The Stranger at the Wake – Part 3…

The Stranger at the Wake – Part 1

The Stranger at the Wake – Park 2

The Night of Strange Alliances…

It’s taken me a while to be able to write this one. Some things stick in your throat no matter how much time passes. And this part… this one stuck.

After the wake, the funeral director brought Dad home to Faurel Hill for his last night. His last time at the place that held both our best memories and our worst. I should’ve felt peace. I should’ve felt something holy about it. But instead, my stomach was in knots, and the house felt like it was holding its breath.

On the drive back, it hit me like a slap in the face: my son knew Bully. Knew him, as in had history. And if there was ever a red flag parade, this was it. Sirens, marching bands, and ticker tape falling from the sky.

And as if that wasn’t enough, when we arrived, my ever-loyal sister Fanny, who spent years pretending my son didn’t exist, took to him like a long-lost pen pal. Instant best buddies. Laughing in the kitchen like old schoolmates at a reunion neither one of them earned.

And me? I was wrecked. Physically, emotionally, spiritually gutted. I’d spent the day watching masks fall off faces I thought I knew. So I did what exhausted, betrayed people do: I threw some reheated lasagne at the stragglers, showed my son where he was sleeping, and left them to it.

Fanny.
My son ( aka Bully Junior).

Let that sink in.

How do you process it when the people you counted on to have your back turn and lock arms with the very people who denied you, betrayed you, and left you bleeding years ago? How do you find your footing when family feels like a revolving door of misplaced loyalties?

That night, I slept like a stone. Not because I was at peace, but because my body gave out long before my mind did. And the next morning, nothing felt the same.

Some moments in life feel like the Universe saying, “Wake up, love. See them for who they are now – not who you hoped they’d be.”

This was mine.

And it hurt like hell.

Some nights stay with you. Not because of what happened, but because of what it showed you. About people. About yourself. About how loyalty isn’t inherited by blood, but chosen in quiet moments when no one’s watching. That night, I realized some bonds can be broken, rebuilt, or betrayed – all in the same breath. And while the house might have been full of people, I’ve never felt more alone.