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In the day when a death would occur in Marvel Comics the title of the story would usually be Requiem--thus the above.

Small family background. My father's brother Harold was thoroughly and cordially hated by my mother and generally despised by my father. Dad had left home, Harold had stayed and got the farm Grand-father had left and for years my parents were convinced they had been robbed. In his later years I will give Harold credit for attempting to mend a bridge. He came and gave my parents at least a thousand dollars but mother would not even let him in the door let alone thank him for the gesture. They considered it stolen money returned late to them.

The very first time I ever stood up to my parents and made it stick was age 26 in 1977. Uncle Harold had dropped by Grand AFB ND totally unannounced and unexpected and I had a quick visit. He would never stay long anywhere he went. This was to be the last time I ever saw him. Now when I shared that visit with my parents they went into the old spiel about this and that and I told them I was NOT a part of that and had no wish to be dragged into it anymore. I had been raised to hate/dislike him and it never quite took. What unfortunately did take was a simple did not care one way or the other about him. We were in Rochester NY area--he in Albany NY area and I did not like my grand-father anyway sour man that he was.

So this last Monday out of the blue the cp goes off and oldest idiot brother Don is on the phone. He finally tracked my cell phone down that I had for two years and never bothered to update him. Had not talked to him in six years since Dad died and was content with the status quo. Now he rears his simpering head back into my life with news.

Uncle Harold has died.

Three weeks ago.

My soul starts to curdle. Three weeks and I'm just NOW being told. My sister certainly knows my number--we talk monthly. Something is up. Plus this happened when Aunt Carrie died. Sure I stay out of New York--to its loss--but I never said I was totally cut off from my nest of vipers back there.

I then make the soul destroying mistake of asking how Mom took the news.

"Oh she's glad he's dead."

This is when I knew finally that Mom's hatreds could last to the grave. Could not even let that miserly wretch of a man go without a glimmer of pity. Trust me Harold was no prize and no one you really wanted to be with without washing your hands afterward. But enough of that.

It seems there is some money in this for me and my siblings and my mother too oddly enough. A lawyer letter is in the mail and please sign and return and 30-60 days a couple of thousand might show up. I'm getting annoyed. Don is at best a bad liar and prone to exaggerate. I downsize $2000 to $200 in my mind and start cursing him for puting the carrot in the brain cells. Suddenly I'm very tired of family and life in general. My brother goes on to say Harold gave a house to HIS son, Joey, who I know I haven't seen in 30 years easy. Don has power of attorney and already sold the domicile for $30,000. Fast work which explains the mystery of the three week notice. I wonder two things: is Harold dancing in Heaven or keeping dad company in Hell. I have no illusions as to their spiritual condition. Not anymore. The other is how much Don raked off as a finder's fee for his kid's share. I leave both questions unasked but the soul continues to curdle.

My sister Elaine calls a half hour later asking about Don's call and did I get the lawyer paperwork. Came that night--cut and dried. In fairness to Don he was the only one shallow enough to pretend to care about Harold (Don only cares about himself I hasten to assure you and with no fear of libel as I type this). It has paid him well also. When his trailer got crushed by a tree and he had no insurance on it (he's cheap and takes his chances) he bragged that he called Harold and Harold gave him $10,000 to buy a new one. I calmly (and smugly) tell him he always was the favorite nephew. They deserved each other.

Half hour later Ruth calls and the car is acting up.

I begin whining to God who assures me He is in my presence but I sulk anyway and start withdrawing from people. Started here but I might actually be growing up just a tiny bit because I got over the exile faster then even I thought I would.

Ruth's car is still doing ok knock on wood.

I take no pleasure in Harold's death and only a twinge of pity. I suspect that is all he'll receive. But I am really fed up with Mom. I have this very real fear that when her time comes I shall breathe a great sigh of relief and a sense of a burden lifted. As I said no glory to God. And I am ashamed that I am NOT MORE ashamed then I am.

Thanks to all here that care for the old grizzley and I am well afterall and God is still good.