Gone

I remember the last time I talked to him face to face. He was lying in a hospital bed. He looked very weak. She was seated next to him and we were seated across from them. The conversation turned to my future. I offered him my goals. He shot them down. Too much insurance, not enough money. Those were the two answers he had for me. As we left the hospital, I remember feeling my blood boil at how he'd just made me look like a fool whether he meant to or not. I remember my mom speaking poorly of him on the car ride home. I knew it was wrong, but I added to the heated conversation.
Two years later. I never got to tell him about urban planning. I wonder what would have been wrong with it.

Cowardice: It Runs in the Family

I knew there was something more to this; a dimension we didn't think to consider: It's not about what we want. It's about what he wanted. What was the great advantage, privilege, the great gift in seeing his body for one last time? If losing that hour-long opportunity meant fighting tooth and nail for him, then it's a sacrifice I'm sure we'd all have been willing to give.
There's still time. I wonder if they're up for the challenge. Perhaps we've been blinded by our own selfishness, but the question is one of whether we're willing to sacrifice our own wants one last time.
Why didn't anybody think of this before??
We sat around, blaming her for his death, blaming her for all the grief they caused our family, blaming her for what we're going through now. But I ask now, how are we better than her? We didn't even put up a fight. We chose to believe everything that came out of her thin, red lips because it was convenient for us. They said she'd be two steps ahead of us. How can we know that if we've never, not once, fought against her?
But why does it have to be a fight? Why can't it be the family, in its entirety, against this problem? She willed this; but a conversation in plain English might have lightened the load we'll all now carry for the rest of our lives. I don't know about anyone else, but I fear I too will die, never knowing what he really wanted. That doesn't sit right with me. I just want to talk to her--to ask her to grant us this one thing, and then she won't ever have to "deal" with us again. I could probably get her phone number. I won't get home tomorrow until 10pm. Am I destined to be helpless in this situation?
Why did nobody stand up to her before? Why, countless times, has she been allowed to spit words of pure hate in our faces, only to have us smile at her with respect the next time we see her...
Cowardice.
The only answer I have.
Everything else is extraneous, irrelevant, ignorant.

And another thing that's pissing me off: everybody keeps saying," He's in a better place." What the hell? We're Hindu! Every Hindu knows about reincarnation. He's not in a better place. He's here; starting all over again as whatever or whomever God wants his soul to be. Is it wrong to talk about that? That's not even the point right now, I guess. But then, what is the point? Why do we grieve, if not to ask questions about what is, what could have been, and what will be? There are so many questions I have (obviously) but nobody wants to talk about anything anymore, as if the grieving period is over.

I didn't cry in front of anyone. I've come close, but I know any attention will just make me cry more. It's better for this to be private. That's probably why I haven't been able to talk to anyone. Mom should know to talk to me. She hasn't even tried; I can't blame her, she's had to host this whole thing. I just caved tonight and started writing here.