Tripping My Trigger

I saw this image this morning on FB (somewhere, don't recall where), and it triggered the memory that my grandfather (mom's abusive prick of a father), in true stereotypical Italian-old-man-fashion, he used to raise pigeons (specifically, carrier pigeons). 

Many years ago, he used to compete. One of my first memories of my grandfather, we're in his basement of the old family house (not the house described later in this post), and I'm maybe 5 years old? And there I was, holding a pigeon chick... which promptly shit all over my hand. 

I think back to the stench of dog shit and dog piss for the German shepard they kept down there, tethered and in the dark, antisocial motherfucker, who one day bit me, and forever has left me with a fear and reluctance towards German Shepards. 

I think back to about a year after my grandmother died (perhaps longer?), in preparing my grandfather's house for sale, the entire family was expected to go there and help pack. I, of course, had my boundary in full effect. I stopped doing anything for the old man, after the last good deed I did for him, rather than thank me, he insulted me to my face. So, no, I was not one of the lackeys there, digging through his filthy stuff. 

I think back to my dad telling me of how everyone had bundled up outright trash to go to the curb, broken shit and such, and how when they'd return the next day, all that broken shit had found its way back into the garage. 

But wait. There's more. Approximately ten years, perhaps fifteen even, prior to the sale of his house, he stopped raising pigeons. He had an elaborate system of coops in the garage. And it was expected that ALL HANDS ON DECK were to go in there, and clean out the coops. Yes. For 10-15 years, those coops sat as they remained, full of feathers and petrified pigeon shit, and bugs and old seed, and no doubt mold and who knows what other types of inhalation hazards. Fuck all of you people, clean that shit! 

I think of how unacceptable all this was (mind you, the old fuck's birthday was three days ago), and how every last person that helped that old, miserable, thankless fuck, had endangered themselves with who-knows-what they were inhaling, but also in doing so, enabling more of this self-centered, overly-demanding, narcissistic bullshit, which would continue on for another 22 years until his ultimate passing.

I think back to the last winter my mother worked. Her car up and died. No cell phone handy. Somehow a cop happened by, and drove her to her father's house, where she asked him if she could borrow his car. "No." 

I think back to how cold that night was. I remember my dad driving to the old man's house, and then struggling to get Audrey into his truck. A comedy of errors no doubt, but in freezing temps, it took my dad all winter long to shake that bout of bronchitis as a result. 

I think back to when my dad was in the hospital dying, and Audrey's roof sprung a leak, and she merely asked the old fuck for a loan. To which, his response was, "Go to the bank like everyone else." 

I think back to the crocodile tears that piece of shit old man cried when my father died. It was utter bliss to know he would not show up at the funeral. Because like Audrey, he was too hobbled and handicapped (though, in his defense, it was rheumatoid arthritis, not mobility issues due a combination of obesity and related co-morbidities like Audrey--who, was unable to attend her father's funeral four short years later). 

I think back to the old man's funeral. There I was, playing the part fate had cast for me. And there we all were, being there, some on our own accord, some because Audrey couldn't be there herself. Yet another example of others do do doing for Audrey, thankless tasks that are quickly forgotten. 

I think of Audrey. I think of all those years of abuse. Every last hateful word. Every last heart string manipulated. 
I think of the expectation/demand that my sister manually disimpact her. 
I think of those filthy fucking syringes in her box of books. 
I think of all that, and then some, and cannot help but think of how outrageous all this is, all this has been, and knowing my sister has employed some boundaries, and knowing and hoping that the never-ending cycle of expect, demand, abuse, might be coming to a close when Audrey ultimately passes, whenever that happens to be.

I think of what a huge waste of time all of this, this family life, such as it is, such as it was, has been.