Sorry, But Was Your Mother Literal Satan?

CONTENT WARNING: Dark Humor, Implied Abuse

My mother was just an awful, awful, awful person. She reveled in conflict and loved to inflict pain. There were only ever two modes with her: horrible or raging. When she finally died, we knew no one would want to celebrate her life. So, we sent an email that read:

Email: “Dear fellow survivors and victims of [Mom], the happy day has come! We invite you all to a celebration of the passing of the worst person any of us has ever known, [Mom’s Full Name], so we can all finally begin to heal from the trauma she inflicted upon all of us.”

We honestly didn’t expect much of a response, but we were overwhelmed by the number of people who were on board with our dark festival. The most surprising was my mother’s brother, an uncle we only knew through contemptuous reference.

On the day of the event, we laid out a buffet and loads of booze and kicked things off with “Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead”.

Next was a ceremony where we gathered around the toilet door with the box of her ashes and a ladle. We’d prepared well and layered a sheet of toilet paper in the bowl before and after each person was invited to share their “fondest” memory of the b**** who bore me.

My uncle started.

Uncle: “On the day my sister married, my father gathered us all together and said, ‘She’s gone now, and you will never have to put up with her again.’ We cried tears of joy, and every day that followed was better for her absence.” 

Then, he dumped and flushed a huge ladle of her ashes.

My younger brother went next.

Younger Brother: “My earliest memory of my mother is of her screaming like a madwoman and trashing the house while I hid under the stairs in my sister’s arms. That was her gift to me, my guardian angel, my sweet sister who always protected me from the monster who raised us.”

I cried so hard.

Those were some of the nicest words said that day as more than 200 people gathered to flush my vile mother down the toilet. She would have loved it. Some people want to watch the world burn, but others are only happy when they’re holding the matches.