Loosing My Dad

Since my dad died.. I’ve more or less… vanished from my usual online universes… and umm.. one gets the feeling that people worry, so I thought I’d make a post and try and talk about what’s going on and… where I’m at.

I don’t really know how to talk about my feelings on this one… It seems like I’m doing everything in my power not to deal with my feelings… and because of that I can’t face being online in places where I’ve mentioned that he died… and I have these horrible anxiety attacks over it cause I know I need to go on there and talk about when the wake is and fuck… if it’s not this Monday….

There’s a kind of feeling of unraveling at the seams…

My conscious experience is one where.. it’s as if there was no issue confronting me.. just a kind of depression for which it is hard to attribute a cause.. that has me not wanting to leave bed all that much.. watching crap loads of movies…. and wanting to escape into constant music production

It was freaky… first year since my mom died that I managed to get a Christmas Tree up.. and not days latter comes a police officer to my door.. with a note and phone number.. telling me my father is seriously ill.

My dad… I’m standing in front of him, sitting by his side, on his death bed. He has it somewhere that he’s not to be put on “the tube”… but they didn’t know this or somehow it came about that he was on the tube… and now it’s up to me to tell them when to take it out. Imagine being put in that fucking position.

Not only that but I begin to think about this whole tube problem more deeply.. My mom died… because of a lack of tube you might say… and… I understand this idea about the tube… that you don’t want to become a vegetable… then just disconnect me please… but the fact that they could maybe have recovered….  is kinda fucking… horrifying.

My dad… I don’t think he was going to recover. He had.. Alzheimer’s… a heart attack.. some kind of kidney failure… some kind of problem in his intestines.. and phenomena….

I’m siting at the side of this fucking bed… and… you know.. it’s like your encouraged to speak to him as if he’s going to hear you…. and I mean even if this is true… he does have Alzheimer’s for Christ sake….

His eyes are closed… and as the talking goes.. there seems to be expression on his face.. movements of his body… that correspond to the conversation… to the crying… to the emotional reality you are feeling….  knowing that you’re going to have to tell them to unplug him and he is going to die… that this is the end.

What is said is pure stream of consciousness… cause what the fuck do you say? Who knows what to say at a time like this? So you think of Freud.. on his couch.. letting his patience speak.. without interruption… and you think “fuck it, worked for Freud” and you kinda go off….

I spent 7 or 8 hours in that room… get word that he died just after 6 am the next morning.

Anyway

I don’t really know what to say…. I know I don’t want to get up tomorrow morning to do whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to do tomorrow… I’d prefer to berry my head in… I’m not sure what… kinda check out of reality a bit..

But um.. I’m sure sooner or latter I’ll emerge….