I want to run away, but where would I run. To Wisconsin? Naw that’d be too much of a hassle. Guess I’m staying here for now. God dammit have I been in this town a long time. What has it been like 4 fucking years now? I’m not use to doing that. Being that my dad was in the Air Force. He made it all the way to Colonel actually. I can’t tell you how proud of him I am. I always have been. He’s my hero. Natural born Leader. The kinda guy you’d follow into battle not because he was charismatic and passionate in speech, which he could be from time to time, but it was the undying certainty that if he was running that way you knew he was doing it because he had to. It wasn’t that he wanted to do all the things he did, the long nights, the deployments, the moving , and he knew we didn’t necessarily like it either. To be honest, he would have rather been at home the whole time with us, but it was his alarming sense of duty, the kinda duty that rubs off on another person, that led us all to go through this stuff with him. The kinda stuff I wouldn’t trade for the world. Stuff only a military man/woman and their military spouse and brat children could understand. Now I don’t say brat in any derogatory sense by the way... that was… that is just what we are. Brats. It was a term of endearment. But we can talk about that military brat experience bull shit later.
Opeee. Passed out in the recliner again. Damn I have this spot where my pillow leans up against the wall and I get on my side all curled up in a ball. It’s just adorable. You should ask JoJo about it. The little creep took a snapchat of me while I was sleeping and posted it on his my story. That little douche. I really do love the bastard. I love my fucking house. It’s this cheap little town house, but I’ve got a music room, a tv room with the fattest TV… well actually the fat tv was broken. Something was wrong with the motherboard that caused it to not turn on and click a lot. Little to say, it’s in the corner on a somewhat new retro 50’s table in the music room and is now replaced by a Tv that resembles more so a laptop monitor. But I’m not salty or anything about the whole ordeal. I like the simple things in life. This shitty house, this tiny ass tv, my hammy down furniture, all of it, they were all perfect for me. There was a certain disastrous calm about it, filled with memories of pain and joy. They were all here, but at the end of the day so was I and that's something to be thankful for in itself I guess. I almost wasn’t, but we can talk about that later as well.
Have you ever listen to Zac Brown Band? Gosh darnit they’re great. It's like the eagles meets mumford, whatever the fuck that means. Anyway, they’re just fucking spectacular. The reason I mention them is because I’ve got them blasting through my new bose headphones my mom got me for christmas. What a gal. She just knows me too well. Well that’s probably because I’m her carbon copy except for the fact that I have a pee pee.We weren’t exactly the same like my buddy Ty and his dad. Talk about finish each other’s sentences scary type of same. No, me and my mom were just a like in the way that made us fight all the time. Not like abusive we hate each other type of fighting, more like brother and sister I love you kinda fighting. I really do love her. She’s the best mom a guy could ask for. That’s why I’m worried though, she’s too good of a mom. This may break her… this whole me dying shit, and to be honest that fucking scares the living shit out of me. This wasn’t the first time I have put her through this though. How Ironic that we have to go through it again just in a completely different way, a way I don’t think I’ll be coming back from at least not any time soon. I’m scared for her and it keeps me from being actually scared for myself. That’s why I wrote her this letter.
Dear Mom,
I wish never to hurt you, but I have always feared so deeply that if anything were to happen to me that you might not be able to keep on living as joyfully as you do. Little did we know that such a thing as this would occur. Your little boy… He has to go and I can see your heart shattering already with each passing day. I don’t want to leave you Mom. I don’t want to go I promise. I swear if I could I would stay. I promise Mom. I really do. But I need you promise me… promise me Mom that no matter what happens. That no matter how I may leave,this life that you never will stop believing in the Lord’s Love. For where such is present,there can be no tears. For though I must leave this world I promise I will never leave you. I will never leave you because this life does not end at the grave. We shall be reunited in faith and in love Mom. Reunited in a place where sons do not befall upon tragedy and mothers must not grapple with despair., There will be a day when we know one another’s company again and we will smile and we will laugh. But until that day we are but to hope and hope greatly. Always know that I love you Mother. Always know that and you will have no reason to fall into remorse. For what a blessing you are to love the way that you do. And what a blessing it has been to be your son. Nothing in this world could have possibly been a greater honor than to have been my mother’s son Nothing more divine than to have known the abundance of your love and joy.Though there is so much more I could say, but alas it is to you that the least of words need be said. For no one on this earth knew my heart better than you and to move words farther than that would be, but yet a sin. Sin in that they would serve no other end than a poetic striving to encapsulate that which has already long been felt and known. I love you Mom and wish never to see you cry. For you will always be my mother and my dearest friend. Know this as you have known me and so too will you know that we will one day meet again.
Yours truly,
Me
It was a lot shorter than it should have been, but I was tired of crying out unworthy words to her, and that’s all I could seem to do when I was writing such things to her. I never liked crying while I was trying to do something, but I did my best to get out all I wanted to say even as seemingly impossible of a task that might be. But nonetheless I was scared for her, and this kept me for being scared for myself. Scared in the way that many are in meeting death in every possible marrow hour… I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now. I don’t want to cry in front of you.
Anyway, I was thinking of her again. Not my mother, but that illusive her I so often saw in the women of my life. The slightest glimmer of her in their eyes made them her for me. How so badly I wanted to see her. Denise wasn’t her, but I wanted her to be. Franky wasn’t her, but maybe she might be. I guess in the end no one was, and yet despite all the pain it was to cause me there was still the faintest inkling in the back of my mind that maybe... just maybe one day that she might actually… be. But nonetheless I was writing to her and writing that which might make her finally know.
your smile gives me joy
joy that was never known
for you made me smile when I thought I could not
for no one smiles when they’re alone
so smile dear friend
for your smile calls me home
a place with your smile
that reminds me I’m not alone
I don’t know who that girl is in my life, but she’s so real to me in her ideality. She makes me smile as you can tell, but it’s a secret between me and her that she makes me blush too. But she is most of all my torment. Slowly and surely she kills me in so many different passing ways… ways that not even my disease could ever know, but I have blurred lines on exactly what that means emotionally. I get it, neither of the... none of the girls in my life are fucking me. Nothing could be more blatantly obvious than that, but it was ok or at least I thought it would be ok to be emotionally intimate with one another when it came to them. That maybe one day they might see how much I cared about them. How I was always there. But this is exactly where lines blur the most. How far does emotional disclosure go, how far can I go before the yearning sets in. I’m not talking about anything sexual whatsoever I promise. This isn’t that type of yearning. You know that love LOVE thing that makes a man’s life full when she’s around that’s what it is. That’s all it ever was.
As a buddy of mine once said while in group therapy, “I never mind doing it, if I’m doing it for her.” He was talking about his wife. Isn’t that a gorgeously beautiful thing to say, and even a more gorgeous human presence to have for and in another. And they say marriage is dead. Well it wasn’t for those two I tell you that. That’s yearning my friend. That’s being there in absolute care. That quiet passion that is love between two people. When does emotional disclosure become that is what I want to know. Dear Jesus, do I want to know in all that I am that there may be one day… that one day there might be the love of a another in which I can cherish. But what I didn’t know at most moments as I do now is that any expectation in another is to make of them a mirage. Something that you want them to be and not who they are at all. I guess I was emotionally capricious in that way. God how I hate this heart of mine.
So I was cooking now. I was hoping to whip up something delicious this very night cuz why the fuck not? My roomy JoJo was cooking alongside me as he stirred up some pasta and red sauce. God damn did his cooking’s aroma alone stir up memories of the soul long forgotten. In short, the shit smelled fucking cosmic I tells ya. What I’d tell you about those italians. So anyway, I decided to bring a little bit of my own Louisiana heritage with me in my works. That means shrimp. The best kinda shrimp. Better than fucking cocktail shrimp kinda shrimp. Cajun fucking shrimp. Ew Buddy! College cooking is fucking weird though. Such a weird phenomenon I swear, an odd one ya know. It’s like our standard of gourmet is a little off. Don’t get me wrong, it was good shit I was making, but it wasn’t gourmet by most normal people’s criteria. Sure I threw some necessary Tony’s on it, like any southerner should, a little too much garlic powder and the perfect amount of pepper and sea salt. Sure it was a little bit too salty, but to us it was fucking gourmet as Emerald serving the Pope himself as far as my regular diet is concerned. More gourmet than chinese takeout and Mickey D’s at least.
Cooking was peaceful. Even though I was probably doing it all sorts of wrong, I felt at peace there for a moment. For a moment I wasn’t dying, but it wasn’t like it put me in denial to that most vicious fact either. No, it was more like in that simple act of creation, death’s sting didn’t bite so hard. I usually only felt that way when I was reading or playing guitar, but even in this simple act I felt as if I was doing something with my life and my life was doing something with me. Most people think you have to go somewhere grand or do something amazing to get fulfillment like that, but honestly it’s never too far from home.
Though I do cherish these calm moments I know in my heart they can never truly stay. Death never fades away from the truly dying body, but the least you can do is make friends with that son of a bitch while you can. No death isn’t just gunna swing in one night and have its way with me. Death’s at least going to have to buy me dinner, wine and dine me for a couple more months before that happens. How does one do this you may ask? What does it mean? It means everything and nothing I tells ya. Creation transcends the dichotomy of them both. For every creative act is an act of love and love never dies. It has no room to fear anything, let alone an end that is but only transition. Love can befriend even the most deadly of foes... even death.
Fucking shit, I scream. What the fuck did you do, JoJo asked in a frightful tone. Fucking grease just spit up and hit me in the fucking face. His fear quickly turned to cackling. That’s what you get bitch. I told you your shriveled dick was to tiny to handle this kitchen, he obnoxiously exclaims. Want me to finish that for you while you change your maxi pad ya B I T C H, he cackles on. Fuck you JoJo! Why don’t you suck my dick you piece of shit, I yell at him, grasping my now grease ravaged face. Hey save that kinda talk for after dinner sweet heart, he says to me. God are you sure you don’t like it up the butt JoJo, I asks, I mean I’m here to support you even if you’d prefer a big black dick in your mouth instead of that pasta. He just laughed and continued to eat on. God he was a little bastard I swear.
Sometimes I get mad at God. I know I know it’s natural you says. I’m like supposed to have my moments of anger at the guy... or the gal… I don’t know. It’s normal you may say. Well it doesn’t feel fucking normal to me. I feel like I’m getting real fucking screwed by this whole ordeal. My friends, my family, me. Were all kinda getting fucked over by God a little bit in this sickness of mine. I know deep down that he loves me I guess, but I can’t help feeling just a little fucked. Why now? Why couldn’t this wait till I was like 60? Shit 50 even sounds better than 22. When people are suppose to die or at least it’s not some fucking tragedy that it happen. I mean people fucking love me man. What am I supposed to tell them. That I’m just dying. That I’ve got 6-10 months to live and that’s what my doctors have called a positive outlook. I mean they all know I have cancer. It’s kinda fucking hard to miss. But none of them know it’s a death sentence. None of them know that I’m pretty much dead. That scares me. Having to tell them that. What kinda friend does that. That’s the fucked up part I feel like I’m doing this to them. God did this to me and I’m doing this to them. Just fucking great man. JUST FUCKING GREAT.
I love cologne. All types. Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue. Polo Black. Multi-color Polo: Red, Blue, Orange, Green. The list goes on and on. Well I guess not to much longer than that considering I just named off all the ones I have, but that’s neither here nor there. Why do I love cologne you may ask? Well to be honest I was the stinky kid growing up. Shit I may still be, but that’s mostly because I’m kinda lazy and doing laundry is fucking stupid. Hey fuck you though if you’re laughing at this. Well laugh a little. It’s kinda funny now, but I had IBS as a kid so it wasn’t entirely my fault as is the case with the laudryphobia. God kids were cruel about that. Especially this one kid. From sixth to eighth grade this kid made my life a living hell. Gang Green. Stinky ass. Those were some of his go to’s. I’m not going to say the kid didn’t from time to time oscillate between being clever to downright stupid, but as a young kid words fucking hurt. No wonder I started cutting. I never really had much self-worth in those early years, but self-worth doesn’t just disappear because some kids made fun of you growing up or because you moved around so much as a kid you could barely see straight. No, these were just moments that left their mark upon a soul that was already hurting and a mind that would never cease to focus right in on it. But anyway back to the cologne.
I fucking love the shit. Wear it everyday sometimes with 2 or 3 more applications of the stuff as the day goes on. Sometimes I like to switch it up, ya know fragrances, mid day just for the biotches. I mean ladies. Geeze my mother just hit me in the back of the head mentally. This is an odd occurrence that has been happening the past few weeks. It’s weird because it never really happened before, but then again who am I to try and look systematically upon my broken psyche. It was my mom though so I didn’t really mind. My mother. What a lady among a world of bitc.. Fuck!. God what the fuck was that? O ya that was Denise actually hitting me in the back of the head, I guess I had said that part out loud. I love that she doesn’t put up with my bullshit, my extremely sexist bullshit especially.
My dad raised me and my brothers to respect where we came from. He was always saying remember your last name son. Remember when you go out you’re representing every single one of us. I heard that most times I left the house… well to go partying in high school ironically enough. They had to know that’s what I was doing. That had to be why he was telling me this right? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just being sincere. So few people in this world are just truly sincere, but if there ever was two people on God’s green earth that sincerity had truly graced it was my mom and dad, especially my dad. The man said what he meant and meant what he said as the saying goes. I don’t know if I’ve done the best job being a son in this regard, you know upholding the family name and what not, but it’s a hell of a standard to live up to. It’s a lot of pressure being a son. We all want to make our father’s proud. We want to hear it. We want to see it, but most of all we want to believe it. We want to believe that our fathers not only love us, but are proud of us as well. In this area I am blessed more so than ever. My dad never ceases to share his admiration and enduring pride in me and my brothers for the men we were becoming, for being his sons. I just gotta work on believing it now. I have that trouble with a lot of things, with a lot of people. Believing in the sincere remarks of others is always a bitter struggle to one’s heart if it beats like mine. I really need to work on that shit more often. But any hoo I have my dad’s letter, I mean my letter to my dad to share with ya now.
I don’t know why I’m getting so personal with you and I don’t know if you’ve been following what I have been telling you, but I am trying... that I do know. Trying for something. Maybe I just want to have some physical response from someone about all this stuff I’m working on. That is before I hit the hay that one last time. Dying makes a man face the crossroads. He is either to throw his heart into the world and the worlds of whom he loves or he is to garnish it to himself, stow it away and slowly rot. Personally I would like to choose the former over the latter and I guess you are the closest I’m ever going to get to that. But anyway here it is.
Dear Dad,
Beyond any reason that you may be reading this letter I want you to know one thing. You are and forever will be my greatest hero. You taught me, in both word and action, what it means to be a good man and in doing so taught me what it means to be a good person. You are the most determined, hard working, and caring man I know. Between you and Mom I could not have asked for two better role models in this life or two more loving parents..Please, know this before you take anything else I have to say into your heart. Please believe that you both were wonderful to me before all things else. Know and believe I saw you and saw the man I one day hoped to be. A loving husband, an inspiring and caring father, a devout friend, and a humble leader. Know I felt so deeply the love you gave to me and but wished to be able to give it to others. I saw the love you gave to my brothers and mother and too only wished to emulate it to my own wife, and sons and all my other children to never come. I saw you Dad. I saw you and o’ how blessed I am to call you my father, my hero, my dad. But if you are reading this for the reason I fear then above all else I pray so deeply that you never doubt these things above. Not once in my life did I ever feel betrayed by you, not once did you ever fail me, not once did I ever doubt your love for our family and so many blessed others, not once did I doubt that you loved me. I could never doubt that for I felt it everyday whether I was aware of it or not. For every time I faced adversity and overcame toil and trouble. For every time I yearned to love others in fairness, dignity, and trust was to feel your love. For it was from two loving parents that anything good I have ever known came to be. Your love taught and called me to do so much for myself and those around me. I love you Dad and my thanks knows no bounds for you never, not even once, let me down. So in my absence could you promise this. That you’ll hold onto to my love and admiration for you as I will hold on to yours until that day comes when we will meet again. Take care of Mom and the boys. They will need your strength. Let them feel whatever they may need to feel for however long they may need to feel it, but not a moment longer. For to feel is to confront and confront they must, but let them not be lost in confrontation. Let them confront their loss, their anguish, and despair in my passing, but please Father do not let it overtake them. Dad help them, and remind them ever more that through hope, faith, and love no man shall ever perish, especially one loved such as I. Remind them that it's through their love that I shall live on in this world and through God’s love I shall await our reunion one day to come. I ask you to be there for them, but least of all do not deny yourself that which you give. And if you find yourself adverse to any comfort, whether you bare deep in soul’s anguish or scream in the streets, know that as long as you love me I will never be too far gone. For out of the many things I was. For better and for worst. I was a son that loved his dad so much that he wanted nothing more than to be just like him and love as much as he could like him too. That my dreams were the dreams of a son o’ so loved by a father wonderful in every regard. I love you dad. I love you so much.
Your Truly,
Me