“That is mean what you did so sorry if that is and was your best friend that is not only mean but self absorbed and yes more than shitty.  I am many things but Mean is not an adjective that fits me well.”

With no other reference, I received this via text recently from an estranged sibling. That was it. A reflection of a previous conversation referencing my sorrow and guilt avoiding reconnecting with an old friend upon a recent invitation. He died suddenly. Chest pains – then the attack. far too young. Unexpected. Tragic.

She lives alone in a self imposed bubble of anger, regret, and resentment. Ironic the accusation. This from the daughter that viciously reduced mother to tears far too regularly. Selfishly softening the blows of a miserable and isolated life. Severe loneliness beyond a cat, and an inability or willingness to confront those demons within. Resistant to counsel or medication. Unadulterated suffering. And like any true narcissist – the world must join equally in this painful disease of life for those lacking in the necessary tools.

Eventually, Mother lost most her faculties to dementia and no longer could provide any satisfaction to this emotional terrorist simply through robotic silence. Perhaps that was the ultimate justice to my big and vicious sis.

There’s often an irony in life where the guiltiest individuals of brutal human indignities and cruelty attribute similar actions on others, yet see absolutely no similarities in themselves. Politicians for one, come to mind. Anyway.

In the last text she wished me a good life. To count my blessings. That was months ago. Perhaps we are truly and officially done.

And when I can – I do genuinely try to laugh. And sometimes that’s enough.