A Piece Of Thread ©

What a week and the weekend topped it off…….so far.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
I have three posts I want to write and all want to jump out at the same time because they all occupied the same space and time.

Our life is but a strand on a thread that makes up the yarn of which is woven into the fabric used to create this blanket we call, the universe.
The way each one of us lives colors or stains our little bit of this universe.
An infinite number of events occur at the same moment around us but we only see a few things the wander around our tiny part of it.
I think I will write each one in order of what I think is more important, to me anyway.

Many of you who have been reading me for a while have heard me complain and slam my brother, for good reason.
Let’s face it he is a self-centered opportunist but I am not one to let a good deed go unmentioned either.
The thing is in many of our blogs and posts we tend to post about things that piss us off about someone but seldom post about when they do the right thing and my brother has done the right thing on many occasions, I just want to smack him when he fucks up.

The other day they had the funeral of the guy that was killed in the motorcycle accident and my brother was there, the boy’s father is one of my brother’s best friends.
Now my brother is like a younger version of Archie Bunker.
A black person is a nigger, and Asian is a chink a Middle Eastern person is a towel head but BUT he has friends who are “niggers” “chinks” and “towel heads” and don’t think they don’t know he talks that way because he says it he says it in front of them.
He criticizes the Jews and Muslims but doesn’t go to church so I guess he isn’t taking sides.
He has Jewish and Muslim friends and they know to he is just the way he is.
He’s not racist in the sense that he is calling for all people who are not white to be thrown out of the country or exterminated he’s just rude.

For instance, he went to his friend’s house the night his son was killed and was told at the door it was custom that he had to remove his shoes.
My brother refused because he is not Muslim as was his grieving friend and walked in with his shoes on.
As far as my brother is concern he doesn’t want someone to do something they don’t want to do so he shouldn’t either.
I would have out of respect for the other person’s customs but to each his own I guess.

The next day he went to the funeral and while he and the SIL: were there, a problem came up.
Now I didn’t know and still don’t know much about Muslim customs and either did my brother before that day.
My SIL tells me they were out there in the rain waiting for things to start and my brother was being himself and complaining to her about the rain and how the Muslims can’t hurry up and do it right.

It seems that before the body can be brought into the mosque the deceased has to be prepared.
They wash the body then wrap it up in a white cloth before they put it in a wooden box.
They would rather bury them without the box but it’s illegal in Canada to bury someone like that so they make a simple box for the body to satisfy the law.
They also don’t embalm the body.

The washing of the body in done in a converted garage at the side of the Mosque by people working for the Mosque but they refused to wash his body because it was so mangles up and covered in blood, some superstitious crap about touching the blood of a diseased.
So it fell upon the family to do this.

Two days earlier this person was laughing and full of life next to them and now the father and youngest brother had to walk in there and wash the shattered body of their dead son, brother because of what, people not willing to do what they are paid to do.
I am sure that the people at the Mosque could make some arraignments with a funeral home to have the bodies of the dead prepared if their own people are to fucken squeamish to do this, it shouldn’t fall upon their family who is grieving that person’s loss.
Pain has no religion.
Loosing someone you love have no color.
Blood is red and tears run clear in everyone as sorrow rips your heart to shreds and your last memory of someone should NOT be their shattered dead body.

They opened the garage door and the body was sitting there on a table like a slab of meat and they walked in to do what only a loving family would do for one of their own.
Ten minutes later the garage door opened again and my brother’s friend came out and walked towards the crowd of family and my brother standing outside the garage waiting.
The white apron he was wearing was stained red with his son’s blood.
He motioned to my brother to come over and asked him if he would help because there was too much.
My brother without hesitation along with one more person went in and the four of them washed his body for an hour.
I will spare you some of what my brother told me but he said they needed four people because all his bones must have been shattered and was hard to move and pick up.
After washing him and wrapping him up in the white sheet they loaded him into the wooden box and carried him out to be buried.

With all his faults I am proud of my brother for what he did because he put aside his views and stepped up to the plate for his friend.
This whole experience has enlightened him a bit as it has many of us who have heard the story to how others live and die.
I will admit it’s a scary thought to have to do what the father and brother had to do and I am in awe of their fortitude as to my brother’s and the other person who went in to make things right, to do the right thing.
Out there in the rain stood a mother waiting for her son to be brought to her one last time, bundled up, as he was when he was born.

My brother stepped up to the plate when he was called to it and did good but he is still who he is and refused to take his shoes off when he went in the Mosque.
I guess in the end it’s about doing what’s right as a human being beliefs aside.

This is just a piece of a thread in my life

Have a nice day

Walker