My father’s life had been artificially prolonged, trapping my mother in marriage, so that what God had joined together, science had solidified.
Mother hadn’t divorced my father nor annulled the marriage, for she hadn’t wanted to make her children bastards.
My father’s death would legitimize everything, including my mother’s relationship with David. My father had been hovering in the wings, while David had been waiting in them.
Mother sought my absolution in one night, for a lifetime of lies. David had already granted her this thing, even as she continued to perpetuate the lie.
Mother had wanted him to live so he wouldn’t die spiritually–for the sake of her own conscience.
She had bled from every pore, for I knew she had believed that to let Patrick die after a suicide attempt would be to send his soul straight to Hell–an unpardonable sin in the Catholic Church.
How could any mortal be responsible for the destination of an individual’s soul, for wouldn’t that put them on par with God?
Mother had become as God, or Goddess, in a way, for even as she had resurrected Patrick from the dead, at least in my eyes, she was now taking away his last breath of life.
The plan was for David to do Patrick’s work in the temple, turning his enemy into his savior.
Mother believed Patrick would go to middle heaven, the terrestrial, where he would be one of the angels, never to have sex again.