An Adult Orphan


My Aunt Merrie passed away in the mid-60’s of a brain aneurysm at the age of 36. She was painting her kitchen when it happened. I was named after her and my grandma Mary, who also died in the 60’s, I’m not certain of the year.

I never got to meet either of them, since I was born in 1974.

I’ll be inheriting photos of them and my grandpa eventually, already framed and ready to hang in my living room, so I’m downsizing my collection of Beatles artwork. Cherished pictures of my deceased loved ones are more important, not to mention that since asshat left, I don’t really listen to them much these days. They bring back memories that make my heart itch (because it’s healing?) and I can’t get myself to really dig them like I had before.

Everything changes and I’ve known this factoid for years.

But today, I feel like an adult orphan. My dad has been gone going on 33 years and tomorrow marks 4 weeks since my mom passed away. I have no father figures to celebrate with and my poor daughter sadly has nobody to fill that roll either.

It’s just another Sunday, I told myself this morning.

But, it isn’t.

Today, I feel the heaviness of being parent-less for the first time on a holiday, even if it’s a made up one to generate money.


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