I ran into an old friend this morning. I was out getting some coffee and more Tylenol and bumped into him on the street.
It felt about as awkward as it could have possibly felt. We just stood there for a moment. There was a pause like neither of us were sure if we were supposed to hug or shake hands or just give a thoughtful nod. We settled on a handshake, but it took too long and he closed his hand too quickly so it was basically just around my fingers.
Then he asked me how things were and what I had been up to.
...you mean in the last 18 years? Oh, this and that.
I don't mean to say that bitterly, I know I probably would have said the same thing. I don't know if he has heard the podcast or what happened at dad's house or even what happened to me all those years ago. I didn't see the point in bringing any of it up. So I told him I was back in town to take care of dad's stuff.
He nodded thoughtfully and extended his respects, said he was at the funeral and that it was nice.
I guess funerals can be called nice. Maybe only in Minnesota.
I excused myself saying that I had a meeting with one of the lawyers to start going over dad's supposed "estate". I have no idea how much time it's supposed to take to categorize what I imagine to be the contents of the house, but I'm really not too focused on it.
I never want to go back to that house. I don't care what's inside anymore.
I need to lay down for a little bit. I don't feel too good. There's been a stomach flu going around and I actually do have to meet with the lawyers later.