His Shirt
And then I break down.
As I sit in bed as usual, crying, and my hips aching from fresh cuts, it hits me.
I'm sitting in the dark and staring at the pictures of him on my shelf; illuminated by the moonlight.
It hits me harder then ever before; my father is dead.
My Dad - the man who made me, who's house I visited. The man who was with me at my grade eight graduation. Who took me in his truck to feed the ducks, who took me to movies.
Who explained Inception to me when I couldn't follow the movie. Who loved AFV on Sunday nights, and watching Diners, Dine-ins, and Drives on weekdays; thought Morgan from Criminal Minds was matcho and the "hottest" guy on the show.
My father. My Dad.
The man sitting on his toilet lid smoking a cigarette and crying. Who explained that if a man gets sick, and can not work; he dies. That without working, a man dies. He is no longer useful and simply dies. The man who my mother took down to emerge that day.
The man who had cancer that started in the liver and "it spread to the lymph nodes and bones, and they can't do anything about it now. All the can do is manage the pain and hope he has more time."
The man in the hospital with tubes connected to him and forced oxygen.
The man who was eating, when there was no food in his hands. The man who saw the angels and smiled.
The man who said he loved my dress.
Who had trouble breathing; took far too deep breaths, too far apart.
The man who passed away from cancer at approximately 6:00 PM, November 12th, 2010.
Was my father.
That man.
He was my father.
And he is gone.
Not coming back.
And then I lose it.
I sob and I cry.
I pull his checkered button-up shirt to my face and breath in his smell. Deep breaths, and lots of tears.
Sobbing loudly as I shove my face deeper into the shirt.
Hysterically crying and all the while sobbing "Daddy.. Daddy... my Dad. Dad! Daddy... no... no... no... Daddy... no..no no no..." Moaning his name, begging him to come back.
And deep down I feel a tinge of guilt for the fact this has only happened once or twice in the whole year since he has been gone.
I've been too wrapped up in myself; and haven't allowed myself to miss him.
Too busy cutting.
Too busy starving myself till I lose weight; until I have an eating disorder.
Too busy losing my mind to hallucinations at night to miss him.
Too busy attempting or planning or wishing for suicide.
Just too busy....
Another night I fall asleep with my father's shirt against my face and tears frozen on my cheeks. Another night with fresh slices on my hips.
Another night of being alive....
when he is not.
I'm sitting in the dark and staring at the pictures of him on my shelf; illuminated by the moonlight.
It hits me harder then ever before; my father is dead.
My Dad - the man who made me, who's house I visited. The man who was with me at my grade eight graduation. Who took me in his truck to feed the ducks, who took me to movies.
Who explained Inception to me when I couldn't follow the movie. Who loved AFV on Sunday nights, and watching Diners, Dine-ins, and Drives on weekdays; thought Morgan from Criminal Minds was matcho and the "hottest" guy on the show.
My father. My Dad.
The man sitting on his toilet lid smoking a cigarette and crying. Who explained that if a man gets sick, and can not work; he dies. That without working, a man dies. He is no longer useful and simply dies. The man who my mother took down to emerge that day.
The man who had cancer that started in the liver and "it spread to the lymph nodes and bones, and they can't do anything about it now. All the can do is manage the pain and hope he has more time."
The man in the hospital with tubes connected to him and forced oxygen.
The man who was eating, when there was no food in his hands. The man who saw the angels and smiled.
The man who said he loved my dress.
Who had trouble breathing; took far too deep breaths, too far apart.
The man who passed away from cancer at approximately 6:00 PM, November 12th, 2010.
Was my father.
That man.
He was my father.
And he is gone.
Not coming back.
And then I lose it.
I sob and I cry.
I pull his checkered button-up shirt to my face and breath in his smell. Deep breaths, and lots of tears.
Sobbing loudly as I shove my face deeper into the shirt.
Hysterically crying and all the while sobbing "Daddy.. Daddy... my Dad. Dad! Daddy... no... no... no... Daddy... no..no no no..." Moaning his name, begging him to come back.
And deep down I feel a tinge of guilt for the fact this has only happened once or twice in the whole year since he has been gone.
I've been too wrapped up in myself; and haven't allowed myself to miss him.
Too busy cutting.
Too busy starving myself till I lose weight; until I have an eating disorder.
Too busy losing my mind to hallucinations at night to miss him.
Too busy attempting or planning or wishing for suicide.
Just too busy....
Another night I fall asleep with my father's shirt against my face and tears frozen on my cheeks. Another night with fresh slices on my hips.
Another night of being alive....
when he is not.
♠ ♠ ♠
------------------------------------------------------------------Well, this sucks.
But real life sucks so that's not really my fault.
Yeah I'm probably going to delete this soo...
BUT I am posting a different story soon. One I wrote in grade nine. A short fiction with the theme of death too. ;)