I haven’t formally written about my dad for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps it’s the finality of black and white; the irrefutable truth of a perfectly formed word. Maybe it’s the sharp edges of four seemingly insignificant letters that, in sequence, are capable of crumbling my silly existence. Dead. Four letters that are more heart wrenching than a memory and heavier than a foot stone. This is the most painful and agonizing piece I’ve ever written. I want no part of it, the words are unreal if unspoken. Here it goes… September 19, 2014 was a whirlwind of contradicting emotions. Shock, fear, hope, despair, love, desperation, confusion, peace, restlessness, denial….
There is nothing right about death but it’s as natural as breathing.
Sometimes its okay to turn your back on the perfect opportunity to gain a greater awareness of self. Game changers work hard, we are not entitled to success.
I plead guilty of an ungrateful disposition when I wake in the morning.
Look to my right and see; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.
Take care of your college career, your not only getting an education, your building a foundation for the rest of your life.
Everyone is born at the bottom of a diabetic staircase…Fortuna was not.
I’m a dog lover by definition – the story of how Jackson Patrick almost cost me my diploma.
A discussion with a YMCA grandmother on tech and toddlers.
That light bulb moment is real and it may not have anything to do with illumination…