I just received a phone call from the Police.  Not the band.  The actual police.  A call from Sting would have been much cooler.

My Dad was a hoarder.  You know that.  I’ve mentioned it several times.  It had so much influence on my childhood, my mother’s drug addition, my drug addiction, and most importantly how I view “stuff”.  During my Paxilated years, I became a hoarder too .. always looking for that one thing that was going to make me happy.  Nothing ever did.

Years ago, my uncle traded my dad a gun for a truck engine.  Or Dad held the gun as collateral until he was paid for the engine.  I don’t know the details.  I knew nothing about any of it until my uncle came up to me at my Dad’s funeral.  Yes … at his funeral.  I knew they hadn’t spoken for years and I thought “oh how sweet .. he’s going to say something nice” when he waved me over and said to me RIGHT BESIDE THE CASKET, “years ago your dad took a gun of mine and if you find it, I want it back”.  Those might not have  been the exact words, but it was something close to that.  The grief and the shock probably blurred my mind a little.

Dad’s funeral was last May.  There have been several phone calls from my uncle since then, including one last October while he was driving to our house to come find the gun.  The man shouldn’t even have car keys!

Well evidently he has now gone to police, claiming that we have his property.  The officer could tell that something wasn’t quite right with my uncle and he’s going to try to explain to him that this is a civil matter and there’s nothing the police can do about it.  At this point, I just find it sad.

It will take years for us to find anything in that house or barn and that’s AFTER my mom decides she wants it cleaned up.  I’m just so tired of fighting over stuff.

D and I had this conversation just a few days ago.  There is nothing on that land, in that house or in that barn that holds good memories of me.  If my sisters and brother want it … they can have it.   They can have it ALL.  It’s just stuff.

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