Agoraphobia

Day 812 (Bitch!)

Grandma Maud's death hit me hard. But it hit Uncle Peter much harder. That's to be expected. Grandma Maud was my grandmother. You kind of expect your grandparents to pass away. But a parent...

I now know what Uncle Peter went through because many years later, my own mother passed away. If you haven't had a parent die, I'm unable to describe it. And if you have... well... then you know.

Three days after the funeral, Uncle Peter was still running on autopilot. He still fetched water, collected eggs, dumped trash, slopped hogs, etc... But he did it without enthusiasm. Without joy. And he didn't smile. When we worked together, we no longer chatted. There was no goofing off or joking around. It was grim.

On the fourth day, we came in for lunch after completing our morning chores early. (I hate to admit it, but not goofing around made us more efficient.) We were in the living room, resting as we waited to eat.

Uncle Peter was staring dismally into space when Jeannie came in. When she saw Uncle Peter, her face grew kind. She settled into a chair next to his and tenderly placed her hands on his arm. "Peter, I wanted to give you my condolences," she sympathized. "Your mother was a good woman. I can tell you miss her deeply."

Uncle Peter's eyes started to well up with tears. He quickly blinked them away and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Jeannie. That's nice of you to say."

Their eyes met, and Jeannie smiled warmly. "And if you accept Jesus Christ into your heart, you'll eventually be reunited with her in heaven."

Something inside of Uncle Peter snapped that day. It was almost audible. Like a taut piano wire being cut. First his eye twitched. Then every hint of civility dropped from his face, replaced with pure hate. If looks could kill, Jeannie would have been vaporized. Her warm smile quickly vanished, and she recoiled in fear at Uncle Peter's transformation.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?!" barked Uncle Peter, his voice rolling through the house like a clap of thunder. Jeannie stared silently at him with wide eyes. "What did you say!?!" he rumbled, springing to his feet. Jeannie slipped off her chair, trembling in mortal terror. He took a malevolent step toward her, naked hatred seeping from every pore. "Say it again, BITCH!!" Uncle Peter glowered fiercely over her, nostrils flaring, eyes feral, clenched fists shaking at his side. He was way beyond angry; he was wrathful. "Say it again!"

By this time, the whole house had heard Uncle Peter. Soon, several people were swarming around and insinuating themselves between Uncle Peter and Jeannie. All the usual diplomatic maneuvers that people employ when dealing with a hostile person were engaged. But Uncle Peter was having none of it. "Get the fuck out of my way!" he snarled.

"Now, Peter," cautioned Great-Uncle Ellis. "You need to calm down."

Uncle Peter turned on him, seething. "Fuck you, Ellis!!"

"Peter, I think you need to back off," warned Mom stiffly.

"No one asked for your fucking opinion, Scarlett!!" shouted Uncle Peter so vehemently that spittle shot from his mouth onto her face.

"Grab him!" shouted an unidentified man.

"Someone get Jeannie out of here!" yelled Lenny.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" thundered Uncle Peter.

"Calm down!" repeated Great-Uncle Ellis.

"Where did Jeannie go?!?" barked Uncle Peter with such ferocity, I was afraid the vein in his flushed neck was going to pop. "Bring that bitch back!!"

Uncle Peter was in the throes of limitless rage, and no soft words were going to pacify him. He was like an attack dog straining against its leash.

Just when the crowd was about to wrestle him to the ground, Grandpa Kevin intervened. "Peter just needs some fresh air!" His calm, intent voice broke through the pandemonium. "Everyone, back off! Let him go. Peter, why don't you go outside and get some fresh air?"

Uncle Peter leveled a searing, ungrateful glare at his father. Then he stomped out of the house in the blackest of moods.

---------------------------------------------------

Uncle Peter didn't return until after lunch. I was on the porch when he strode back, eyes narrowed in determination. He ordered me to "Wait here." Then he barged into the Main House as if he owned the place. (Which he did.) From the open front door, I spotted Grandpa Kevin and several people in the living room. Uncle Peter marched up to Grandpa Kevin, his spine straight as a spear. "Dad, bring Jeannie in here." 

His tone was forbidding, and intended to be so, but Grandpa Kevin ignored it. "I don't think that's such a good idea. She—"

"Dad, you seem to be under the impression this is a request. It's not. This is an order. Go get Jeannie. If she refuses to come, have someone drag her in. But do it now. Do it RIGHT now."

Grandpa Kevin's voice was low, but firm: "Peter, that's not going to happen."

Uncle Peter's body stiffened, and his fists curled up into white-knuckled balls. I expected another outburst. But instead, he spoke calmly and clearly: "Samber and I have been babysitting you ungrateful people for a long time; I think we deserve a vacation. We're going to go away for a few days. You can fetch your own water and haul away your own feces for a while. Perhaps you'll have a better appreciation of us when we get back."

Then Uncle Peter spun on his heels and strode out of the house. I fell in step behind him, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides.

Before this problem arose there was a tacit agreement between Uncle Peter and Grandpa Kevin that allowed a great deal of latitude in how Grandpa preformed his ditties as long as it was understood that Uncle Peter was the real authority. This was the first time I'd seen Uncle Peter and Grandpa Kevin conflict like this.

"Samber," sighed Uncle Peter when we reached the barn. "I think you and I will take it easy for a few days and do some fun things for a change."

"Sounds good to me. We could do with some fun."

Uncle Peter gave a long, deep sigh. Some of his tension seemed to dissipate with it. He stared off into the horizon. "I've not been good company the last few days. Have I?"

I shrugged. "You've been grieving."

"So much so I think I've forgotten how to have fun."

I blew air between my lips. "You'll remember."

Uncle Peter smiled at that. It was the first smile I'd seen from him in a long time. "Think so?"

"Sure. But first, why don't you eat something?" I held up the sack lunch I'd made for him. "I think some of your crankiness might be from low blood sugar."

Uncle Peter's smile deepened.

[Do you think Peter overreacted?]

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