“Seneca, you killed her. Ya killed her dead just as sure as I’m standing here!”
“You stressed her out so much that she had a heartattack and died.”
“Rhiana, stop this fucking foolishness. That’s the shit that got ya momma dead now!”
“She was my big sister. I loved her with everything that I am! And YOU killed her. You struck her dead!”
“Seneca, we all know you killed her. I will never forgive you for it. She was my heart. My eldest daughter, my reason.”
“I fucking hate you! You always do this shit, you’re the reason she’s fucking dead and gone!”
“Rhi, don’t act fucking innocent. You turned yo momma into so many ashes. How stupid are you? How could you let her die like that?”
“Rhiana you’re 18! What the fuck were you doing? How could you let your mother die? My daughter?”
“Seneca you ain’t never gonna do right. Not by you, not by them kids, not by no body. We done seent it. We saw. We saw how you did wrong by ya momma and now she dead.”
“How could you just fucking stand there and let her die? You’re a smart girl. Why didn’t you do something?”
A small look into what’s been said to me and my sister since my mother’s passing, July 23, 2008.
My sister, being the most unsavory of us took the brunt of the jibes, and I got some heat as well.
But its been about 100% her. And my heat died down around 2010.
Our grandmother is the main villain in this. Our Aunt Sybil, her cohort. And all the old people, her minions. Sprinkled with family friends. Our cousins and uncles?
Stayed neutral, while blaming me and sis is subtle, sarcastic ways. Which is just fine.
The title prompt is what my father said to my sister about an hour ago, causing her to pack up her shit and go to a homeless shelter.
Right is right. Wrong is wrong. I love dad. And I love my sister, Seneca. She drives me mad, we fight, she’s unfair, she’s selfish and is disgusting, filthy and hypocritical.
But I’ve never, in my heart of hearts, blamed her. I mean, I can’t. How? How do you say that? Like, it never occured to me. It just, its wrong. I can’t SEE it. I blame myself everyday. And my sister has her own demons and dad has gotten jibes too from my grandmother.
How can you? And then you try to lie about it.
“That’s not what I said!” Says my dad. Cue him, twisting his words.
My sweet, neighborly, asshole dad.
We’ve always had problems with him. He says things and mom cusses him out for being a dickface. And we love him still. But there’s only so much you can take. I wanted my sister gone, but not like this. I hate when this happens.
And I hate when dad shows his nasty side. S’not the first time its been said by him.
*sigh* going to work with a heavy heart. I can’t even watch them go. I could only help them pack so much.
“The road to Hell is paved with Christians.” She says.
