these dreams

hey dad.
did you ever figure out who Kevin was?

listen, theres a door in my dreams, an old 40’s style metal warehouse door, labeled P-BB, you wouldn’t know what that door is for and why its always locked?

believe it or not, i understand you better now than i ever did.

it must have been hell to see mom laying in bed, missing a leg, having to do all that you could for her knowing that she was going to go.

did you ever feel like you were not able to do enough?

i feel like that every day. like i could have done something more, something meaningful, something to change what was going to happen and not spend the rest of my life alone.
i guess you had it easy though, being addled with Parkinson’s, you could still conjure mom up when you needed her.

i miss her voice. i miss her input when i needed a difficult answer. i miss setting on the floor beside the bed, at her feet like a good dog should and talking with her, making jokes, or shadow puppets just to hear her laugh.

she took all the good things with her. i am so very alone. i wake up, get breakfast and set and watch TV until its time to go to bed, just so i can wake up and do it all again. There are people who say their with me, and still i go to bed alone, wake up alone, drag my useless ass around alone.

I’m just waiting for that damned door to unlock.

its not easy when you have no actual purpose. i could work, strive, do everything a man is supposed to do, for his family, for his wife. i don’t have either of those. i do not have a purpose any more. i am obsolete…
thanks for listening. I’m sorry i wasn’t there when you died. i never got to say good-bye…