This is a photocomposition I did with my father’s urn not long after his ashes were given to us. You can see his hat, which he wore the day he died, a rose that was on his coffin and the bullet that went thru him.
It’s going to be ten years on Friday since the day he took his pain away and left us.
I’m not going to pretend, to hide facts or even to condone what he did because it was his decision and despite my hurt, I will always respect his choice. It was his to make. If you think one has to be a coward, I’d say you’re wrong. If you think one has to be selfish, I’d say maybe, but then again, what’s more selfish: keeping someone here who doesn’t want to be or deciding to leave because you want out? Honestly, I don’t really know. I don’t really care either. He was my father, and I saw him suffering, turning into something that wasn’t my dad. I wanted his pain to stop and selfishly also wanted our pain to go away as well. It wasn’t a healthy situation. He knew what he was about to do; he prepared us, even if we weren’t always receptive to his pleas. He wasn’t crazy, that much I know. At least, not in the way we think of “crazy”. He wasn’t well and wasn’t being followed correctly by the medical system. He played the game because he was done. He told doctors what they wanted to hear, he acted the way people thought he should until that morning of April 17th, 1999.
Not a day goes by without me having a thought for him or about him. I still see his face very clearly, the last time I held it into my hands. Sadness was oozing from his eyes. It was as easy to see it as it is to see a raw skid mark after a nasty fall. He looked so fragile, and yet he was strong enough to pull that trigger.
I wish I still had my old man. I miss hearing him. It’s hard to think it’s been over ten years since I last heard him call my name.
I hope, wherever he ended up, he’s feeling better by now and that he managed to let go of his guilt and fears. May he find peace & always know despite everything he was loved.
May you rest in peace, Dad.