Disorder and Constant Sorrow

“Dad died this morning.” Wesley reported to brother Nick, then declared: “I’ve always hated Mom.”

“So typical,” thought Nick. “Mom sure was tough. But he can’t leave it alone. Even now. Why?”

They didn’t discuss it further at Dad’s funeral. Years passed before it came up again. Wesley, much worse from general wear, now lived alone shambolically amid empty bottles and wrappers of a misspent life. Despite the mess Nick noticed a mantelpiece picture of youthful Mom, beautiful, smiling. Then he understood: how sad that Wesley reminded himself constantly that her beauty didn’t flow from her body into her life.