I have received two voicemails over the past month concerning the same issue, albeit regarding two different people.
People who I like.
People Cliff knew. One was his nemesis (or one of them) many years ago.
He knew them well but I wouldn't categorize them as his closest friends by any stretch of the imagination.
Mutual respect. Yes. They knew each other. Yes.
They did business together at times. Not in recent years. For good reason.
They knew the dark serious side of each other too. For sure.
They came to the funeral. One came to the wake and stayed till the end. He was lovely to me, always has been.
Each voicemail (from two close friends) explained that both of these men would have liked to come to Cliff's Firework on the Harbour Arm ... and one even went as far as intimating that perhaps I'd like to call the person up because they seemed a bit upset.
Are they shitting me?
The Firework was for really close friends. My choice.
I certainly don't have to explain my rationale for who was invited.
And I won't.
Never mind my dead sainted husband.
They've re-written history and turned him into their dead sainted friend.
And I happen to know that Cliff had to kick one of them in the balls to keep him down, during one disagreement.
If they were that close, they'd have been pallbearers.
And they'd have been invited.
They're upset? Not as upset as I am, I'd imagine.
Why are they even bothering me with this?
That I give a fuck?