Aug 17, 1990

Eighteen years ago today. That's how long it's been since my dad died of a brain tumor. It's ok. I have grieved and cried and yelled and... am better now. It's just something that stays with me. Near the end, he lost a lot of his mental facility, so it was hard to sit around and watch him waste away. I was nineteen at the time and incredibly stupid and self absorbed and...(endless list of narcissistic idiocy), so I stayed gone a lot and didn't spend much time with him. I immensely regretted that afterwards. What do you do? It's weird because of how different I perceive it at different times. There are moments when it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Others, it seems like it was last week. Memory is a funny, yet sometimes cruel thing. I stood beside the bed and watched him turn blue. How crazy is that? One thing I vividly remember the next day at the funeral home was my brother and I taking clothes to bury him in. They let us see him and I remember thinking "that's not him anymore". It was a comforting thought. In my selfishness, I can't help but wonder what he would think of me today. It's easy for the mind to wonder about things like this. When's my next appointment?