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Originally posted by AnIntellectualRedneck
My mother was killed when I was 13, and things just got worse after that.
My sisters became amazingly bad without our mother around. I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of, but I turned it around for love (people say that young love comes to naught, but it saved my life). My father became distant and hardened out of grief. He hasn't remarried and probably never will.
Her grave is a lot like one of those that you see in New Orleans; the big ones above grounds? I forget what you call them (crypts maybe?), but it's rather odd seeing as how we don't have to worry about the water table.
In any case, it amazes me sometimes how fresh the grief is even now. It's been such a long time, and I'll go months remembering happy times. And then one day it will just hit me like an knife straight in my heart, and it will take all my strength just to keep from bawling like a baby.
It was a rainy fall day when they buried her. Why is it that all funerals happen when it's raining? I've never been to a single funeral where it wasn't raining.edit on 17-7-2011 by AnIntellectualRedneck because: (no reason given)