the mystery of the old, old man

My dad died 6 years ago tonight, and at his bedside I swore. A lot. Not only did I not want to be there, someone had forgotten to remind him that he was invincible and therefore should not be there either. I urged him to get up and shake it off, and then we’d go to the lake and he could try to teach me how to skip stones again because I never could get the hang of it. I coaxed and I cried and I cajoled and I promised I’d eat all my veggies and clean my room, but in the end, my father died just after 10pm on a warm late summer evening.

In addition to swearing regular swear words, I swore that I would put avenge his death with brutal and exacting vengeance, Kill Bill style. I don’t really know where to start, which is why it’s been six years and I’ve yet to buy a yellow jumpsuit or adopt a really cool nickname. I suppose I should get on that, but at least Uma Thurman had an idea of how to find her enemies – what am I supposed to do against the cold uncaring face of time itself? There’s no shiny Japanese sword mystical and hand-crafted enough to beat up time in exchange for taking my dad. Stupid men over 90, why you gotta be so feeble? Not cool, man. Not to mention the mysterious cancer that just “happened” to show up out of nowhere, striking my dad down in his prime. How do I fight that? Maybe I should start with a soundtrack. Get a cool soundtrack, and the mysterious origins of my creation will make themselves known in a highly stylized flashback. Oh yeah. We’re really moving now!

Seriously though, I miss my dad. And crying gives me a headache. I should eat some chocolate. If it works for Dementor attacks, it should work against the ugly aftermath of .. this.

3 thoughts on “the mystery of the old, old man

  1. hugs to you kimli. death is hard. even harder when it’s someone close to you. I hope the good memories you have together will always be alive. xo

  2. Pingback: backfired | delicious juice dot com: unapologetically inappropriate

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