When my mother passed away in 2006,
the entire family followed suit. Not
physically as she had, but in a way that
was psychically similar. A parade of
skeletons marched out of the family
closet playing “When the Saints go
Marching In,” and we found none of us
were in that number.
They say you can’t take anything with
you when you die. Not true. My mother
took with her the gossamer veil spread
over the deep wounds carved into our
family tree by a father’s rage.
We all died that day.
Void Engineer 