Funny & Dejected

It's funny...Funny is hardly the word, but still I'm reduced to tears. It's funny because you have this idea in your head. It's a notion that he's invincible. Then at once you're thankful. Thankful because you didn't have to see someone so beloved as a shadow of his former self, weak, respiring with the aid of oxygen, and delusional as a result of the cocktail of pain medication before he slipped into a coma. Thankful for that Sunday during the fall when you sat around and watched the Giants and recounted too many yesterdays. When you could tell that his appetite had all but left his digestive organs, but couldn't refuse tea and homemade blueberry cookies. You think back to times like that and can't help but smile because it's funny, because if you don't smile then you know you'll cry. It's tragic, how funny the term funny can be.

He's the reason that you're left handed, but play most sports "righty." It really wasn't his fault, he just assumed you were like the majority of the population, and that's why he bought you that baseball mitt. He's the the one who taught you to dunk your cookies in your post-dinner tea. He's the reason that you understand what it means to be Irish. He's the reason you consider both church and bar as sanctity. He's the reason you looked forward to your birthday parties. He's the one that taught you to fish. He's the reason your best friend was referred to as "Booger" until it was replaced with "Bubba." He's the reason you love the Jersey Shore so much, despite its general reputation. He's the reason you were fortunate enough to go to college. He's the reason you came to grips with Stage 4 as being terminal, and the finality of that term dictates that the numbers don't move backwards. He's the reason you look forward to the days when you could have a grandson.

"At that time shall Michael rise up, the great prince, who standeth for the children of thy people."
2/4/2009