Repeating curse from a mime

The Barren Country District Attorney called me the other day and told me that John Gass was released from prison this week. He served about two years of his five year sentence. You may not know who this is or why his prison release is an important matter in my life.

It's not an important matter, but I'd say it is a remarkable matter.

Rather than conjure old demons by writing about the topic, I thought I'd share a blog I wrote back in the day. It's a powerful read I think.

"Fleeting curse from a mime

Maybe I'll make this a series. We'll call it Insights into the Family Life of One, Mike Sickels: A Modest Hero's Tale. Pretty.

We'll start this blog off with a link to today's paper. Go ahead and read.

http://www.glasgowdailytimes.com/local/local_story_009134003.html

Today, I received news of my mother's murder. Yes, I can now call it that. With such a label, I no longer need worry about the nature of her death; never shall I question if another's hand was involved; so have I been given resolution. Not suicide; no. The pictures scattered around the floor were an indication of no such act. Though I do not know the details of the crime, I can be sure that my mother's death was, indeed, facilitated by John Miller Gass. Closure.

Sarcasm.

"Court documents stated that Gass committed reckless homicide by shooting Sickels up with drugs and leaving her passed out on her floor."

Now, this statement sure doesn't implicate my mom's part in the crime. For a moment, I thought the article might abandon the issue of her drug abuse all together. Not so, of course, as we read on. I don't guess I will address how baffled I am at the intrusion the article poses to the personal life of my mom, self and family. For the moment, I will leave that sickly homegrown little newspaper be.

How am I? Fine. Do I feel closure? No. Do I think John Gass killed my mother? No. Does it bother me that he is going to jail? Absolutely not. Is that wrong? Probably.

Here's the story. A pathetic goddamn junkie met another pathetic goddamn junkie who sold the drug o' the day. Latter junkie comes to visit with a fresh supply. Former junkie is practically immobile, so latter junkie aids in administering the day's special. Former junkie, in her less-than-optimal condition, overdoses. Former junkie dies. Latter junkie panics like a fucking paranoid junkie and flees the scene.

As for the "inconsistent puncture wounds", my mom was an intravenous drug user. Of course she had other punctures. John Gass is as worthless a human being as exists. I believe the world will be a much better place without his infection, but my mom was bound to die of similar circumstances regardless of his nurse-like aid. I am not proud of it; she was not proud of it. But to actually name a killer other than herself is silly. Whether it was a conscious effort or not, my mom killed herself a little over a year ago. Truth be told, she'd been dying for much longer.

Do I vindicate Mr. Gass of the matter? I wish I was so strong a person. I knew what I know today the day my mother died. But just as my knowledge has remained static, so have my convictions. Had it not been for him, my mother would have found another provider for her tragic habit. I can say this without a flinch, yet in my gut I still want the bastard to spend the rest of his days with a big fucking dick in his ass. Or mouth. Check that: and/or mouth.

He saw my mom for what she was, and like a good innovative capitalist, he took advantage of every opportunity. He has used her up into that last goddamn moment. He might have known that the evidence against him was weak, but he has charges stacked so goddamn high that the drug using world should prostrate itself in awe. I may not be clear here. I am suggesting that had he not bargained, his time in prison may be longer. While I have little evidence of this, I feel a bit conspiratorial tonight. Indulge me for a moment. I deserve it. This being the case, how much does a guilty plea mean if it is simply another tool for him to weasel out of what he deserves? Very. Fucking. Little.

That is, if I am to define closure by some wacky scheme of vengeance. I am not The Punisher. I don't understand why everyone assumes that this outcome is supposed to put me in a state of relief. It is not as if I have obsessed over her death. Of course she walks my thoughts from time to time, but she is alive there. She is my mom, not a corpse. I fixate over much too trivial of matters to weigh myself with such black moments.

I will not smile at the imprisonment of John Gass, but neither will I protest. Should I believe him innocent, perhaps it is in some strange way my responsibility to come to his defense. Were I entirely robotic, perhaps that would be possible. Unfortunately for him, I am human. He is the darkest of my life; my mother's addiction without her glow. He has caused me pain. He has caused my family pain. Whether that be as her usher in death or her anvil in life, I hope, for his sake, that each orifice in his body is made of Spandex. If I were to defend him, it would be only to make his stay with Boggs an extended one. Drop the homicide, and take the years. I wouldn't cry.

But I do not dwell. This is a fleeting curse from a mime. I miss my mom sometimes. Such thoughts as those above do no justice to those things worth missing. Justice. I suppose I seek it after all."

-January 9th, 2007

The situation is a bit different now, but the sentiment is the same. I'm a bit irked at not being forewarned of the decision. After all, my sister likes a good vendetta, and I'd hate for her or my brother to confront him in Glasgow unannounced. But in the end, I live in Missouri, and this world is long past and far away.

-Mike