How to start a war, part 2

A tintype of 5 children, at least one of whom is dead.
“Taken from life: The unsettling art of death photography” —BBC June 5, 2016

Part 1.

Can we stipulate that people die?

In any negotiation, one must define one’s terms. The day after Bros #1 & #2, Paul and Nick, went to visit Aunts Susie and Millie, which reception was hostile to begin with, to ask about liquidating Mom’s portion of the house, and got a very hostile response, then left in a state of gasted flabbers, we tried again.

This time it involved a phone, Nick, me, and Mom in a hospital room. We called. Nick was doing the talking, and he asked the profound question and current familial meme that should be the first go-to in any situation where one is tempted to prolong the suffering of a loved one (including animals) because you can’t let go and you’re just that fucking selfish. Yes. Yes, you are.

Can we stipulate that people die?

It took them way too long to answer that question, which, for a 79-year-old and an 83-year-old, is pretty damned weird. It also creates a philosophical/theological quandary:

If you believe in a loving God and a pretty awesome afterlife even before Judgment Day, why are you afraid of dying?

Do you not believe what you profess to believe?

Where is your faith?

How to start a war, part 1

The cover of William Faulkner's book AS I LAY DYING.

I’m going to air my family’s dirty laundry because the whispers, half-truths, and manipulation that have been levied against my family—particularly my mother, who is innocent in all this—with people who’ve known us 25+ years who’ve believed it and never asked for our side of the story, has pushed me past my limit. So far, I’ve only been setting the record straight privately, and even then I’m not quite believed. Protesting too much is gauche even if you’re right, so I had decided to let it go, but my second-oldest cousin’s snubbing of my mother is the last straw.
You want to slap us in the stocks on the town square, Aunt Susie? Fine. But I have a platform you don’t.

Read more