A letter to my late love.
Dear Mike,
It's been three years since I lost you. I would lie and say I've moved on but when you died it was a decent into hell. I secluded myself. And I say I. Most of our friends have given up on me. I go long stretches without talking to others. So long that my voice is weak. I can understand, I could explain that I can't hold a job, my soul is dead and I would attack a passion but there is none. I'm not in a midlife crisis but a midlife death. Slowly my dad is rotting to death from cancer and I'm useless. If you were here I would talk to you and you would help me clear my mind, help me see a direction.
I miss you so God damned much but the only thing I have left is hate. Hate towards an unloving God. A selfish, uncaring, jealous God who gleefully steps on hope just as it flickers to life. He punishes. Now, I could see you countering with Man art God and God is the projection of man's cumulative actions and will. So the blame goes back to me. I see my Mom being so strong for my Dad but her strength is going. I see glimmers of hope and science in my mind. An idea of attack but fact is this. No matter how good my ideas, no matter how scientifically strong, I will not be listen to. Even if I'm told it can't be done I would be thrilled! At least an acknowledgment of me, my ideas. It would be a spark to my soul and recognition of my value of my spirit. But I am alone.
Phil's birthday is soon. I'll try and call him. He lost his dad to cancer too. That hurts too. Is it arrogant to want to provide an idea to solve the world's problems? Is it bad to want the joy of knowing that I solved a problem? Is it bad I want to matter? To want to have a clear direction of my skills and abilities so I can focus them and lunge forward like Don Quixote?
Do I not deserve joy? What sin have I committed to die in this hell? I miss your guidance. And I'm sorry. Before you died you asked me to marry you. To leave my family and move to Canada. I hesitated and I lost. The week you died I was ready to ask you to marry you. Hell, I even designed a wedding ring. I never thought I would have the money to make it but I tried. Then Dad gets cancer, then Cathal goes to jail. Like a knife to my back, and another, and another. I still write to him. The pain of writing is gone but it get's more difficult to think of things to write about. Some say I should live for you and him but, there is no life where I am at. I'm looking for work else where but how can I abandon my family? How can I abandon my parents through their roughest time? I was such a horrible son to my dad but when I got into the real world I understood. I understood why he had to take a nap after working a 12 hr shift. I understand his love and why he couldn't play catch with me. I understand now why he didn't try to fake the same interests I had. But I was such a miserable shit that I hated him. Now, I want him to be pain free, cancer free, happy, resting with my mom in peace. Sadly, the only peace God knows is death. Unimaginative bastard.
Forgive me for only talking about me. I'm out of practice talking to others. I miss your goofy smile. You would be the classic happy hobo in clown tradition. I miss your sense of humor. It could be so macabre at times but it made me laugh. I miss how your favorite color was black and mine was white but your soul was so kind. I'm looking over the photos I took of you. You laughing at me when I ate those hot wings in PA. The BBQ on Centre Island. You riding the subway while testing out those hooves you made while drunk Torontonians laughed. You didn't care. I admired that about you. But I understand your trepidation in life. I understand you were held down by inner doubt and fear. I'm am so sorry I didn't see that in you earlier. You had a gentle silliness I used to have. You were fearless for others but yet were fearful when it came to yourself, like me. Help me overcome myself, Mike.
I would love to hear your voice again. I would love to have unbridled happiness again. Hell, I would love just a fucking phone call from someone to might through their own life and call me. Think of me.
But I made the sin of hesitation, and that sin is being passed on to me.
With tears, and a shattered heart.
Your love,
Jacob.
It's been three years since I lost you. I would lie and say I've moved on but when you died it was a decent into hell. I secluded myself. And I say I. Most of our friends have given up on me. I go long stretches without talking to others. So long that my voice is weak. I can understand, I could explain that I can't hold a job, my soul is dead and I would attack a passion but there is none. I'm not in a midlife crisis but a midlife death. Slowly my dad is rotting to death from cancer and I'm useless. If you were here I would talk to you and you would help me clear my mind, help me see a direction.
I miss you so God damned much but the only thing I have left is hate. Hate towards an unloving God. A selfish, uncaring, jealous God who gleefully steps on hope just as it flickers to life. He punishes. Now, I could see you countering with Man art God and God is the projection of man's cumulative actions and will. So the blame goes back to me. I see my Mom being so strong for my Dad but her strength is going. I see glimmers of hope and science in my mind. An idea of attack but fact is this. No matter how good my ideas, no matter how scientifically strong, I will not be listen to. Even if I'm told it can't be done I would be thrilled! At least an acknowledgment of me, my ideas. It would be a spark to my soul and recognition of my value of my spirit. But I am alone.
Phil's birthday is soon. I'll try and call him. He lost his dad to cancer too. That hurts too. Is it arrogant to want to provide an idea to solve the world's problems? Is it bad to want the joy of knowing that I solved a problem? Is it bad I want to matter? To want to have a clear direction of my skills and abilities so I can focus them and lunge forward like Don Quixote?
Do I not deserve joy? What sin have I committed to die in this hell? I miss your guidance. And I'm sorry. Before you died you asked me to marry you. To leave my family and move to Canada. I hesitated and I lost. The week you died I was ready to ask you to marry you. Hell, I even designed a wedding ring. I never thought I would have the money to make it but I tried. Then Dad gets cancer, then Cathal goes to jail. Like a knife to my back, and another, and another. I still write to him. The pain of writing is gone but it get's more difficult to think of things to write about. Some say I should live for you and him but, there is no life where I am at. I'm looking for work else where but how can I abandon my family? How can I abandon my parents through their roughest time? I was such a horrible son to my dad but when I got into the real world I understood. I understood why he had to take a nap after working a 12 hr shift. I understand his love and why he couldn't play catch with me. I understand now why he didn't try to fake the same interests I had. But I was such a miserable shit that I hated him. Now, I want him to be pain free, cancer free, happy, resting with my mom in peace. Sadly, the only peace God knows is death. Unimaginative bastard.
Forgive me for only talking about me. I'm out of practice talking to others. I miss your goofy smile. You would be the classic happy hobo in clown tradition. I miss your sense of humor. It could be so macabre at times but it made me laugh. I miss how your favorite color was black and mine was white but your soul was so kind. I'm looking over the photos I took of you. You laughing at me when I ate those hot wings in PA. The BBQ on Centre Island. You riding the subway while testing out those hooves you made while drunk Torontonians laughed. You didn't care. I admired that about you. But I understand your trepidation in life. I understand you were held down by inner doubt and fear. I'm am so sorry I didn't see that in you earlier. You had a gentle silliness I used to have. You were fearless for others but yet were fearful when it came to yourself, like me. Help me overcome myself, Mike.
I would love to hear your voice again. I would love to have unbridled happiness again. Hell, I would love just a fucking phone call from someone to might through their own life and call me. Think of me.
But I made the sin of hesitation, and that sin is being passed on to me.
With tears, and a shattered heart.
Your love,
Jacob.