Oskar Zwintscher ~ “Grief”
Yesterday was my Dad’s last day in America. He dropped off his car at my house (donating it to my Mom) and I had to drive him back to his house to head to JFK. I tried to think of a good sentimental place for us have a last meal at, but my mind couldn’t think of one. There wasn’t one. So we just went to a diner near his house. A family friend called him on the phone while we were eating, and I could see him start to get choked up and hide it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to see if my grandparents (my Mom’s parents) were home to say bye, but they weren’t. So we ate, he asked several times when I’m going to be able to visit the Philippines, talked about the Islanders, then left. As I was nearing his house, I could sense him getting antsy. Reaching for anything to say, even at the expense of relevance; “Don’t surprise me with a grandchild.” I couldn’t even drop him off at his house because I didn’t want to see his other family, so I had to drop him off at the gas station around the block because I needed to fill up anyway. And that was the goodbye, at a Gulf gas station.
I got upset as I was driving back, but more for the memories and moments we never had. That it didn’t mean more. That this in many ways frees me of a lot of burden rather than a void. I tried to make it a sentimental send-off, but there just wasn’t much sentiment. I could never forget all the awful. I could never forget the toyboat, never left the package, never got to play with at a lake. I could never forget the times he forgot to do things with me. I could never forget the things he didn’t teach me, like how to work, or how to ride a bike, or how to talk to girls or make friends. All the things I don’t ever want to talk about. I tried, but I couldn’t. And all of that makes me not trust and it makes me angry at the way people are, and I too often lose myself in that anger trying to break people down. And all of this has made me into a bastard.
I never know how I’m supposed to feel about anything anymore. I just feel broken down at this point and empty. That can mean things are rife for replenishing and rebuilding, but I just am so tired right now.
When you live in the dark for so long, you begin to love it. And it loves you back, and isn’t that the point? You think, the face turns to the shadows, and just as well. It accepts, it heals, it allows.
But it also devours.
|—||Carver, Raymond. Late Fragment (via rabid-glow)|
Long hair, proportionate amount of care in context of greater issues in my life and issues of the world
this is one of the best thing I have seen in my life.