Coughlin's Law

I am home from California after burying my gramma. Shut the fuck up with your condolences.

It was a long time coming and there was the expected sense of relief. Relief at not having to deal with a demanding old broad who could badger you into wanting to smother her with a pillow even as you were caring for her. Relief that this pain in the ass whom I love is finally done with this part of the ride and can be with her boys again. Relief that I can stop feeling like I ran away from home and left my brother Anthony to deal with the fallout.

She is buried and I hope in that she can find some semblance of peace; to be safe, I refused to bury her with my dad.

While this was not the way I wanted to see my California again, I am still happy I got to see my California again. The mountains hugging my drive to and fro always leaves me feeling never truly lost.

Being back in Mexico Beach I am struck by the homogeny of this place.

I miss having Thai food for lunch and Ethiopian for dinner. I miss the biker dudes sitting in the same restaurant as the black dudes. I miss the relative safety of California in a Donald Trump America.

I saw some friends. I saw some family I hadn't seen since my dad's funeral and probably won't see again until, well, considering all the family we share is dead, never.

Mostly, I tried to lean in. I learned things about my brother Carlos I never knew. I loved seeing my baby sister fat with a new baby. The sheer fucking joy of it. I learned that all six of my father's children want to be cremated. Group think or, whatever. I got to be close the five people who matter to me in ways no one else ever can.

I guess I can thank gramma for bringing me home for that.

She was a pain in the ass but, she loved me. That much I know.

Titty sprinkles!

I don't really have a song for this.


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