Could tell you about being a Doctor of Destiny, tell you a tale of lost soul mates or a story about a girl from Cleveland.
Could tell you about getting having a bottle of gasoline dumped over my head and the lit match that followed but very of you are really interested in any of those things.
Very few want to deal with the naked intensity and the freight train that comes with it because it is too much, to hard, to difficult and too exhausting.
I get it, there are some things you can’t relate to or understand if you haven’t lived them and even if you have sometimes it is easier to forget.
Easier to bleach your mind and lobotomize your memory so you forget what you once knew so well you could taste, touch and feel it without effort.
My father had very bright blue eyes that could turn icy if he wasn’t pleased with you.
Sometimes when I think about those final moments with him I remember the eye contact, holding his hand and feeling his soft squeeze back.
His hands used to be huge and there were more than a few moments where he would grind my hands in his. It was a game we used to play, can’t remember how it started but I remember daring him to squeeze tighter.
He would, but there was always a limit. If he thought I was in real pain he would stop, but I often pushed him to do it because it was part of how I measured myself against him.
Something you do when you are 12 or 13, stronger than almost every boy you know but still not capable of matching your father.
He never lorded it over me, told me more than once to be patient and give myself time to grow.
“It will come, but you have to wait.”
Sometimes I couldn’t, so I’d push him.
“Been working on my hand grip dad, bet you can’t beat me. This time I’ll slide my hand into yours, thumb all the way back like you taught me and you won’t be able to out squeeze me.”
But he did, for years and years until that growth he promised hit and my hands grew as large as his.
Soon they became strong enough I knew I could win, but I never tried. I would push to a point and then stop, because Dad deserved to know he could still win, even if he never tried.
Don’t think it mattered to him, he was proud of his son and didn’t care about something trivial like that.
I can see myself standing outside of the hospice, standing in the backyard of what had once been a residence it is surrounded by beautiful hills and trees.
The sunsets there are beautiful and in a different setting would feel stunning, but these remind me we’re one day closer to a hard stop.
Those bright blue eyes barely open at all now, the drugs have him and he appears to be sleeping as comfortably as I have ever seen.
But every now then one flutters open and I catch a glimpse of an eye and wonder if his consciousness is close enough to the surface for him to recognize me.
Someone asks me if I think he hears us and I tell them if I call out to him and ask for help he will rouse himself.
They scrunch up their face and I see their disbelief, but they don’t know my Dad like I do and I know if I ask it he will come and he might try to sit up.
I won’t do it, I have already told him it is ok to go and promised it is my time to look after everyone.
But for a moment I think about trying to make eye contact one last time but we never do and I know that I am going to walk through the rest of my life with whatever number I have gotten during our 49 years together.
I can’t call or write Dad to tell him what has happened. Can’t tell him what he was right about and how hard it was to get to this place.
Can’t tell him I put my shoulder into it and gave all I had and then found more and used that up but got here.
Got to this place, not sure if it is the summit but I can see the Valley and I can see the ocean. I can see for miles and I am trying to catch my breath and enjoy the moment.
Not quite ready for that, but damn I just might be soon.
Going to need to take some time off, some days to recharge and relax, but that will come soon.
For now I am going to do my best to live in the moment and just be.
Might need to dance in the fire a bit longer, might not, but going to do a little jig and celebrate.