a funeral in december

a story i began when i went to Chicago for my uncle's funeral

 

A funeral in December

 

It was a dreadful winter indeed, snow covered rooftops seemed to reign over miles of land.  It was as if you were staring into a white abyss, where ice and cold dwell.

For most, winter was a time of cheer, thinking of snowball fights, and sugar plums. The thought however; was not so in the Bailey-Stevenson house. Winter was a taxing time of the year, especially this time with Mr. Stevenson’s death and all. The house was busy with an irritated buzz making funeral plans for that man, however; no one shed a tear, and no one reminisced about good memories. In fact no one (with the exception of the grandchildren that were too young to remember him) even cared much. They viewed his death as a bothersome mishap.  

 Mr. Stevenson was a simple man with only two dials of emotion, yes only two… furious, and on the brink of insanity. He didn’t have some underlying emotion or traumatic event that caused him to be that way. He had a good childhood, as well as any could be.

He had plenty of support on his endeavors so there was really no reason for him to behave the way he did. Perhaps his head wasn’t screwed on just right.

     I didn’t hate him though; he was my father I wasn’t allowed to, no one in my family was. It wasn’t until my mother Lenora Bailey-Stevenson died from cancer that I really saw what a horrible person he was.

“Serves me right for marrying a catholic w***e.” He said at her funeral. Fury of beyond measure hit the core of my being like a sixteen wheeler. I lost it…completely.