Morbid Wardrobe

Carol drove down to spend some time with Paula on Monday.

She came back with two of Bill's Tommy Bahama shirts. Bill died last Saturday.

I have a shirt that belonged to Gary - Paula's son - who died many years ago. Now I have two of Bill's. The history behind these shirts is that Gary worked at Tommy Bahama's when he lived in Vegas with his brother Michael.

These shirts are gorgeous. 100% silk. Paula refuses to sell them at a yard sale because they are so nice. So I have them.

I have a small urn with Jonathan's ashes in them. It sits on a windowsill upstairs. I have a drumstick that was used at a memorial for Jonathan.

I have a nip sized Crown Royal bag that had Sarge's ashes in them before Cori spread them on the track in Concord. I have a couple of Sarge's t-shirts, a jacket and a hat.

I have a couple of my father's watches. Some of his tie clips. I have a Dachshund figurine that my father used to keep his jewelry in.

At first I accepted these gifts because it was meaningful to me. Hopefully it meant something to the people who gave them to me to be passing them on to a family member. Now it is getting heavy.

Maybe because Bill was so close to where I am at in life. We spent a lot of time together. Vacations. Dinners. Cookouts. Football.

He gave up on life and that pisses me off but still, now he is dead. I won't be talking to him anymore.

Could be the cumulative effect of this fucking bullshit we are all dealing with right now. I find it is bringing me down. I am in the best place I have been in in a long time - lots of money, don't have to go to work, summer is moving along at a snail's pace which tastes pretty good - but I cannot be happy. I just can't.

I don't want to collect anymore of this stuff. I also don't want my stuff to be given away.

Fuck this shit.