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I dig cemeteries, but I don't dig graves.

2004-05-10 - no time

My brother Rory called me late last night to say hi. Since yesterday was Mother's Day and we don't have one anymore, he went to visit her gravesite during the day.

Whenever I go home, and my family says, hey do you want to go see Mom? I say no, thanks. Because I think what is there to see? She's not there, and it's really just a sad time. Usually when I'm home it's either Christmas and cold or not Christmas and raining and cold. I don't see the point. Maybe someone will set me straight on that one day; I think it's kind of like a display of some kind for your friends and family's benefit, rather than a respect thing for the now dead person. Like look, I remember her, I'm going to go and stare at her gray dismal surroundings. She'll never suspect I'm there, but I'll know. And you guys will know, because I'll tell you. I could be wrong.

Rory tells me

" So I go to see Mom, and I bring her a cigar and a lighter to put on her gravesite, say hi."

But Mom wasn't a smoker.

"Yeah I know, I just thought it would be a nice thing to do. Maybe she'd like it. So I was gonna lay them right near the grave, set her up, but then I noticed the grave looked really weird! Like the dirt was just freshly piled on top of the ground where she was. As if it was just dug up. I thought that's fucked up! What's going on?"

I didn't think it sounded so right either, considering we buried her in '97, but it was late and Mother's Day was just about over, and he was spooking me a little but his spirits (no joke there) were high so I figured the story had a decent enough ending.

"Then I looked at the dirt a little and it looked lower than I remembered it. I was thinking what the fuck did they do! Someone took Mom! Who would do this? They must have wanted her watch she was wearing."

The watch wasn't nice enough to wait seven years to come back for. I remember at the last day of the wake before they closed the casket, and most people didn't want to be in the room for that. Except me and two of my brothers. The wake professionals were asking us did we want to say goodbye again before they sealed it for good. My brother Sal leaned over to me and said "I'm not going anywhere. Im keeping my eye on these clowns, they'll steal the ring right off her finger if you don't watch them." Anyway, maybe Rory's been talking to him lately. I asked him what happened finally.

"So I was freaking out, I called everyone. I called the groundskeeper over, I called Grandma, Dad, I even tried to call the chaplain. Who would do this? I finally got a hold of Dad's girlfriend, and she said sometimes the rain makes the dirt look like it was dug up, and it lowers a little. OK, that was good. So I stuck the cigar in the ground and put the lighter next to it. And I left."

Rory deals in cigars, he does it for a living. In fact, after my mother died, and I lost my mind and went "on a little supervised vacation", he sent me and my "newest friends at the retreat" a case of cigars and we smoked them all, and I was really happy to be a smoker then. His cigars always came at a special time, and besides they were good, really really good. I don't know one thing about them, but I was thrilled that they were so tasty good.

And once when I was in NY for a few days, and I was visiting Rory one of the nights, and I was trying to have a long distance relationship with a bicoastal guy who lived four blocks from Rory - well Rory gave me a LOT of cigars to bring to this guy. He liked cigars a lot, and so we figured it would be a nice gesture.

"You should give him these. These are really good. Here take these too. If he knows anything about cigars, he'll like these. But since it's raining, I'll give you a tupperware container, and some paper towels over them. Make sure you tell him to keep them moist, like he can put a damp sponge below this, and that will keep them moist enough so they don't dry up."

I think I got everything he said. Sponge sponge sponge, and keep them from drying out, and some humidifier that he should get to keep them in. So he sealed the tupperware container, hugged me goodbye, and hailed me a cab in the absolute most aggressive downpouring of rain I have ever seen in my sober life.

And when I got to this guy's place, I should've known better. Not only was his apartment 23 times bigger than anyone I knew in NY, but it was beautiful. I was soaking wet, and this guy was kind of really tidy, from what I could tell. But before I forgot, right after I said hello, I whipped out the tupperware and rambled off the specific directions Rory just gave me.

"These are good. These you should put in a humidifier, if you can get one. Also, if you are interested, keeping them from drying out is so important. Put them with a wet sponge, I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Or you can also add damp paper towels and layer them..."

And I peeled back the plastic lid to show him. So then what did he do? He slowly turned me around (like maybe a 90* turn) and I looked down at what was most definately the most brilliant display of hundreds of cigars in a lighted rotating jeweled case I had ever seen. It was glowing, not to mention sparkling,and I would guess it used to hold diamond engagement rings or the dead sea scrolls.

"You mean like my humidor?"

I knew at that moment that we would never, ever, ever be.

Back to Rory. This story above has no happy ending. I told him that I spoke to our younger brother Rob, and how he had emailed me "I'm a mess!" a few days ago, and then never responded to my following "Do you need help?" emails. I shouldn't mention him to Rory, he gets mad.

"You know what? He's a fucking - do you know what I feel like doing lately? Everything he's put this family through? I feel like - give me his email address. I feel like saying 'fuck you, we've had it Rob. You're like a fucking non entity already. You're doing nothing for anyone in this life.' I almost feel like - I hate to say it but I almost feel like it would be easier for everyone and himself if he were just to get it over with already and die. He's a total waste, for years."

"He might be one of those people that looks and acts decent enough to get away with it for now, and then one day, they've turned into someone you can't even be around for one minute. Rob is a good looking guy, and that probably gets him in trouble."

"Yes, and he's only thirty. It's fucking ridiculous."

But you know, I reminded Rory that Rob is sick. He's really a sick person from all of the stuff he's been taking, and it screws up your mind after a while. Of course you never really lose hope, you just act like you have. And I know every single person in my family feels the same way. There's a line in some of the literature that recovering people have that states the almost obvious regarding the ones we love who are still sick.

"In a vague way their families and friends sense that these drinkers are abnormal, but everybody hopefully awaits the day when the sufferer will rouse himself from his lethargy and assert his power of will. The tragic truth is that if the man be a real alcoholic, the happy day may not arrive."

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