Then I discovered a perspective that made my misery a tiny thing. It no longer consumed my existence from waking ‘til sleep finally overcame me in the darkest hours of night. It sounds melodramatic because I was a teenager and everything was terrible and wonderful and terrifying and insurmountable.
In my invitation for Death to take me for a ride, I had begun to smoke. I wanted to die, but I wasn’t brave enough to get it over with quickly. Once I had gained a new perspective outside my dark, tiny world, I was addicted. So, I kept smoking. It felt good sometimes. Not always, but every now and then.
So why would I say Death is stalking my family if I invited her on holiday? Because thirteen years ago, she took my father. He lived hard and died young, just like all the songs say. It was inevitable.
Now she’s courting his brother. The next in line. It wasn’t a heart attack though. Not for this one. A heart attack took the father and the first born. A stroke was Death’s white glove slapped across the face of my uncle. She’s challenging him to make her work for it. She’s offered him the chance while seducing another brother at the same time.
She smiles at me every now and then. My father was 35 when he had his first heart attack and 36 when he had his second. I’ll be 37 in a few months. No heart attacks. I quit smoking. I’m still fat, but I’m figuring it out. Death has become a lost lover who sends me the occasional “You up?” text message. Usually it’s when I’ve been drinking and confuse a hangover with Death’s sweet caress. I don’t intend to seek her out again until I am old and ready to give up the ghost as they say.
She’s trying to settle for the uncles, and I don’t know how to tell her to fuck right off.
How do you tell Death to go fuck herself?