Resurfaced

My paternal grandmother has died. I know this because my birth father, with whom I have a strained relationship, called my mother's house to find out my phone number. My sister, given the circumstances, gave it to him. She called me, though, to give me a heads up.

I haven't talked to him since January of this year when he called to lambast me for my negligence (from his perspective) of his mother in recent years.

I am sure he's going to let his anger simmer and thicken before he calls me to let me know she's died. And I am also sure that he will try to level me at her pending funeral (I have no details at this time) with his rage.

What was started nearly a year ago has reemerged as a battle for me to fight. At this risk of being campy, I am expecting something of a showdown.

I sent out a mass e-mail to friends soliciting their prayers when I heard in anticipation of that very occurrence. A few people have replied to that missive, including the elusive, incognito-as-of-late Gordon. So I guess his fingers weren't broken afterall.

At least I know not to send him any more poems. I can't take that particular silence. It's more difficult than death to me.