**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.
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