A Conversation Better Not Had

Dear Bruce,

I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me on the phone this morning.  I could tell by your tone that you did not believe me when I explained that I have been trying to find you for five years.  

I know that our conversation took you by complete surprise but I have to tell you that I am incredibly disappointed.  I understand that you and your sister did not see eye to eye growing up.  I realize that even as adults, you did not get along with one another.  I understand that your relationship with your sister is estranged.  BUT . . . 

. . . I reached out to you to inform you that your sister is battling Alzheimer’s Disease.  

. . . I thought you might want to see her while she might still know who you are.

. . . I hoped that you might care.  

. . . I was so W.R.O.N.G.

I did not spend months searching for you on the internet to ask you for help; although caring for your sister has become my second full-time job.

I did not reach out to you because I was looking for you to provide financial support; although caring for your sister is often a financial burden on my family.

I did not talk to you on the phone today hoping that you would provide me with emotional support; although caring for your sister is a daily emotional drain. 

. . . You SHOULD want to know that your sister is battling Alzheimer’s Disease.

. . . You SHOULD want to see your sister while she might know who you are.  

. . . You SHOULD care.  

. . . I am not wrong.   

There was a long pause on the phone before I asked you if you would like me to keep you abreast of your sister’s condition.  I was actually waiting for you to initiate some kind of plan.  I was ready to open my house for you and your wife to stay.  You didn’t hesitate to respond, “Call me when she’s dead!”  

“Call me when she’s dead?”  Your sister has been my best friend for the last 26 years.

“Call me when she’s dead?”  Your sister was the most beloved teacher in the town of New Hartford for 37 years.  She was my mentor.  

“Call me when she’s dead?”  Your sister has been the woman that my three children have always looked up to, admired, and confided in.  

“Call me when she’s dead?”  Up until five years ago, your sister was my rock.  Your sister is everything to me.  

I didn’t tell your sister that I was looking for you.  I assumed you would want to see her, maybe engage her in a conversation that she might actually remember.  

. . . I don’t need your support.

. . . I don’t need your thanks.  

. . . I don’t need you.

After posting this slice, I pray that I forget our conversation.  Believe me when I tell you, I will not call you when she’s dead!


In honor of your sister, I have written the following:  

 

Published by georgiaaustin1

Wife, Mother, Dog Lover, Elementary Assistant Principal excited to write

6 thoughts on “A Conversation Better Not Had

  1. Oh my. This is just heartbreaking. I cannot even imagine the shock of hearing such cruel words. His sister is very lucky to have you in her corner. Sending creepy internet hugs. Bruce sounds like an asshole.

    Liked by 1 person

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