On two occasions I crashed harder than the great crash of September 2003. The second one was a year before in September 2002.
It started on the 23rd. A Monday. I went to get up and go to school and I couldn’t get out of bed. And then I couldn’t get out of bed on Tuesday. And then I couldn’t get out of bed on Wednesday. Then I barely got out of bed Thursday afternoon in time to get to work. Yet, somehow, I made it to class on Friday morning, September 27th. I had had enough at that point and was determined to fight that day. I emailed my teachers, told them what was up, then fumbled on to class in a fog.
What The Hell Happened?
The 27th was the 1 year anniversary of the passing of dear ole dad. All the things that never got to be said, all the stances I had to take, all the decisions I had to make, all the issues left unresolved just whistled around in my head like a canyon rock in freefall.
One Unstoppable Whistle That Went on For Days.
I have no patience for men like him. Sick, or otherwise. Men who try to shadowbox spouses, children, family & friends in order to avoid the raw honesty of a moment and the fear that stems from it should never have to be tolerated. Sure, men who choose to whistle Dixie instead of standing up & enduring the consequences end up getting what the deserve. And it’s usually unpleasant. But, that was the void in my upbringing. The friction in the space between the memories.
And I have no patience for it.
The hardest thing I ever have to do in a day is show that type of patience for men like him when it’s not my fight.
Because when it is…
It’s the Bond the OldOld Man & I Share
And I wasn’t going to let our common enemy put himself ahead of me anymore. Even from the grave.
It was my fight, the bittersweet
When I went back to school the following Monday, I got to tell the girl what happened. Come to find out that both our fathers were Dixie Whistlers.