In which I have no cause for complaining

When my father died, my brother Steve tried to convince the funeral home to give us an orphan’s discount.

Here in Kansas City, I feel like an orphan, adrift in a sea with no one who shares my blood or a common surname.  The texts and bi-annual visits from my son don’t give me the fix I need.  My sister’s frequent calls nearly take me there.  But still:  The house has emptied, and in this whole damn town, nobody intersects with my biography.

Yesterday my brother Frank and his wife Teresa came to town.  They used my guest room, my couch, and my living room floor. Their son Devin used my child’s rocker to take care of his “learning doll”.  Mark surfed Google Fiber’s 3000 channels.  The adults drank wine until midnight.

Today they returned to load a small old desk into their truck.  Before they pulled back into traffic and the abyss of their soccer schedule, I sat on my porch steps beside my nephew Mark, giddy with joy.  I had to work all day but you’ll get no grumbling from me.

It’s the thirteenth day of the thirty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

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Devin and Frank; Teresa and Mark

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Devin and Frank; me and Mark

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