19 Days

It’s been 19 days since my father’s death. It seems like a blink. It seems like a bad dream, a mistake, a bad trip on some even worse drugs. I keep on expecting to see him walk through the door. I keep on waiting for him to call me. I smile to myself when I think of the word “Dad” showing up on my cell phone’s screen. I got a new one. A cell phone that is. The red Razr. He would have liked it. He would have gone out and bought one as soon as he saw mine. He and I had that in common. We could never have enough watches and always wanted to have the newest cell phones.

I’ve learned a lot in the past two and a half weeks. Things about myself, my family, and other people. I’ve learned that I will ALWAYS attend a funeral even if I’m not that close to the person. It’s an issue of respect. It meant a lot to me to see the waitress at my Dad’s favorite resturant at his viewing. People that I work with that never even met him showed up. It meant a lot. More than I had assumed it would.

I find myself at ease with never leaving the house. I have nothing to say to the world at the moment. There is no one that means enough to me to make me want to move more than I have to. I realize that sounds horrible, but I don’t mean it the way it sounds. I thought this would change me more than it has. I thought his death would give me the strength to live. I thought the reality of his mortality would humble my excessive laziness. Not so.

And so I sit in my bubble and rub my cheek on the soft fuzzy feeling of loniness. It is mine and mine alone.

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