Somethings Never End, Zoe Pare [best book reader .txt] 📗

When I was 10, my great uncle died. What he left behind was my great aunt, and a devastated family of 10. Don’t get me wrong, he was old, we were kind of expecting it. Not my great aunt though. She loved my great uncle, sometimes. In my family as you get older, you kind of get, well angrier. But it’s the angry kind of love. We’re not Italian so it’s not that kind of yelling, my family background is Polish. We’re known for not dying until we’re pretty much a 1000 years old.

My great uncle died on a Saturday. Sunny with few clouds, he was 103. The funeral was set to go on Monday. Being a child at that point I remember lots of key things during that Sunday. My whole mother’s side was crammed into a small farm house. When my great uncle first came to Canada he first bought an apartment in Toronto. He later then met my great aunt, some where in their marriage he chose to sell their nice apartment and move to the country saying “City’s not for me, it’s the country where I aught to be!” My great uncle loved to sing, wasn’t good at it, but he liked to sing. It drove my great aunt crazy! See she was more of a quiet person. She worked in a library until she met my great uncle. She also kept things bottled up for awhile, until she got old and started yelling at everything that made a sound. Including my great “always singing” uncle.

All Sunday I spent the day outside playing with cousins I’ve never seen before but they swore they knew me. As Monday grew closer, the whole family was expecting my great aunt to be a mess. Not a single tear yet. Monday came and they rolled my great uncle out into a dusty old wooden funeral parlor. The air was stale, just like my great uncle. Being only a child, running around in a building like this was wonderful. My imagination exploded into amazing adventures of jungles and exploring lost cities. As Monday came to a close, people left to go home. And the little country house became a little less crammed, until it was just my mother, father, and myself.

It was a Wednesday when my great aunt started talking again. She was talking before, but now she was letting things out, as I said she keeps things bottled up. As usual in my family when your not wanted you’re sent outside to “play”. While wondering around playing with sticks and rocks, I noticed my great aunt walking down the dirt road. I quickly turned it into a game, spying on my great aunt. Well, it never really worked out. Truth be told half way down the road my great aunt turned around and yelled “I can see you child! For Christ’s sake get out of the bush!! You’re walking with me now!” she enjoyed yelling when she could so I quickly dropped my stick and followed like a little dog.

As we neared the end of the dirt road, I saw the cemetery where my great uncle was put to rest in. My heart beat faster, while my imagination went wild with ideas of what we were going to do. As she got closer to the headstone my great aunt told me she needed a word with my great uncle and that I should sit down some where and not be a bother. Taking a seat on some other old guy’s headstone I watched and listened to my great aunt.

She burst out screaming stomping her brittle feet and swinging her arms. Telling my great uncle all her problems she had about him over the years. She told him how angry she was when he broke her vase. When he forgot her birthday, why he didn’t even get her flowers for Valentines Day, and the list went on. As a child I had little sense of time, but for my 8th birthday my parents had gotten me a pink watch with flowers all over it. I watched as the big hand went past 12 to 1 and then to 2. Finally, I heard car wheels crushing dirt and rocks coming closer to the cemetery closer and closer it came. My mother came running out and picked me off of the headstone of that old guy. And we went home with my great aunt mumbling in the back seat of the car.

Looking back on that day, I don’t see how we ever got my great aunt into that car in the first place. But what I do still clearing remember to this day is that until my great aunt died, she went back to that cemetery every day. Sun, rain, hail, and snow couldn’t keep my great aunt away from yelling at my great uncle. My mother laughs every time she tells other people of the story. She says even with my great uncle dead she was never done yelling at him. Now when I die, I predict that I’ll see them both, my great uncle slumped over in his rocking chair mindlessly fiddling around with something and my great aunt screaming and waving her arms in the background. God do I love what’s to come.

Publication Date: 02-17-2010

All Rights Reserved