Heavenly Father

Heavenly Father

I’m dying. I see the world differently — despisingly — because I can no longer pretend I own what I don’t have: life. Life is a ball that rolls around the world until it loses its gravity and falls. It falls with everything within it, until it touches down.

There’s a sense of excitement in me that there might be something else beyond. I hope I will have a sliver of memory of this life — just a little emotional nudge. This life, with all its unbelievable memories and the believable ones, has been fine. It never made sense, and still doesn’t.

But now I just want to sleep and wait. Waiting for that son of a bitch heart to quit — to stop extending a day or two I have no use for.

I thought of reaching out to people I cared about. Not that many. One or two. And then my kids, who never saw me as a father in the social patterns of the perfect father.

I tried. But I ran short of breath, and now I wanted to breathe fast — against the invisible will of a passing death. And at that moment I cried.

I was scared of Heavenly Father.