They used to hide them in the attic

"Thanks a lot," said a voice mail from a cousin.  "It's your fault 'H' is on heroin."  I actually laughed because this cousin should be stored away in an attic, where they used to house and hide insane family members. 

H is her daughter, who I have met maybe three times, but not since she was a very young child.  The reason it's my fault?  Because daughter H asked to "friend" me on facebook and I accepted.  Apparently, a photo of B and me in Bermuda also revealed a glass of wine on the table.  Horror of horrors!!!  Yep, that was all H needed to get onto smack.  Seriously.  You could not make this up.  I used to have this cousin on call block, but can't figure out how to trigger this feature on my phone here in Calgary.  Need to get on that!

Her children had her committed a few years ago, but good old Canadian laws prohibited the state from keeping her locked up in a straight jacket.  Sadly, they are the ones who suffer and suffer with a crazy mother.  I used to share an apartment with her a hundred years ago in Toronto -- before she got into marijuana and LSD.  That's what flipped her over to the dark side and she's been there ever since.  One before-call-block night she called me 23 times and threatened to kill me.  All in front of her poor kids, I presume.  I have reached out to H and I hope she gets back to me. 

All so very, very sad.

Although my childhood was idyllic, not everything turned out perfectly rosy when we all grew up.  When another cousin died from ovarian cancer twelve years ago, her brother had been dating a mutual friend for about 10 minutes.  The church was filled to overflowing, her husband having been a big cheese in the Toronto investment community.  Every bank president and a few Ministers of Finance were there, but what galled me was how inappropriately family members managed the service. 

This cousin and I were best friends, grew up around the corner from each other and toured Europe together.  I used to spend lots of weekends in Toronto visiting her and loved her dearly.  What happens at her funeral?  My family and I were seated at the back, while the girlfriend-du-jour marched in with the family!  This latest squeeze had never even met my cousin.  Not once!  But there she was up front, clutching tissues with the widower and children.  It was appalling.  The widower was also to blame.  I had written a beautiful eulogy which I wanted to give, but he refused to allow it for some bizarre reason?  Guess he didn't know I was a writer who had loved and adored his late wife.  He had another acquaintance manage the entire event.  Not only did this idiot spell my uncle's name incorrectly, she also forgot to mention in the obituary the baby sister who had died before the age of one.

Of the three hundred or so people in the church, I had known and loved her the longest.  Oh, and the 10-minute girlfriend?  Gone within weeks to marry someone with REAL money.   

That's life friends.

Note:  This same at-the-time girlfriend also crashed our wedding, when we were re-married in the Catholic Church in 2004.  I explicitly limited the service and dinner to family only.  Guess who "happened" to be sitting in the lounge at the Royal Ottawa Golf Club when we arrived for dinner?  Yep, you guessed it.