Funeral what would happen if........

Today, I attended a funeral, and if you know me, you know I'm not exactly the poster child for caring about things—let alone people. But, hey, even a cynic like me has a soft spot for two people: Christine's grandmother (whom she adorably called Oma) and the person whose funeral I was at today.

Let’s rewind for a second. My mom got sick while living in Sioux Lookout. The doctors were treating her for the wrong problem, which, surprise, didn’t help. Fast forward to her breakup with my stepdad, and she decides to move to Newfoundland with her grandson—the only one she'll ever have, because I'm not exactly father-of-the-year material, and my brother has sworn off kids.

Within a week, maybe ten days, my mom was so sick she landed in the hospital. Turns out, she had a liter of infection around her hip. Apparently, her appendix had burst, and instead of sending a distress signal upward, the infection decided to sneak attack downward. During this whole medical mystery tour, my mom's heart stopped four times. Not to downplay it, but, Christine, I know you had it worse when you lost your mom (sorry for your loss). Meanwhile, Harold, the star of today's funeral, was also dealing with his own saga of medical misadventures. It took the doctors about a decade to figure out what was wrong with him—by which point it was like, "Thanks for the help, doc!"

Despite his own struggles, Harold always made it a point to ask how I was doing and how my mom was. Even on his worst days, he had the time to check in, which made it really awkward to share bad news. It felt like kicking a puppy, but honesty is the best policy, right?

I miss you, Oma. I miss you, Harold. See you on the flip side.

As I sat through the funeral, I couldn't help but wonder: how many people would show up at mine? I'm thinking maybe four. Two, for sure: my son and my mom. Then I spiraled into a deep philosophical question—do atheists even have funerals? I mean, it's a pretty religious thing, right? I've tried to believe in God, but it's like trying to make sense of quantum physics after a bottle of wine.

And then the million-dollar question: where would my ashes go? Pretty sure no one would want me hanging around, so maybe just toss me in the trash? Cemeteries aren't my vibe, and there’s no place that screams “final resting place” to me. Right now, it feels like I’m getting punished for not believing in God.

And that's my existential comedy rant for the day!

When ‘Go Big or Go Home’ Goes Too Far

You know, I never really thought that she wouldn't want to talk. I just assumed we'd get through it like we always did, patch things up, and move on. But, as it turns out, I was totally wrong. I kind of forgot about all the emotional baggage I piled onto her and how much I put her through mentally. It's like I had selective amnesia about my own actions. At least I can say that I was never physical, so I have no regrets in that department.

Back in the day, I had a bad habit of picking fights, and not just any fights—the ones that I would intentionally make worse, almost like it was a twisted game. There was something about stirring the pot that felt... thrilling? Like, "Hey, if we're going to argue, let's go big or go home!" It was my own bizarre version of fun. And now, looking back, I see how toxic that was. Classic case of "What was I thinking?"

Anyway, she might stumble across this blog or she might not, but I think this is my way of finding closure—or at least I hope it is. She's happy now, living her best life with Shawn, and I really don't want to be the guy stuck replaying old episodes of our past. But, man, it's hard not to think about her when so many things remind me of her. It's like I'm in some cheesy romantic comedy, where every song, smell, or random object brings back a memory. It's almost comical, if it weren't so frustrating.

So, here I am, trying to move on. Day by day, I'm focusing on living my best life, just me and Dexter, my loyal sidekick who’s always up for an adventure—or a lazy day on the couch. It’s weird adjusting to this new normal, but I'm hopeful. Who knows, maybe one day, these memories will fade, and I’ll be able to think about her without feeling like I’m stuck in a rerun of our greatest hits and misses. Until then, it's one day at a time, trying not to be haunted by the ghost of relationships past.

My Issues i didnt know i had.

So, I’ve always been a bit of an eccentric weirdo. It’s not news to me—I’ve always known that. What I didn’t know was why I was like that. I’d spout off the most bizarre things, and it was just my normal. Like, whenever it was nap time, I’d dramatically announce, “Wake me up when the bad man leaves!” I had zero clue where that came from, but it was my standard nap-time mantra. It’s pretty wild that no one ever questioned me about it. Like, how do you just let someone casually say that and not go, “Hey, what’s with the bad man?” But, you know, c’est la vie.

Anyway, flashback to this camping trip at some park. We’re all snuggled in our tents for the night, and I have this intense nightmare. I'm not going to get into the gory details because, honestly, it was like trying to interpret an abstract painting—confusing and vaguely terrifying. So, the first night, I kept it to myself. Then it happened again the next night. Same nightmare. Same awful ending. Rinse and repeat. By night three, it was like a horror movie trilogy, but without the popcorn or the option to change the channel.

Finally, I confessed to Christine—and I’m pretty sure Lacy was there too, though my memory’s a bit foggy on that. We had this deep, philosophical discussion about my recurring nightmare and decided it was probably something I ate. Or maybe it was all the drinks I’d been having—back then, my diet was basically “whatever was in the fridge and whatever was in the cooler.”

Here’s the kicker: it wasn’t until Christine and I had split up that I finally figured out where my nightmare came from. Turns out, it was linked to something that had happened way back when—something I’d totally forgotten about until I started piecing it together. So, in the end, my strange dreams were just a blast from my own past, proving once again that my life is basically one long, confusing sitcom.

I was the mistake

Alright, let’s rewind to the good old days of yesteryear. Picture this: we met through friends, but she was all wrapped up with another guy. Their relationship was like a soap opera, full of drama and cliffhangers, yet they were still hanging in there. Meanwhile, I was knee-deep in my own mess—about to be slapped with house arrest and fighting off the urge to set up a home office in a tiny cell. So, love was not exactly on my to-do list.

Then, one sunny summer day, her, her drama-filled boyfriend, and a couple of their pals decided to crash at my place. My apartment building boasted a pool, and with temperatures rising like a hot pizza oven, it was pool party central. Cue the scene: a guy and a girl, both in swimsuits, bobbing around in the pool like two overly flirtatious rubber ducks.

Naturally, when you throw people together in a pool, you can’t just expect them to talk about the weather. So, somewhere between the cannonballs and poolside gossip, sparks flew. I’m still not sure who mentioned what or when, but before I knew it, we were on a date. It’s like the universe decided to hit the fast-forward button on our lives.

In the beginning, things were fantastic. We found out we had so much in common—it was like discovering that my long-lost twin had been living under a different name and swimming in the same pool all along.

that was us in the beginning, the earliest photo I have

The Mistake

So I messaged ex wife Christine Yesterday.

Alex is reaching out to Christine after years of self-reflection and therapy. He admits that he falsely claimed to have cheated on her to prompt her to end their relationship because he wasn't in the right mental state and refused to seek help. Now, having hit rock bottom and recovered, Alex realizes how much he loves and misses Christine. He expresses regret for his actions and hopes that Christine can find it in her heart to forgive him. He acknowledges her relationship with Shawn and wishes her happiness, although it's painful for him. Alex opens up about his struggles with mental health and his determination to remain single, convinced he'll never find another partner like Christine. He recalls shared memories and items that remind him of her, and he struggles with the weight of his past while attempting to move forward. Alex also expresses condolences for the loss of Christine's aunt and mom.

Bullet Point Summary:

- Therapy and Reflection:

- Alex was advised by his therapist to right his past wrongs.

- Admits he lied about cheating to end the relationship.

- Mental State and Regrets:

- Wasn't in the right state of mind during the breakup.

- Refused to get help initially.

- Realization and Love:

- Hit rock bottom and realized the depth of his feelings for Christine.

- Still loves her and misses the relationship.

- Attempts to Reconnect:

- Tried to reconnect during their separation but assumed Christine had moved on with someone named Shawn.

- Personal Struggles:

- Struggles with mental health and thoughts of suicide.

- Resuscitated after a suicide attempt in 2019.

- Memories and Regret:

- Numerous reminders of Christine and their time together, like cheese, Anna Kendrick, Linkin Park, and sushi.

- Regrets not listening to her and being a hard-headed husband.

- Commitment to Change:

- Claims to have drastically changed his attitude and life perspective over the last decade.

- Decided not to pursue any more relationships.

- Acceptance and Good Wishes:

- Acknowledges and accepts Christine's happiness with Shawn.

- Expresses happiness for her despite his own feelings.

- Sympathy:

- Offers condolences for the loss of Christine's aunt and mom.

Alex poured his heart out, admitting his mistakes and hoping for forgiveness from Christine, with a wish to at least remain friends someday.