attempt #1...

it was early on a Sunday morning...i had spent the weekend in d___ with my sister and we had just arrived at home the night before...it was pouring down rain- the kind of rain that makes it dark outside...the kind of rain that you can clearly hear on the roof...

i drove by his house to see if his car was home because he had not answered the phone for almost two days...his parents had wanted me to go by because his best friend had called and had alerted them of his unusual behavior...as i drove by, i didn't have the strength to stop and see if everything was okay...i shuddered actually...at the possibility of the unspoken fears...

my sister was waiting for me and she climbed in the jeep with me to go and get the house key...it's funny to think that a man with no money somehow kept a cleaning lady...we picked up the key and headed in the direction of his house...my sister was already in hysterics...i was calmly driving through the rain trying to reason with her...after several attempts, i then began wondering how the next hour might impact my life...

as we turned down d___ street, the flashing lights were reflecting through the downpour...she said, "oh my god...it's his house...they are at his house"...in times like these, i do not understand how our sense of denial becomes a coping mechanism...and of all the times to deny something- the flashing lights, the ambulance, the policemen, the fire fighters- as symbols, they were dragging me toward a place i did not want to go...

when i finally decided to stop the car beside the curb, i saw his brothers and father and my cousin standing in his front yard in the pouring rain...my sister jumped out without me and i sat there and watched as she ran toward the front door only to be stopped by one of his brothers...numbness had already seeped into my veins...

i climbed out of the jeep and stood there staring at the lights...still hoping that they were there for the house next door...not his house...not him...not now...not today...as the rain fell on my face, they somehow became the tears that i could not shed...she was screaming and fighting the policeman to go into the house...they wouldn't let her...i didn't even try...i was still standing on the edge of the curb with water running over my feet...as i watched her relent, reality engulfed me...him...now...today...

my cousin walked toward me and for some reason, all buisness like, i said, "did he kill himself? was there a note?" he shook his head side to side and embraced me...in all of my life, i have never known someone's arms to be so strong...they all knew as well as i that he had been having a rough time...he had gotten me to sign life insurance papers in june...it was august...i felt reasonable asking the questions...

his brother had gotten there about ten minutes before we did and had to break through the front door...he had seen him through the glass in the door- lying on the couch- stiff, unmoving...it made me regret driving by without stopping early...he had been the one to "find" him there...i sometimes wonder if he still has nightmares about this...i do...and i only walked far enough into the house to smell death and to see his leg sticking up from the other side of the couch...feet and legs were in my dreams for years...

there was a plate on the floor with scraps of uneaten food...no note...no warning...i imagine that he was fixing spaghetti and turned to sit down and eat...i guess his heart decided to beat its last beat...and somehow between the plate, the couch, the pain, the fear, the end had come...nothing glorious or noteworthy...it just happened...i wonder what his last thoughts were...did he think of us? how sad was he? was he scared that he was alone? i fucking should have been there..........i have never ordered spaghetti nor made it to this day...possibly out of respect...probably fear...

the policman had tried to keep me from entering the house because of the smell...of course i could handle it...three steps in and i was right back outside the door...it drives me to madness sometimes to think that i couldn't have my "last moment" with him...i couldn't stomach the smell and i already told you about the nightmares regarding the foot...shame on me...if the table was turned, i bet you five bucks he would have sat and wept over my smelly, rigamortised body just to have that last moment...besides, he was bettin' man...

who cares what happened after that...it was over...it still is over...it will always be over...but not over in the sense of never missing him or needing him or wanting him or having someone to be proud of me or just to sit and smoke a few with while watching golf on the tele...it will never be like that again...i still remind myself of this and it has been five and a half years...

he was so handsome...and funny...and kind...and talented...sometimes i like to imagine that i am those things too...if not for any other reason than because he was...that's a good enough reason, right?




this is my first attempt to write a narrative...i know, it sucks, but it's a start...and all of this is true...my father passed away on august 23, 2001...yang got to me tonight during grey's...when she and george had their small discourse, i couldn't help but agree with her...for all of you out there who are in the "dead dad club"- i am sorry as well...the good thing is that there are no membership fees :)...the bad thing is that you cannot be in control of when you get in...