I found a bottle with your name on it.
It was prescribed on 8/28/2011. Just over a month before you died. Another red flag that you knew what was coming and were scared out of your mind. Because you never took that stuff. They gave you 4 refills - crazy since you weren't going to be around that long. It saddens me that you were so utterly alone as you died. It's part of the basket weave of emotions that line my skull. I still see you with your greenish eyes and your drawn cheeks. Huffing for air as you struggled to take the oxygen off. I see the muck of swallowed pain medication lining your teeth. I still hear you calling out Jesus' name in between shallow breaths. Your situation was so utterly pathetic: Your brothers and sisters had been alienated by pride and circumstance - and the inability to forgive. I can't put a finger on who's fault it was, though I know who you cursed with the last of your oxygen. You alienated me for years for reasons I'll never know other than you "didn't know how to be a Dad". 33 years of experience and nothing to show for it? A frightful future for myself, indeed. And although you carried your wife and daughter along as they bit and cursed you - you alienated them, too. I remember this alongside the wonderful things said about you by your friends. The eulogies, the well-wishes, the heart-warming stories that caused lumps in many throats. Yet those people, in whom you invested your love and friendship, weren't there at the end. If they were, it was because we told them to come - Because I told them to come. Otherwise, you would have died alone with your wife. Drowning in lung fluid and piss - refusing to give up. If only that resolve were applied earlier in your life to other things that were equally as important. This bottle should be refilled for me four times for every time I think about you. But not for anxiety - it should be something that can untangle the basket weave in my skull. It should be something to keep me from saying "I told you so" to your widow and daughter. They now live in a constant state of fear - trepidation because I won't fill your shoes. I am the representation of their worst fears because they have been coddled too much. My expectations are too high and I communicate them too hard. Too fast. Too often. And as they fight with each other, making their situation worse, I have less and less pity for them. Though I will always empathize. I will always know why they are where they are. And I won't feel guilty for where I am. There have always been choices for them as there were for me. There was always an opportunity to make things better. But everyone just would rather give up everyday. I wish I had the pleasure of not doing what needs to be done. So maybe I do need the Xanax. Either way, I'll need something after Mom dies. Cause you both set me up in a big, big way. And I don't have the luxury of checking out for the rest of my life like the both of you did. But I'm grateful to know that I won't be dying alone in a dark house, full of junk - And what a metaphor that is. Around the roots and through the glass
I never said that change was a blast Though he rocked and rolled, he lost Sixty years disappears in a flash Simply not enough bricks in those walls Somewhere out there lies the morning The highway blocks daylight from forming I saw his pain when I came over And I saw his storm stop storming I stopped pulling petals from the clover The wrinkles in his brow told me Just how lost he felt that knowing Time is fluid but always out of reach "She can't lose her one and only But the tide will rip a castle from the beach" Around the glass and through the roots He admitted the truth that he always knew In Houston the dream fades away softly In between wood and fire he'll start anew How he'll make it work is simply beyond me Time is a tool in which we work our magic To lose your dream is nothing less than tragic But all you'll need is to lie down and sleep And pull another trunk out of your bony attic It's up to you, what promises will you keep? I've had enough of lying to myself at night Argue with a daydream and see who wins the fight Pull all your desires together and slip them on Try as you may, try as you fucking might Maybe the next part of your life has begun? If I knew a prophet I'd spend less time thinking If I knew a mogul I'd spend more time shrinking I'll turn the map upside down and drive backwards But I won't waste any more time blinking And using a black pen to write down black words Turning corners, turning over, turning around Looking for a piece of my own fucking ground The most bitter pills in life are mandatory But in my frustration, in my rage I've found Sometimes the hardest things are the best for me |
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