…To bastardize the novel.
Short story: shot himself in the head.
Longer story: the fuckhead was 81 and had only ever had measles. He just wasn’t a dude who got sick. He got pneumonia, was diagnosed Friday last. Yesterday, he apparently left a note that said to call his daughter who worked as a parole officer at X and that he did not believe he was going to get better.
-The death is being investigated as suspicious. This is why they took into custody the note and weapon. Loads of cute reminiscences from the cops, later
Probably because they didn’t know he was a fucking moron (for someone who was intelligent).
‘Meh, I’ve been sick a week, peace OUT!’
On the one hand, I get it: your life, do as you please. He was not religious, although he grew up in the backwood Ozark Mountains where there were no churches. If you felt like it, you could take a horse or wagon to a neighbors for congregation but the father or mother led the religious services. Hang on, I mean YOUR father or mother to whom you are biologically related. Granny was the one.
Point being, he did not attend church but he believed in a god. He also believed that when he died, he would be with The Duchess. -reference to my mum, been dead these 4 years
I know! You’re saying, ‘Ooo! He was depressed.’ Well, not in the general sense. He was mostly a dumbass who had never experienced a serious illness and talked about those damned measles HIS WHOLE LIFE that they were so bad. This was illness #2 and not to be silly about it but the COVID-19 terrors (which he did not talk about but is pervasive) probably weighed much more on him than my mother’s death from 4 years past. That wasn’t the concern. The concern was HEALTH. I’m not just basing it on the note, I’m basing it on the way he spoke my entire life. He never said, ‘If I think it’s time to go, I’ll do it.’ Never.
This is a shock. A real shock. Had he died from this bout of pneumonia, I’d have been shocked still because he was showing ‘improvement’ as much as somebody who had been out of hospital for 2 days would.
My belief system is rather everything. And I do not care if you share it or not. Speaking of which, there’s more of my father in me than mum by a country mile. My beloved grandmother, Lois, who raised me? I would like to say mostly her but I think it’s mostly dad with Lois (maternal mother) as a softener, a gleaming beacon to set sights on. She was a hoot.
Many of my friends are atheists and that’s cool. I have varied amounts of pagan friends and of course, living in out-state Missouri, loads of Xtians. I’ll take any and all good thoughts. Got a message from one of my favorite recovering Catholic friends (now atheist), shown here.
Many of you might know cha0tic. He belabored (poor thing) a long convo with me last night. Many thanks to him.
I promised a fun thing about the cops. If you know me and have kept up to date, I work in a penitentiary as a parole officer. Whatever you see in films is kind of correct for POs except I have yet to be allowed to bring in a bottle of Jamesons for my bottom drawer and I need one. The paperwork, although you think you know it’s going to be the worst thing ever is worse than you can imagine. The upside is I get to work with highly predatory sociopaths. I was mental to begin with so, in general, I have much respect amongst those who choose to live without due care for others. I make men cry almost daily. This isn’t to brag. I don’t quite understand why I have this effect when the others do not. My theory is because I’m not coming at them like figure heads/ authority figures normally do. I’m this mental redhead who is either the age of their grandmother (if young) or mother (if older) and sometimes the wife they murdered (those guys are usually getting ready to get out after serving 25+ years). I like working with this set of men. I do not like child molesters (no fooling), which are not considered ‘predators’ amongst the prison population — if that makes sense. They are certainly predators but they are the weak who prey on the weak. My preferred caseload is violent. Why? I dunno. Reminds me of my childhood? Pretty sure you didn’t need to pick that nut out with a prong.
I show up and there’s 2 cop cars. One is a county mounty, the other a Big Supervisor. He had the big car and all the ornaments on his sleeve. He also looked like he lifted weights where mounty looked like a baby. I drive up, where I know my father has killed himself and these dumb shits, who are expecting me, have blocked the driveway. And hey, I get it. You probably needed to lock down the scene of the greatest crime to occur on El Rancho Reedo! –they know about
Where was I?
I drive up and can see that I will have to cut across the front lawn because they ARE NOT GOING TO MOVE. I attempt and immediately get stuck as we have been having UNHOLY SPRING RAINS (which is actually normal but it’s that time of year, yo). I lose my shit.
I start yelling at them and swearing at them and I’m not even sure what I was saying but it was something like:
THERE ARE 18 MOTHER FUCKING PLACES TO PARK BUT YOU HAVE TO BLOCK ME OUT AND I LIVE HERE AND YOU WANT ME HERE COS MY DAD JUST FUCKING KILLED HIMSELF BUT YOU CAN MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MINDS YOU RETARDED FUCKS SO WHY DON’T YOU JUST MAKE ME TEAR UP MY FUCKING LAWN AND GET MY CAR STUCK IN THE PROCESS. THANK GOD YOU’RE PROTECTING ME FROM PARKING ON MY OWN PROPERTY WHERE YOU WANT ME TO BE
Something like that. The young officer made the mistake of giving me the stink cop eye, which is like, ‘Wot you say, bitch? You know I’m the law?’
I know this look. I have a badge, too, you stupid child. You would piss yourself surrounded by 100 predators all screaming because they aren’t allowed to use the phones because they’re all broken.
I opened my car door rather than continuing to berate them via open window and started yelling with hand gestures. Cop Boss got out and started to offer me a correction. Drunk-arsed-Brother was there and said something like, ‘What are you doing, the grass will grow back.’ It was seeing the look of horror on his face which made me realize that I might just be taking a little internalized anger by projecting it on the cops. They were oblivious fucks, though.
I told Brother something like, ‘I’m just fine. I’m taking care of these. This guy needs to go RIGHT THERE where there’s an OBVIOUS parking spot and this guy needs to go THERE where there’s 4 obvious parking spots so I can park except now I can’t BECAUSE I’M STUCK ON THE FUCKING GRASS.
Big Cop changed his attitude and said, ‘We can push you out. No problem. Then, we’ll move and you can park.’
I think his greater age and experience might have informed him at some point that I was the failed caregiver and oh, yeah, I work with SCARY MEN and might not give a flying fuck about their uniforms and badges. WE ALL HAVE THEM FROM WHERE I JUST CAME.
Anyhoo. In retrospect, it’s funny that I lost my shit on a couple of cops. It can happen.
There will not be a funeral or wake a) due to COVID-19 and b) he did not want it but I will – when the weather is better – have a gathering at the ranch. And by weather, I mean after the COVID-19 thing settles down.
When The Duchess passed, I had attempted CPR to no avail. I did not sleep for 33 hours. So far with this, I have been awake for 27 hours. If none of this made sense, expect more like it. I’m on bereavement leave for a week (at least).