He didn't go to his mothers funeral, but not because he didn't try, but because his sister would not tell him, the location in which she had died.
He knew his mother died in Holland, he knew she died by her own hand.
He knew that she had hung herself, though why, he would never understand.
He was up a tree with a chainsaw, when his sister phoned to say: "bro I've got some bad news, mum killed herself today."
He could not finish what he was doing, he just climbed down from the tree.
The guy that he was working for said: "go home mate, your no use to me."
Home was a room in a shared house, lodgings that he had found, following a failed marriage, it was all that was around.
His father was always his boulder, but now he lived so far away. Whiskey was his only comfort, on that lonely, miserable, day.
After two days of oblivion, with his sorrows refusing to drown, he found himself in the Foundry Arms, a pub on the outskirts of town.
The landlord was his best mate's dad, though his best mate had just moved to the states, he said: "listen here son, you only get one mum, get to the funeral before it's too late."
The landlord handed him money, said he'd check teletext for a flight, so he went back to his lodgings, and made phone calls well into the night.
First he phoned his estranged wife, and asked her for one of his suits, a black tie and a white shirt, his passport, and his smart boots.
Things where now coming together, he was fighting to get things done.
All that he now wanted to do, was go and say goodbye to his mum.
That evening he phoned his sister, the funeral was on the next day.
"please Clare, please tell me where, and I can leave here straight away".
"I don't think you can handle it bro.",
What she meant was: "your not wanted here", and so he never got to say goodbye, to his beloved mother dear.
He never would forgive her, and he never would forget, the words spoken by his sister, that left him his lasting regret.
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