Holy shit, it's been a while. I didn't feel like writing. I didn't feel like doing a lot of things because after dad died, I learned just how vile and gross people can get when they think they've got something to gain.
My very first lesson came within just an hour after dad died. The step family had crowded the hospital room, and my dad's body was being jostled around by all the activity. My stepmother, crying, remarked on how it looked like he was still breathing, moving, that it just looked like he was sleeping. And honestly, I'd had the same thought, I just wasn't in a place where I could really say it out loud because I could hardly even fathom the idea that he was actually dead, not when his hand was still so warm in mine.
This cow cousin in the room, whom we will name Bertha here, shook my stepmother and aggressively got in her face, shouting "HE AIN'T BREATHING, BUNNY, HE'S DEAD. LOOK AT HIM, HE'S DEAD, GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD."
I was tempted to let Bertha know right then and there, that her creepy, good-christian-man of a husband, had been soliciting every single one of her female relatives (and step relatives) for years, and that her entire family knew this and had been keeping it from her, but I decided that she fully deserves whatever herpes or chlamydia he eventually gives to her. Imagine that. Her own family doesn't even like her enough to warn her of the predator she married. Not that they're good people, mind you, I think there's just nothing in it for them to rat him out.
3rd lesson - daddy was an electrician, and has a lot of tools....I mean, a LOT. Probably thousands of dollars worth of equipment. He's also got a house, a smoker, a boat, a camper, tons of guns...things like that. When I suggested that one of us Bios should petition probate to become administrator of his estate (since his will had conveniently disappeared) the steps threw an absolute fit. When I say fit, I mean, they actively took it as an act of war. I was told by other family that the steps, who at this point were actively in control of everything, were so enraged that they'd begun threatening to withhold anything and everything from the bios if they dared "side" with me. Literally, that was the language the steps used. Their side, or my side. Mind you, I wasn't even trying to take any of it, I just wanted to catalog it so we'd have a very clear and transparent understanding of what was there FOR EVERYONE'S SAKE (for the record, the steps have several literal crackheads who've stolen equipment, money, and pain meds from my dad and step-mother) and I immediately became public enemy #1. Because apparently, accountability is a side and it's very, very bad. I still have recorded phone calls from the steps cussing me out for it that I've been holding onto for months, just in case they try to slander me publicly,
4th lesson. Never trust a christian. Obviously not all christians, but certainly these christians. Dad was a lifelong wiccan, and made it known over and over and over again across several decades that he did not want some creepy preacher who did not know him delivering a sermon over his remains. That's not who my dad was. So obviously, the steps immediately employ their brother, my stepbrother, to do exactly that. The very stepbrother who had abandoned his own mother for over 20 years. And by "immediately" I mean a full 2 months later. I'd already done a small, separate ceremony for daddy because I knew they weren't the type of people to honor his last wishes, but it turns out they weren't going to do anything at all, until my younger bio eventually started planning it on her own and the stepmonsters got a bit indignant over it, because it made them look bad for chasing money and not even giving the man a proper funeral. They were the ones in possession of his ashes and literally every single thing he owned. What would the church say?
The shittiest part about all this is that one of my other bios, also part of the born again evangelical cult, was completely okay with this, because it was worth sacrificing our family and everything daddy believed in to make sure he went to heaven. Dad used to tell me about how he couldn't even go camping or fishing with this bio anymore, because every time he did, Bio would corner him out on the boat and sob about him going to Hell. The saddest part of that for me is that bio used to call me to complain that dad never wanted to go do these things with her any more, and couldn't figure out why he was so uninterested in being emotionally manipulated. I can honestly say I expected this from the steps, but I did expect better of bio. They were kind, and gave her a necklace for her cooperation.
So, I guess they got what they wanted. Daddy is dead, I'm too poor to challenge them in court, plus I would just prefer not to deal with any of them ever again. God is good when you have no morals, I guess, and he helps those who help themselves...like vultures circling overhead for an easy meal, while your face is buried in your hands with grief.
But I remember you, Daddy. Not for your life insurance, not for the opportunity to convert godless heathens over your ashes, not for how much money I could squeeze from your lifeless body. I remember you for your big goofy laugh. Beer. Rebel flags. Fishing. Baphomet. Runes. Ozzy Osbourne. Your long, glorious mullet. Your genius with all things electric. Your bits and pieces of hoarded lore. Your art. Your big, strong hands. I have everything that actually mattered.
