During the period leading up to my father’s funeral in 1992, I kept trying to talk to members of the family about my feelings about Dad, even as they were talking to me about their feelings and expecting me to listen, but not listening to me in return. My salvation that week was HIS parents, my sister’s parents-in-law. They actually were willing to take the time to talk to me about my feelings about Dad and actively listen.
One of the guests, a woman, was notoriously known for her hate for dogs. But, being a show-off, wealthy woman, she had a Saint Bernard at home, in a tropical place like India, which she kept out near the house gates, in the heat. In the past whenever she came to our house for any parties, we had to lock Cutie in the guest bedroom because of this woman. I hated every minute of it and sometimes would take her out and pretend like someone must have left the door open.