The post is dated 2/18/18... One rotation around the sun. Last year i was sitting at the Cleveland Clinic with my father. It's the opposite of the "kid effect" where time speeds up, this feels like it's been ages, like time has stretched out in a way that's difficult to comprehend. All i know is i miss that guy. Feel free to read it again. I'd connect a link but i don't know how...
To wander through this day a year later, in a different city, listening to the boyos talk and laugh and complain, is like wandering through a Dali painting or David Lynch film. It feels slightly off but absolutely right. I understand what makes this day so tough and that is the fact that this is the day when i understood that my father was going to die. I knew it would happen someday but when the realization sets in it's something different. When i finally cracked that day it wasn't due to the strain or the stress but the simple fact that my best friend, my dad, was on borrowed time. At the time i think he and i were the only ones willing to admit that. Everyone must deal with the reality and realization on their own timetable... Today was one of the rare days i touched the rosewood box with his ashes, the ashes i'll carry back to Tennessee one of these days... i drank a cup of green tea from the huge box of green tea my sister had bought him and i have a tendency to wear his old belt and a pair of army green socks that he gave me. He told me they were the warmest socks he ever owned. Wore them to work on the cold nights working the graveyard when the wind off that lake swirled and spit ice. I miss his old place. I miss the breakfast joint at the corner of Triskett and Berea. I miss the pizza joint. The Cleveland i knew was inextricably linked to my father.
and i was going to finish this but then i said fuck it... and opted for Guinness and a spliff instead.
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
I went back and read it again, it would be impossible not to.
I remember when I read it the first time, where I was, where I sat, what the weather was like as I read, all these things at the periphery. powerful events have a way of doing that. the details, always the details. they make that slightly off but absolutely right feeling a reality.
I think I've said it, but it is worth not forgetting: you wrote photographs. they were even more poignant this time.
the present entry, too, is another.
Post a Comment