Dear Alison, it’s 2022…

It’s been five years

Dear Alison,

It’s been five years since you died. Half a decade. That blows my mind.

This May is better than it’s been in the past, which – honestly – isn’t saying all that much.

The boy and I both miss you terribly. Well, I do. He misses a daydream of what he thinks you are. If only he knew how much better you really were.

The place is a mess but I’m trying my best. I just started making my bed, though. It only took 49 years.

God, you’d love this kid so much, honey.

He’s made of peanut butter and awesome. He can sing! Like, legit sing and play an instrument. No lie.

I’m so proud of him, I could burst, babe. You would be too.

I love him like a fat kid loves cake.

I love him because, he’s ours.

There’s so much more – good and bad – but I’m tired. I try my best not to think of you because things go dark when I do and I can’t go dark with the boy around.

I am his guard, after all. I have a job to do.

So I busy myself all these ridiculous things like strangers, Scenic Fights, and Paxibellum, but I’m just passing the time. Honestly, I would have been thrilled if I had the chance to spend the rest of my life just being your big-headed husband and the boy’s papa.

That would have been glorious.

Do you remember that stupid Blackadder joke I told you about years ago?

Him: Life without you is like a broken pencil.
Her: (puzzled) Explain?
Him: Pointless.

I think about that joke almost every goddamn day.

But lately, as always during this time, I find myself wishing that you were here and I was not. But, you knew that. You always loved life so, whereas, I always just loved you.

I’m going to put you away in my head again because I have to. It’s the only way I’ve made it this far. It’s the only way I can do my job.

But I’ll love you until the end of the world.

You knew that too, I suppose.

I miss you so much. It’s agony.

Our boy is the only thing that keeps me here. Because, I hate it here without you.

It’s all so pointless. It’s all so fucking pointless.

The Hubs

In My Life

There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

 

Location: my possible pasts
Mood: heartbroken
Music: Not for better (Spotify)
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Grief and I are old friends

Falling in love, repeatedly

The boy’s away for spring break so I’ve been catching up with people when I can.

Before he left, though, I went to his school for career day.

Me: OK, so I have few jobs I do. I’m a lawyer, I run a building, I own part of a gym, and I teach people how to fight. Which one do you…?
Kids: Fight!

That made me laugh. The boy looked so happy and proud of me, I coulda burst.

This fella – don’t remember who – once said that you don’t just love your kids, you fall in love with them. I’ll add to that: Repeatedly.

Gotta say, that’s spot on.

Him: Thanks for coming, papa!
Me: Sure. Thanks for being glad I came, kid.

 

Met someone recently that I’ll call Heidi. In many ways, she reminds me of Daisy; dealing with a lotta things, ranging from simple heartache to some serious horrors.

Her: It’s sweet that you’ll listen to a stranger. I’m sorry I’m crying.
Me: After my wife died, strangers listened to me. So, I figured I’d pay it forward. And you should never apologize to anyone for your honest emotions.
Her: Whatever happened with the last girl?
Me: (shrugging) We were awful to each other, in our own ways. I suppose –  not that it’s an excuse – that we were both trying to survive. Which is what you’re trying to do now: Whatever you need to do to survive.
Her: That’s the first helpful thing anyone’s told me.
Me: Unfortunately, grief and I are old friends.

Saw the Acrobat, briefly and I’ll just keep the details of that to myself. We’re both unmoored in the world, but for very different reasons.

I suspect we’re all looking for home, but she’s a leaf in the wind and I’m a ship on the waves.

Because of that, what we want for ourselves are two very different ideas of home.

Sunday, it was my birthday.

I’m 40-freaking-nine. I cannot believe it.

Him: Honestly, you’re like a vampire, Logan. I don’t think you’ve aged a day in the two decades I’ve known you.
Me: I always believed that I just aged slower than other people, for a buncha reasons. (thinking) But the last six years aged me more than any other time in my life, I think. So, I’m catching up.

Of course, I did the traditional Chinese breakfast of cooking a six-pound pork shoulder overnight and waking up early to make a Cuban Sandwich for myself with an overly sweet, hot cuppa joe.

Birthday brekkie of champions.

Her: You spent your birthday alone? (laughing) You need better friends. I would have taken you out.
Me: I know. I appreciate that. It’s fine. I’m not sure how good company I’d be, anywho.

My birthday always falls around Easter but this time it fell on Easter. I remembered that Alison made a whole weekend of plans for me once and we caught the Easter parade too.

This year, I wanted to see it alone.

But I didn’t quite make it – partly because Heidi called me, and partly because, I hit the grief button because Heidi called me and I couldn’t.

I was doing so well.

Maybe next year.

Location: home, baking four dozen high-protein chocolate chip cookies for him
Mood: allergic to life
Music: you are flowing like a river, washing right over my soul (Spotify)
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Taking it apart

My pretty but dead dreams

I built that crib with Alison on September 13th, 2015. She was in her last trimester at the time and insisted that she help but I had her just direct for the most part.

Seven years later, I finally took it apart.

Well, not me, a fella from my gym that helps us out with stuff. I couldn’t do it.

Just like when my friends came by to paint it at the height of COVID two years ago, it was just something that I kept putting off.

Alison took that picture above, almost as a joke. I didn’t know she had brain cancer at that moment.

Put it off for two things, really.

One was Alison, of course. She was a part of that crib, just like she was a part of how that room used to look. The other was that I think I was hoping that maybe Mouse and I might have a kid of our own.

But they’re both gone now and the kid deserves to have a bed that matches his age instead of me clinging onto all my pretty, but dead, dreams.

When my buddy left, I sat down to finish the bottle of rum I’ve had sitting on my countertop.

I always have a bottle of fine aged rum on my countertop.

But, I decided against it and put it back. Had a cup of tea instead.

Baby steps, yeah?

Do you see the little boy’s outfit hanging on the closet knob in the background?

For a while now, I’ve been giving a lot of the kid’s clothes to Mouse to send off to her relative in the Ukraine.

The kid last wore that in December of 2019, when we went to that Christening in NJ. I always thought the kid looked adorbs in it.

That was something that I’d been meaning to give her for some time now, along with some other stuff for them, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

The thought that there’s some little boy running around in Ukraine, scared and confused, younger than my own kid, wearing my kid’s clothes, bothers me in a way I can’t fully express except to say that it’s fucking bullshit.

He’d be the same age as my kid was in that pic above.

It’s bullshit that some innocent kid has to pay for a billionaire’s greed for more fucking money.

I wonder if he’s dressed in one of my son’s outfits now. It bothers me because – but for time and tide – that couldn’ve been my kid.

Well, I guess I could express it, after all…

Doesn’t make it any less bullshit. Maybe I should have that drink after all.

 

Her: Why didn’t you tell me you were in LA? I would have seen you.
Me: I know. I had a lot going on. Have.
Her: What’s new? You’ll see me next time, though, yes?
Me: Of course, darling. Promise.
Her: (laughing) You and your promises.

Location: earlier today, waiting for the pool shower
Mood: trying to stay in the golden mean
Music: I don’t really feel bad news anymore (Spotify)
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A Strange & Complicated Evening Pt 2: Putting on the Mask

Afraid of Yesterday

Me: Technically, any woman I meet is your competition and any man you meet is mine.
Her: (laughing) Oh, Logan…they’re not my competition.
Me: Fair.

It turns out the Counselor was in the same hospital, the same building, the same floor – the same wing – that Alison was during the early part of her illness.

Of course.

Felt that same feeling of “this can’t possibly be real,” that I felt for most/all of her sickness that I hadn’t felt in a really long time. It was an unwelcome but familiar feeling.

Dunno why but, I decided to go see the Counselor and – as if by auto-pilot – made my way from the gym to the Upper East Side.

That’s not true. I do know why I went to see her. There were two reasons, in fact, but more on that later.

Visiting hours were long closed but I managed to convince the guard to let me in after a solid 15 minutes of chatting with her. The truth is a powerful thing and I think the guard knew it would be good for the Counselor (and me) if I made it upstairs.

When I walked into the hospital, I was greeted with the same view that I first saw the day I first went there with Alison in that goddamn ambulance.

It was just missing the Christmas tree.

I walked past the same everything that I did all those years ago and tried to keep it together as I maneuvered my way past several security guards, nurses, and various support staff, alla whom noted that I didn’t have a Visitors Pass a solid hour after visiting hours ended.

I was clearly not supposed to be there. I suppose a bright red leather jacket doesn’t help matters.

But, after all that, I finally made it to her room and walked in.

As always, during times like this, I put on my mask: I pushed all that doubt to the side of my mouth, straightened my back, took a deep breath, put on a big smile, and walked in to see a set of pretty eyes.

Me: This is a terrible date venue you picked, I gotta say.

I settled onto the windowsill and looked out across the river to see the exact same view I saw all those years ago.

Me: (staring out) These windows don’t open all the way, you know?
Her: I didn’t.
Me: (nodding) Yeah. I tried to jump out of them years ago and I found that out.

It got a little darker than that but I was there to try to cheer her up, not bring her down.

As comedy relief, her roommate would let out a hacking cough (non-COVID related) every so often while we were in a deep conversation, which doesn’t sound funny but it was such an odd situation that it was.

There’s more, quite a bit more, but most of that’s her story and not mine to tell, as always.

I’ll just tell you that she’s probably going to be fine.

I was glad I went. Can’t remember the last time someone was that happy to see me. Forgot what it was like to have some kindness. That was probably the most attractive thing about her.

Her: It was sweet of you to come.
Me: (shaking head) No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You should get some rest.

So, that’s the first reason I went. Honestly couldn’t tell you if she was more grateful that I went or if I was more grateful that she let me see her.

The second reason, though, was that I’ve been forcing myself to not think of Alison for…years now. Think I knew that, if I went to that hospital, I’d be forced to think of her and remember her.

And I wanted that.

As I made my way downstairs, everything came rushing back at me at once. The smell of the place, the feeling of dread, it hit me as I felt as if it was December of 2015 all over again. Like it was yesterday.

By the time I got to the ground floor, I went straight to the same bathroom that I threw up in twice before over Alison and did it once again.

Honestly, though, after I cleaned myself off and left, I felt better.

I remembered Alison. I remembered that version of me; the one that was a new father, trying desperately to save his wife he loved more than anything.

Not knowing that they were all already fucked.

My gift, if you will, is to forget. It’s a survival mechanism and part of why I have this blog; because I know I’ll forget things. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.

After all, fear is forward, no one is afraid of yesterday.

I walked outside, hopped a cab home, and was neck-deep in my thoughts when the Acrobat called.

Her: How was your night?
Me: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

It was a short convo. I was worried about the Counselor, which sounds silly as she’s a stranger to me. But she didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her.

After a while, I shot a text to my mother-in-law asking if she was awake and she replied yes.

So, I rang her and told her what happened.

Me: I try so hard to forget Alison. And I feel guilty about that. But I just wanted you to know that…I loved her so much, mom. (deep breath) I loved her so much.
Her: (gently) I know, Logan. Try to get some rest.

Location: just north of Solas, being tossed out like garbage
Mood: don’t even know how to begin to tell you
Music: I’m gonna need somebody (Spotify)
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I was right. Yay.

What do you expect?

The boy’s been away for a bit so I could concentrate on the gym and some things I’ve let slide since the theft.

Did manage to see my buddy Jonny for dinner along with Chad. He’s a fun fella and also a partner in the gym.

That’s us at the same place that Gymgirl/Mouse took me to when she graduated and my buddies and I went to before everything went to shit.

In any case, the three of us spent the day doing manual labour. Interestingly, Jonny solved a problem that’s been vexing Chad and me for a while now; it wasn’t as thorny as the sacrifice rod, but still…vexing.

Him: See, you shoulda called me immediately, what with my greater intellect.
Me: That was our first mistake. But what do you expect? We’re Americans. Trump was our president for the last four years.

Also managed to speak to another woman I dated a while ago. She was one of the women that broke the trust covenant with me.

Her: I could never trust you again.
Me: Why is that?
Her: (shrugging) Because I would never know if you were with me because you wanted to be with me or if you wanted to get back at me.

The thing is that I knew this. In fact, I told you about this ten years ago.

It’s weird but it’s part of why I want the boy to read, because, when you read –  unlike when do things like watch TV or videos – you get layers of understanding and complexities you’d never get in a million years otherwise.

There’s this scene in The Godfather book that’s not in the film – dunno why the director kept cutting out these important scenes.

Michael kills his brother-in-law, Carlo, and his wife Kay secretly leaves him. Mike’s brother tries to stop her but she says she can’t stay because she can’t be with a man that can’t forgive.

Mike’s brother says something like, even if Michael truly, truly forgave Carlo, Carlo still “had to be killed. Because treachery can’t be forgiven. Michael could have forgiven it, but people never forgive themselves and so they would always be dangerous….[Michael] loves his sister. But he would be shirking his duty to you and his children, to his whole family, to me and my family, if he let…Carlo go free. They would have been a danger to us all, all our lives.”

And that’s when I truly  understood everything: I forgave her for what she did, but she never forgave herself and could never believe that I forgave her.

She would always think I was plotting to hurt her out of revenge.

It’s why treachery is the ninth and last circle of hell: It destroys things so utterly and completely.

In other words, I was right. Yay.

Cancer and other fucked up shit like that notwithstanding, we all live the lives we create for ourselves and each other.

And here we are.


The boy’s away and won’t be back for a few weeks. This is him in my kali class. It’s funny, but he’s reminiscent of my friend’s dog, dontcha think?

Albeit much cuter, IMHO.

Location: earlier today, being told to buy solvent from a movie star
Mood: hungry
Music: Stops counting the crimes and lays down its pride (Spotify)
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You’re Welcome!

For sure, I’ll be ok

The Heiress is gone from this blog. The details are unimportant but the fact that she had the same cancer as Alison really messed with my head.

She showed me a picture of herself in front of a MRI machine and that sent me for a loop, although I think I hid it well.

I most definitely cannot deal with anything like that ever again.

Like I said, I only have the type of luck people don’t want.

It’s a shame though. She was the first billionaire I met although I wonder if this other fella in our gym is also one as well.

I think I’d like to meet another just for the conversations.

Me: What happened with your ex?
Her: He was going through some things so I bought him a building in Greenpoint so he could recuperate.
Me: Well, if you’re giving away buildings, the kid and I could use a townhouse in Hoboken at some point. Nuthin fancy, but central air would be nice. Oh, and one that doesn’t flood.

I’m really not that picky, considering that I live in a place where a rat swam up the toilet and it flooded, all within two weeks.

Interestingly, the Skinny House in Boston is for sale again; I visited it back in 2018. Boston seems fun but it looks like I’ll be in NYC for at least the next five years, what with the new gym et al.

On that note, Chad and I are both running on fumes trying to get this thing off the ground. As you might expect, it’s all the unexpected stuff that’s slowing us down.

Him: Uh, is that supposed to move like that?
Me: Jesus Christ.

Also, other things in the city seem to be falling apart as well.

My apartment almost flooded again earlier this week so I had plumbers come in today yet again.

And cops were all over the place the other day.

Still, I suppose, though, I am lucky in some ways.

Him: When did mommy die?
Me: (sighing) 2017.
Him: Oh man! That’s was a long time ago. (looking at me) You’ll be ok, papa. I’m here.
Me: (smiling) Then, for sure, I’ll be ok. Thank you.
Him: You’re welcome!

Location: earlier today, ducking out with the kid from some thunderstorms
Mood: exhausted
Music: Summer’s only ending if you let it, babe (Don’t let it) (Spotify)
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Logan dines and dashes (almost)

Memories with old friends

I’d just thought of Rain the other day because I met up with someone for coffee right outside his old pad. It was fine and we had a good time sitting outside chatting when we just casually got up and walked away.

Later on that night, I got hit with my usual insomnia and thought that I did a dine-and-dash.

The joint opened at 6AM so I called them as soon as I woke up and spoke to the waitress – who was the same one that was there when Rain was there – to try to pay the bill over the phone.

Her: What are you asking me?
Me: Did I pay the bill?
Her: Yeah. Don’t worry. (later) You’re Rain’s friend, right? Tell him we hope he’s happy.

For some reason, that whole interaction made me happy all day.

A few days later, I got a mass email from Rain. Like always, I looked at it like kismet.

The thing that always bums me out is the futility and meaningless of life.

But, every once in a while, I wonder if all might mean something.

It’s weird, how old friends seem to hit you up at just the right time.

I’ve hung out with more waitresses than you could possibly imagine. Alison and Mouse were both waitresses once – although not when I met them – as were any number of the women I hung out with like Daisy, Artistgirl, HEI, just off the top of my head.

Was trying to figure a place to meet up with someone downtown when I remembered a joint on St. Marks that Rain loved called Stingy Lulus.

It was cheap diner food that was good, not great, but plentiful. Our buddy Larry would always order the cheese fries with chili after 1AM.

The waitresses there were all drag queens but it was New York so it wasn’t a good or bad thing, merely a thing.

I remembered that I met up with Rain one night there because I needed to kill some time before meeting up some other college friends at this place nearby called Village Yokocho. I was dating a doctor, on-and-off, at the time.

She moved to Cali so the two of us could really try to give the breakup a go.

Rain told me that that night that, while he liked the doctor, he didn’t see the two of us together. And then he left and I headed to Yokocho afterward where I ended up chatting up a waitress there and going on a couple of dates with her.

It was cold on one of them so I gave her my favourite scarf. Never got it back because we both ghosted each other.

We’re actually FB friends now but I figure that scarf is long gone. Besides she’s married with kids and it’d be weird to hit her up outta the blue to ask for my old scarf back.

I’m rambling.

I feel like I don’t remember much of my life before 2015.

But rando memories are rushing up to greet me now. I’d completely forgotten about everything I told you – Stingy Lulu’s, late nights with Rain and company, Yokocho, etc – and it all hit me at once.

I’ve lived so many different lives in 17,500 days. I was someone very different, once. Not better or worse, merely different.

Actually, I was definitely someone worse – even more vain, argumentative, and shallow than I am now – but I was also someone with some great friends and a really cool wool scarf.

Man, I miss that scarf.

Me: I’m not sure you woulda liked the person I once was.
Her: How different could you be?
Me: So different. I guess I keep reinventing myself, hoping that this time, I’ll be who I’m supposed to be with the life I’m supposed to have. (thinking) I think that maybe I was only who I was supposed to be once in all this time.
Her: What happened?
Me: It’s too early to trade our sad stories, darling. Hey, have you ever dined-and-dashed?

photo: joannaepley’s flickr

Location: in my head
Mood: nostalgic
Music: I’m no good at goodbyes (Spotify)
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To know them

Is to love them

Mouse and I’ve been fighting. Hard to say why, exactly.

I tell you that as background to the following conversation.

Me: I need a favour. My uncle died and I need to know if you can watch the boy and lend me your car on Monday so I can say, “goodbye.”
Her: What time?
Me: 9AM to 1PM or so?
Her: OK. I’m sorry about your uncle.
Me: I am too. And thank you.

And that’s Mouse in a nutshell. To know her is to love her.

She came by, right on time, and immediately started chilling with the boy while I dashed off in my black suit and shirt to go someplace that no one ever wants to go.

Didn’t sleep a wink the night before so I got there in a complete haze.

When I arrived, I texted my cousins – the two children of my uncle and a third from my other uncle, his older brother. It was the first time I saw all of them since Alison and I got married.

I sat outside in the cold car trying to steel myself to enter. I called Mouse, ostensibly to check in on the boy.

Her: Are you ok?
Me: Honestly? No.
Her: You got this. We’ll be here when you get back.
Me: OK.

So I went in.

I said hi to my uncle’s son first and wanted to say hi to the daughter and my aunt but I couldn’t. I just stood quietly in the corner.

Funerals should always be about the person that died, not some rando that shows up and makes a scene so I composed myself as best I could.

After a bit, I walked over to the daughter, and then my aunt, who sat with my other cousin, and said hello. I’d still not really walked up to my uncle yet. I was putting that off.

I told my aunt I was sorry and she just nodded. She looked old and she never looks old. Rather, she looked shellshocked and I knew that look. Think I looked that way for most of 2017.

Finally gathered up the courage to go to my uncle and when I saw him, I had to laugh. He wore a suit but under the suit was a red CARVEL tee-shirt.

Of course, that was so perfectly him. He was so proud of his store and his work.

My mom told me to tell him some things from her…

I’m sorry you had to go through this. You didn’t deserve it. But you’re with grandma and grandpa now. And if you see my dad, please tell him we miss him, terribly. And we miss you.

…but I added my own little thing.

You never met Alison but you would have loved her. She always said she couldn’t wait for the three of us to head over to Carvel and eat as much ice cream as we possibly could. If you see her, tell her the boy and I love her so very much. She’ll want some ice cream, but not plain vanilla. Ah, the boy and her woulda both loved you and you, them.

Don’t remember much else. I did see a dozen women show up, crying. These were all the girls he hired across 30+ years. I overheard one woman say that she met her husband at that ice cream shop and that she loved my uncle.

Realized then that that was the reason he was my favourite uncle: To know him was to love him. Just like my mom, my dad, Alison, and all the people I’ve loved in my life.

On the way back, I got lost – even with GPS – at least three times.

And when I tried to gas up Mouse’s whip, my card was declined but then my phone rang asking me if I would authorize the charge.

I clicked yes and bam, it worked.

Wonder what tiny but amazing things the kid’ll see that I’ll never see.

Me: I should be back by 2.
Her: We didn’t eat lunch yet.
Me: Don’t wait for me, there’s some brined pork in the…
Her: We’re waiting for you to come back and make us lunch.
Me: Done. It’s a deal.

Location: earlier this week, Hamilton, NJ, thinking of rocky roads
Mood: heavy
Music: not asking for a miracle(Spotify)

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Blogarama - Observations Blogs

My baby brother ran away

Goodnight, JoJo

My uncle died from COVID yesterday, just after noon. That’s him with my grandma and how I picture both of them in my head. I loved them both, very much.

My mother said the saddest thing when she told me. What she said in Chinese was, My little brother ran away.

That’s what broke me that day. He was my uncle, but he was her baby brother.

He was actually my favourite uncle because he always seemed thrilled to see us. He owned and operated a Carvel in NJ for decades and none of us ever saw him without coming back with a cooler full of ice cream.

The mayor of that town wrote a nice little something about him.

He was as good and decent a human being as the universe allows, just like my mom and everyone else from her family.

He didn’t deserve to die and certainly not like this. COVID. But I suppose that’s true for the vast majority of the people that die from this stupid virus.

His family – my cousins and aunt – are grieving because this came out of left field for them.

It’s not my story to tell so I’ll stop here.

As for me, I feel a tremendous amount of guilt. Because, while I grieve for my uncle’s death, I really grieve more for Alison’s.

You see, whenever some tragedy happens, you also get some bullshit bonus.

Like if you lose your job, the bullshit bonus might be that you can’t pay rent and also get kicked outta your apartment.

Or if you crash and destroy your car, the bullshit bonus might be that you can’t walk again.

The bullshit bonus that my uncle’s family has to deal with is stuff like who’s gonna manage the store and how are they gonna to set up the funeral?

I know this because I dealt with things like that too. I wasn’t ready. No one ever is.

This fucking cancer took so much from me, from my family.

Actually, it took my family.

I laughed when I wrote that last sentence. Because what else can one do?

That’s why it’s bullshit and why it’s bonus: Cause more just randomly shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

The bullshit bonus I hate the most is that I don’t grieve like normal people.

When my dad died, I felt like…20% of what I should have felt for this man I loved and that loved me so. I was his boy and he was my dad.

But all I could think was, “At least he lived longer than Alison.”

How. Fucked. Up. Is. That?

I loved my old man. God, I loved him. Like a fat kid loves cake.

And yet, all I could think about was all that Alison had been cheated out of. The same for Fouad. Nick. Kirk. My Uncle Jay. And now my Uncle Nelson, whom I used to call JoJo.

It’s not right. It’s not fair.

They deserved to be more than mirrors and magnifying glasses to Alison and yet, that’s all I can muster. And the guilt from that is just more bullshit bonus.

I’m rambling. I’m sorry.

Everything’s fucked up and nothing’s right in my head anymore. Nothing’s been right since November 2015.

My uncle took us all fishing once, when I was a kid.

I remember being so deliriously happy that day and I thought he was the coolest guy ever. He deserved so much more than this.

Son: You’re thinking of mommy.
Me: Yes. I’m thinking of family. How did you know?
Him: You went (breathes deeply)
Me: (nodding) You’re a smart boy.
Him: Are you sad?
Me: Now, how sad could I be? I have you.

Location: hell
Mood: guilty
Music: Get back to where you once belonged(Spotify)

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Blogarama - Observations Blogs

Goodnight, Uncle Jay

Thanks for the gifts

Me: My uncle passed away.
Her: (puts arms around me) I’m so sorry to hear that.
Me: You’re choking me…
Her: I’m giving you a hug!

The picture below’s of a Montblanc Meisterstuck 925 Sterling Silver and 18K Gold fountain pen. My uncle Jay gave it to me when I got into law school way back in 1995.

My dad got me something similar when I graduated college. I never thanked either of them for either gift.

I was upset and petty, you see. A pen? Who gets someone a pen? A computer, a TV, cash – that kinda stuff I understood as a fella in his 20s, but a pen?

I tossed both into a drawer and forgot about them. Found them earlier this year – a quarter of a century later.

I’d meant to say thanks to my dad for his pen, but I always forgot to. And when I found the pen from my uncle, I asked my mom if I should call.

Mom: He’s sick. He won’t understand.

Uncle Jay never had any sons. Only daughters. He was always kind to me. I was too young to know what to do with kindness from relatives.

There’s this saying that I’ve always liked that goes, Youth is wasted on the young.

I was so arrogant and immature for so long. I made so many mistakes. It always feels like it’s too late. But maybe, with the boy, he’ll be better. Nuthin would make me happier than if he was better than me.

Thanks for the pen, Uncle Jay. I didn’t deserve it and I wish I said thanks when I had the chance.

Sister: Are you ok? You were close to him.
Me: I am. He got to live a long life and watch his kids grow up. Meet his grandchildren. What was he, 86? I would take 86 right now. I wish Alison got half that. He lived a good long life where he was loved and respected. We should all be so lucky. He’s no longer suffering. He earned his rest.
Her: You’re right, he did. Thanks.
Me: No, thank you for calling. I’ll give mom a call now.

Podcast Version
Location: yesterday night, having drinks with a pretty lady
Mood: pensive
Music: I hope everything is gonna be alright (Spotify)
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