Goodbye Dad.
All your stuff has been distributed, stored, sold or handed out. Some, not a lot, has been thrown out.
It hurt tossing out the last remnants of your things into a dirty dumpster overseen by some loading dock Nazi who had nothing better to do than to scold me for not remembering to bring my keys along for the last trip down. You’ll be happy to know, Dad, that while I did lose it on this midget dictator with a tirade of stream of consciousness venom, I reigned it in before my voice cracked or got too loud. Your dining room chairs, as ugly as they were, were easy to toss over the side, but when it came to the marble tiles you so cleverly, proudly matched up to the marble of the table and turned into placemats, I felt anger well up inside me.
Fuck. You. World. Just fuck you. Seriously. I’m tired. I’m burnt out. I can’t cry any more.
Your ashes sit in my living room, beside my favorite picture of you. You’re physically gone. I can relax now. Sort of. I’ve processed the physical, now I just have to live through the rest.
3 thoughts on “Empty”
knowing that a day has passed since this happened, i’ll bet that you’ve regained some stability and had the anger diminish. you’re a lot better at letting go of negative emotions than i am, probably far above the norm in this valuable skill, but i’m still sorry that you had to go through this shittiness. i wish i hadn’t had to interrupt your night afterward – had i known i’d have let you two achieve catharsis undisturbed.
however, should you still want the dock nazi savaged, let me know and we’ll pull a strangers on a train.
I wish my arms were long enough to hug you both from here.
I can’t recall ever being this angry with the world