He died Saturday, my neighbor, who lived across the street. For me it was just a neighbor. I used to see him walking along the sidewalk. From time to time drunk, but always orderly. Holiday trousers and ironed shirts. To me he was just a man running along the sidewalk. My brothers, he was the father. My mom ex-husband. And on Saturday night, for the first hour, eight minutes, he died. Seven in the morning the phone rang mother and brother announced that it has become the unofficial widow. I can only say that a strange feeling. I can not describe what took place in my mind. Such a feeling has never felt. Huge family togetherness, but I'm an alien. And it just felt like I did. My mother helped the brothers to put black dots on the i. He directs towards funeral purpose and reminded of what they might be forgotten. Affairs million. From the refrigerator and Chanter to grave-diggers and funeral dinner. Family tragedy. But I like the glass partitions. Two days patiently sat on the coffin, as if it lie my own father. Mom said that if not staying day of the funeral, the brothers will be very upset. And I do not know how many of them unconscious was quiet when I was watching along with them as the land is allowed casket. I hope that at least a little bit helped. When I was born, Sister from another father, my mother were brothers, all in the name of written documents. And I was christened neighbor, brother father's surname. While I was sitting in the coffin, my name seems to have been written on my forehead enormous letters, and the other around her flashing very annoying light. For the deceased was not written in what proportions, and what will appoint his legacy. Immature bigot said that here, sitting in hay, it is likely that the asset will. And I was hoping that there would be. But I did not expect that so personalized. Usually don't care what others are saying. And here it triggered the commonality factor which crushes evil tongues.
I cried. I cried when fifteen minutes before closing the coffin, my brothers, until now, never shown tears, weeping. If this would have happened, and that I would be born from the same juice, and I'd be crying. And to reach me to give sympathy. But then ... Then the only white magpie is my mother, and now we are together. Both are to blame. Mom, that was not able to live with an alcoholic, and I, as brothers wearing his father's name. Before you read here about my personal experience.
Now, about the absurdity. How much do you think the word ,, son must be long ,, ¾ "? Crowns producer, and the last wishes of the writer coined the word ,, son, write a little differently. Yes, even as tired. The band lay on the inscription ,, sad sons Linas. I sit, I watch, well nice thinking. What here to add. My brother bent down to the ear whispers. Sis ,, as you think it should reach my father? ". To sympathize said that ,, hopefully to paradise. And I only later realized that it was a hint of dead man shoes. The large, square, up to your calves, and the pad is not smooth, as usual the dead. These lozenges can be named Spike. To forbid if the slide next to die, for what should Knocked. The mother decided that the funeral home has a deal with the current fashion twentieth sales. One that is left on in 1985 have been fashionable, good quality shoes. Their little, what fifteen pairs. For normal humans can not fit, but after all, dead men don't kick.
And now about the faith and service to God. My grand grandmother Krincinas was born in the village. Since then, our family tree are expanded. There grew up and my grandmother, and my mother, and my brothers and me. The village became a town. The campus, where everyone knows each other. Krincinas parish has a priest who has long Krincinas serve God and the people. The Mass for baptisms, for the funeral. If the work of the church, such as christenings, enough for 100EUR, if you need to move up the ass of the cemetery, which is more than 500m from the church, aboard the price there be two times. Abstract: funeral, € 200, and the priest would come to the funeral hall, sprinkle with water and the dead had given bless escorted toward the cemetery, before it is twisted on their way to church. People stand, Chanter sing, sing, sing, not as it should come priest his yet, people are still standing, Chanter has nothing to sing. According to the plan lagging twenty minutes. Brother childhood girlfriend, dancing in the car and drive 200 meters to the church. Asking why priest does not arrive send off the deceased. The response is that it rains the rain. Gown gets wet. And assures that we can take coffin and walk towards the church, but he had already greeted with due respect dead man. The beginning of the Mass, the first sentence sounded something like this: ,, Today we gathered here to pay homage to the deceased. " my drawer hangs so far. And now I do not know if in this world there are still something sacred.
I don't understand why this was so difficult to read. Was it originally written in a different language and then translated automatically through Google translate? What a horrible translation--many of the sentences made no sense at all. What a shame.
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