from a terminal lung illness.
I talked to her, too… her voice had changed, but not so much that I didn’t recognize it.
She said she’d been thinking of me recently.
Why, I don’t know.
She must’ve grown up a lot since I saw her last… I don’t really remember that much about her.
I blocked a lot of that out.
She left me — and her kids, I’d imagine — with a babysitter who OD’d at my dad’s house.
Why would anyone want to remember that?
Apparently I’m supposed to. My mom reminded me when we talked about it,
but how accurate is she? Recall of past events is influenced by time and other information.
Besides, her opinion of that woman was never that great…
Not that I blame her.
Not if all that happened, and then some.
I missed out on almost ten years of the lives of at least five people,
and I don’t know that I’m sorry for it.
But there’s got to be some reason why I felt the need to call her,
Right?
Nevermind that I was wrapped around a toilet at the time,
Maybe feeling like I was going to die spurred me to talk to someone close to it themselves.
Maybe I made her day.
Maybe I gave her some kind of closure.
Maybe I’m stuck in conviction-mode and over-analyzing a two minute conversation.
