I was sitting in my living room the other day and a song came on the radio. “The blower’s daughter” By Damien Rice a very beautiful song. I was sort of spacing out, staring at this pack of Marbello cigarettes, I had a sudden flash back to a man named Lance. He was a very good friend of my mom’s and admittedly my only father figure as a child, he died of AIDS.
I thought back to all those times he would walk around the house in his underwear with his sunglasses on and an unlit cig hanging so carelessly from his mouth. I thought about every time he and my mom would laugh about nothing in particular and how I wished so much that I could hear his voice again. (I’ve long since forgotten what he sounds like) And the warmth of his embrace, I think I miss that most of all.
All these thoughts rushed so quickly into my mind all I could do was cry. I couldn’t help but look at that red and white box and think of him, I wished he could see me now. His little chicken all grown up and having already left the nest, I could help but wonder if he would be proud of me or what he would say to cheer me up at that very moment.
It made me dislike God to think about all those times and what could have been. But I guess I can’t be mad about it now, it’s been…10 years? Maybe more, since he died and that was my first time crying about it. It felt good to finally let it out, so now it’s a standing question. Is this a set back in my goal or a step forward?