Two Years and Twenty-Nine Days Ago

Two days and twenty-nine days ago I became half an orphan.

My father died. He died of lung cancer. The horror that ensued in my life and in my mind is something I've been trying to put words to since then, since the moment the smell of death in his apartment entered my nostrils.

Maybe this is a strange post to start with. It is rather depressing and barely ever funny. But it's also pressing in my mind. The grief is a constant. I can count on it poking its sad little face up like I can count on my addiction to pepsi. The shadow of the ghost of my father follows me and casts a dull shade of grey around me, sometimes. And sometimes it drives home the exquisite and ridiculous joy of life and all the nuances of it that I come across daily.

My fathers death is creating stories for me far more real than my stories ever were before.

I will take courage and write them down, even though they scare me.

(I will even post this even though I feel like I sound a bit arrogant in it!)