Our Prayers Go Out to Jesse

     My sister and I spent yesterday reminiscing the funeral of a grandfather.  He was my mom's step-dad.  He was my mom's step-dad that was abusive and mean; and my grandmother left him nearly ten years before he died.  He shot himself.  In the stomach.  My mom had been bringing him daily meals because he couldn't take care of himself.  She told him she had to go out of town and that her husband would be bringing him his dinner.  She ended up not going, and finding him herself that night- she had  brought him brownies and roast beef.  What happened to my mom was the only sad part about it.  I cried because he had no right to do that to her, after all she had done for him- out of the goodness of her heart, and for the total lack of goodness in his.
     My sister and I are going to Hell, not for the mean things we said about Dave, but because of the funeral.
     She had gotten married less than month before, and I was just graduating college.  People kept walking up to us and telling us how happy and proud they were.  Then they immediately went back to tears.  We couldn't tell which emotion they were faking.  Our assignment was more of less to keep my mom in check.  She'd always been the rock of my family, and we always keep her sane.