Last night I came to the realization that everything of the last 6 weeks or so has not been some bad dream. I'm not going to wake up and things will be different or back to normal. Things are fucked up and things are going to stay fucked up until I heal or whatever you want to call it. I hope that each day will be better, but its not. Each day the pain is as bad as it was the day before. I'm not suicidal, I'm just fucking sad. I miss my Dad. When I see a good horror movie or hear about one, I want to tell him about it, so he can see it and then we can talk about it. Its finally sinking in that we will never have a conversation like that again. I try and think about death as Buddha taught, and I just can't fucking do it. The Buddha said that mourning for a lost loved one is selfish, dying is part of life, the deceased has been reincarnated in a higher form etc... The problem is that I don't think it is my nature to think about things this way. I have been trying hard for almost a year to move toward this line of thinking, and I jus tcan't get there, not yet anyway.

I'm reading a book about Charles Manson right now and I think why is this crazy, horrible person still alive, yet millions of good people die each year. That's the ultimate question isn't it? What is the grand-plan, if there is one? What if it all stops tomorrow and there's nothing else. What if my Dad is simply gone? What if there is nothing after we die? I think I'm terrified that the last-time we saw each other at my wedding will truly be the last time. How's that for a bummer, the last time you saw your Father alive was on your wedding day? I just want all of this pain to stop. It seems like no one can help, I've got to figure this out on my own.


It turns out my Grandmother passed away 14 days before my Father. We found out about this two weeks after his death. On the night mey Dad died we attempted to call my Great Aunt in Florida to tell her and my Grandmother. My Great Aunt asked if it was my Mother calling and promptly slamed down the phone. I called back and let the phone continue to ring. Eventually she picked up the phone and let it sit someplace, with me still on the line. Needless to say we were not very happy. I would like to take this opportunity to thank them for never contacting my Father after his diagnosis and for making a very difficult time for us a bit harder. The fact that my own Grandmother would not even call my Father, his mother, when he was dying is really fucking shitty. My Grandmother made my Grandfather's life difficult when he was dying of cancer, and she really fucking hurt her son. I swear, if I get to heaven and St. Peter says she's inside, I'm fucking leaving. God can assign me to purgatory instead. I have never loathed someone as I have come to loathe my Grandmother. My Father put her first, often even above my Mother and I, he did everyuthing he could for her while she treated him like shit his whole life. Anyone deserves better than how she treated the family. I hear Hell sucks pretty bad.

On a much lighter note; the school year is over. That means I am on vacation. Sweet!

Hope all is well.