So I let myself get fleeced in the separation and my boss, a friend, fires me on the same day. I’ll skip past the scrambling for a job, dealing with Peter’s calculating greed (Rebecca, I took Leland to the mall and bought him a t-shirt, so I’ll just take that off the top of next month’s child support) and go right into the worst of all. The grand finale, the pain of pains, the thing that got me drinking heavily for the first time in my life. Ah, Mom. At last I understand. I get it. I know why you did it. Your son. Your beloved son.
I forgive you, Mom. Jesus Christ, how did you do it? How did you survive? How did I? Shit. Shit upon shit upon shit. I can’t let it go, I can’t hold it in, can’t stuff this into a convenient drawer in my mind and think about it later. It’s loud, it’s red, it’s angry and vicious and bites with needle teeth.
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