all of mom’s photos are in a jumble in that box over there. i went through a few of them but there’s thousands in there. it was hard. like. look at all these memories, why did you kill yourself, you have all this beautiful stuff. this beautiful life. two kids, one of whom is doing well for himself. yeah yeah, i know. dad. it’s all dad’s fault. but you know mom, you know how she was. even if dad was a nice guy, she would still have whatever it was swimming around in her head. dad just married her because he settled, because he was a piece of shit. when you’re a piece of shit, your options are limited to “damaged” women. he could control her, he could manipulate her. but even in a loving home, which, you know, after dad died, she had. she had a loving home. these last few years were us practically strangling her with love. and yet, she’s dead, he’s dead, the house is gone. you’re a drunk and i’m a failed actor. the sun rises, the sun sets. we die and get turned into worm food. what i’m saying is: maybe this is supposed to be. maybe her suicide was fate, written into her bloodstream, little morse code dots flashed in chemicals in her brain. something was misfiring. it misfires in all of us, ted. we are the chaff of a dysfunctional family, ted. we wanted to be the wheat but we are definitely the chaff.