Toilet Reports & Wordless Goodbyes

"It's Just A Ride"

Where was Bill Hicks when I was six years old? I could have used his wisdom.

It's just a ride.
But we always **** those good guys who try and tell us that. You ever noticed that? And let the demons run amok. But it doesn't matter, because…

It's just a ride.

-- Bill Hicks (1961 - 1994)

One morning, my father herded me into his Master bathroom to share what he said was “important news.”

I remember climbing onto the toilet in anticipation, feet dangling above the navy-blue shag bath mat. Maybe my parents had finally made good on their promise to “try” to give me a little sister.

“I’m sorry to tell you this. Unfortunately, last night Aunt Margie and Mitsy passed away. They went to Heaven.”

Mitsy was my first cat. Aunt Margie was my great aunt and my paternal grandfather’s older sister. She had elegant white hair in waves, wore her regal beauty with class, was a bit icy and formal, and never married.

She fell in love once, I’d heard years later, but was unceremoniously abandoned. One day he vanished without a trace and never spoke to her again. No explanation or goodbye. Perhaps he had been married or gay. Regardless, she was devastated enough to be done with most humans, especially men.

Apparently ghosting happens in every generation, not just Gen X and Z.

Since I didn’t have grown-up clearance, I wasn’t privy to the specific details surrounding her passing, but my father didn’t seem surprised.

I’m not sure why my cat and great aunt chose to depart on the same day. Perhaps to make their passages a wee less bumpy? New to the death game, I remember feeling heaviness and confusion:

‘What was my father going to DO about this situation?’ I wondered. I’m sure he could do something.