They can hurt from the grave.
I never thought of Don and Connie’s relatives as my relatives, but Connie had a niece whom I really liked. Her name was Ann, and I adored her. Like all the nephews and nieces of Don and Connie, she was almost fifteen years older than me. All through my childhood, she kept in touch, often sending me exotic gifts from her travels around the world. Her husband was a Canadian diplomat.
When I reached a point of breaking when I was in grade twelve, I quit school, told Don that I was sick of looking after his house, and I fled to Trinidad where Ann was living at the time. She welcomed me and I stayed with her for quite a while. Eventually she negotiated a return for me that meant I got back into my classes without penalty.
And then she suddenly she stopped answering my emails and calls. I was hurt and shocked. I traced down her eldest son in California, and called him, only to find that he, too, was out of favour with his mother. She did not speak to him for six years, and Rhos, her son, kept assuring me it was her, not me.
Ann stopped talking to me almost 30 years ago. I’ve been keeping in touch with Rhos ever since. He knew how much I loved and missed his mom, and yet when she died this past December, no one contacted me. I discovered that she had died yesterday when I Googled her. I’ve been doing that for years, always hoping I’d find a way to connect.
I was sad all day yesterday, and angry with Rhos, but I think that is the last time any member of the Tyrell or York family will ever hurt me.
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My big accomplishment yesterday was watering. I also got some lovely chill time in while on my recliner in the sun. It was cool yesterday, especially in the house, so late in the day, I lit a fire. In June! But for the rest of this week, and next, I doubt that there’ll be another fire. It’s predicted to get up to almost 30° on Sunday.
I shall putter in the garden today, and as I did yesterday, and I will likely go to bed quite early as the labour of the day tuckers me out.
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