A Barrel and a Heap

My last post was written with coeval grief, and thus only held a small amount of anger toward Pedo Piece of Shit.  He did survive the funeral, as I decided that it was better to silently put the malocchio on him than upset my family.  At one point, he sat next to me.  At the memorial.  Less than 6 feet from the body of my shining, stellar, beautiful Godmother.  Luckily, my mother is aware of what Pedo P.o.S. did to me and to others, so she quickly motioned for me to sit next to her, thereby cutting him off from any chance of conversation with myself.  As we all said our final goodbyes at the cemetery, Pedo P.o.S. broke down and said he wasn't ready to let her go, which at the time seemed so genuine... so real.  Not one month later, we all found out that he has a girlfriend.  That less than one hour after she died, he told her brother that he'd have to find a new woman. It seems sadly realistic that he had that girlfriend the whole time my Aunt (who was actually my cousin) was dying.  I cannot waste any further emotion on him at this time.  What I can do is share with you some of the lyrics to the song she sung to myself and all of the other children who were graced with her light as we grew up.  I recently watched "Julie and Julia", and this song was part of the soundtrack; I was unaware of that, and when I heard the first few notes I began to cry and didn't stop until the last note was played. 


Doris Day - A Bushel And A Peck Lyrics

I love you a bushel and a peck
A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck
A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap
A barrel and a heap and I'm talkin' in my sleep
About you, about you
'Cause I love you a bushel and a peck
You bet your purdy neck I do


I love you, Aunt Patty, a bushel and a peck.  I'll miss those hugs around the neck.

Grief Sucks.

**This post was originally written during the week of June 21, 2010.**

Oh, dear reader(s? not likely.).  What a week it has been.  My godmother died on Monday evening, after a very long battle with cancer.  Her husband, Piece of Pedo Shit, hasn't lifted a finger to help her all the years she's been fighting to survive, and if he is able to leave the funeral friday without my cane wrapped around his head, it'll be a miracle. My godmother, Aunt Patty, was a source of beauty, joy, laughter, smiles, love and a perfect touch of sarcasm.  She was an Italian-English marvel with a grin that made you feel loved and worthwhile.  Cancer killed her, but not her spirit or the bright and shining memories we have of her.

I had a list in my head of things to bitch about, but it just isn't as important now.  When my other Aunt called to give the sad news, I cried for a bit but clamped it down (bad habit, I know). My husband just held me and then I decided to paint.  When I paint, I can process without being beaten with thoughts.  There are not enough words to express what painting does for me, nor to state how much my godmother meant to me. 

More bitchings to follow in the near future, I am sure.