Today for whatever reason, I've choked up with tears more times than I would like to admit. I think about all of the times I thought to call my Father in the weeks and months before our trip to see him, and I remember how many times I didn't call, and I want to punch myself in the head a thousand times for every opportunity I passed up to speak with him, to hear his voice, to hear him breathing. Yes he had cancer and it ate him alive.. but I don't think that is what killed him.. Father died of sorrow and loneliness. I curse the day last November when we let him fly back to Turkey. He should have stayed here. We moved the guest bedroom furniture down to the 1st floor for him. We told him to stay, we wish he stayed.. but in reality, he did what was best for us, for me, my wife, my son. He didn't want us to see him as he became weaker, sicker, and more dependent upon others. The side effect of getting on that plane was to spare us the agony of watching him waste away. He told us he wanted to be in his homeland, in his own house. Okay..
I'm deep inside the pain cave right now. Contemplating calling in sick to work tomorrow, or all week. Anyway.. here's a piece which seems to fit the bill for how I am now feeling. Fuck this.