Sunday, August 3, 2008

4 August 2008

That means it has officially been two months since my father died. It also means I have been 31 for two months. That's correct. My father died on my day of birth. And I had a complicated, serrated, difficult relationship with my father. I loved him. I loved him dearly, but I also lost him to his weaknesses. I spend a lot of time crying because I can't remember what it was that tore us asunder. How did I lose him? I am realizing that we are very similar. Too similar.

My father was found dead behind a dumpster at a construction site in a shitty Texas town. He was a drunk, a druggie, and destitute. I'm moving down the same path myself. The only difference between the two of us is that I acquired a more extensive vocabulary and wasted four years of my life on a bullshit document. I have even had moments where I have thought it might be worth my time to go after yet another bullshit document. But that passes. I will probably end up in the same position as he did. Dead. Alone. Pathetic. But thank God I won't leave any angry children. Yes, I'm angry. I'm very pissed off at him. He gave up. I'm giving up, but how beautiful it may have been to have had a model of persistence and endurance. I shouldn't say that. I have that in my mother. But even she is too good for me.

I can't wait to leave this life.

1 comment:

AK said...

You're a really good writer, but you don't give yourself enough credit on any fronts. I'm sorry to hear about your father, but...without even knowing you...you're better than that. Keep the hope, my good woman. Keep the hope.