Laughter among tears

I had promised not to write any more about my ex-husband's illness, out of respect for him. And The Boy.But I am breaking that promise now. Only because I have an evil sense of humor.I think my ex-husband will understand, from his new home, in Heaven.He passed away early Saturday morning, almost exactly three months from his diagnosis. Liver cancer. A bitch.He was a good man. I respected him. And I will miss his influence on my good son, The Boy, who is trying very hard to be a man right now. He is a man. And he will be a man. But anyone who has ever lost a parent will know, it is a life-changing experience. Poor kid. He's crushed.I also think that my ex-husband knows, now, how exactly I feel about him. And that comforts me.Last weekend, his friends put on a benefit dance for him.Many members of my family attended, and gave money, because they liked him, too. In fact, I don't think you could find one single soul on this earth who would have a bad word to say about the man. I think his only enemy in life was me. And I wasn't much of an enemy, considering that I liked him too.Yesterday, I phoned my Dad to tell him about the death."Oh, that's too bad," My Dad said.Then, of course, he asked about money. Was the house insured? Was there life insurance? How much did the casket cost? How much would the funeral cost? Was The Boy properly looked after, moneywise? Was there a will? Who was the executor of the estate? Who would inherit such and such.It was just nosiness, on his part. He does this same thing anytime anyone dies."I don't know how much the casket cost," I said.I had asked The Boy: "Did you pick out a nice casket?"And The Boy said "Yes. I think I picked out a casket I think Dad would like."Stupid me, for not asking how much it cost! To report back.Then Dad said:"Well, I'm glad he's not suffering anymore. I went to visit him last week. And he was low. Very low.""You went to VISIT him?" I said.Consider, for a moment. I have not been married to this man for 20 years. My Dad didn't hate him, but he didn't exactly love him, either. I, even, did not have the guts to visit this man on his deathbed. Although I did visit him. But not so close to the time, if you know what I mean. . ."Well," Dad said. "I didn't want to go to his benefit. But I wanted to give something. So I went to visit him. And I gave him twenty dollars."You gave a dying man twenty dollars?"I don't know what he did with it," he said.I don't know what he did with it.You don't know what he did with it?Well, Dad. Perhaps he broke out of the palliative care unit and put it in a VLT machine. Maybe, maybe, he made it to the liquor store and bought a case of beer. Perhaps he bribed the nurses, on his deathbed, to give him some special treatment.Now I want to say to The Boy: "For God's sake, Boy, check you poor old dead dad's pajama pockets, because there might be a twenty dollar bill in there."My husband, who is evil, believes this is the moment that my poor ex-husband was put over the edge, and became "unresponsive". Because the poor guy never got out of denial, he was actually still waiting for chemotherapy to start.But when people you haven't seen for twenty years show up at your deathbed and start throwing twenty dollar bills at you - - - well, what would you think?Jaysus.Now, I must find out how much that casket cost.This is important information.