pyroguysr's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ten Years Gone Ten years ago this Wednesday, my dad passed away after an 18 month battle with cancer. Dad and I fought a lot, arguing politics, religion, our take on current events... but we had a lot in common. He was proud of me, even though he could never say so directly. He used to "talk" to me... you know... how you can sometimes "communicate" mentally with someone close that has died. He hasn't said anything to me since December 2001 when I began to fuck up the life I'd built, so I write these journal entries every year, hoping he will read over my shoulder and forgive me. I miss our talks. He could be a harsh critic, but he could also be someone that simply loved you. He truly loved my wife, treating her as a daughter, not a daughter-in-law. She loved him like the father she didn't have growing up. I miss him dearly. I've not really cried since the funeral, not ever really released the grief. Oh, I have moments of silent sobbing, lasting maybe a moment or two, but then it stops. Back then, I had to "be strong" for my mother and brothers. Now, it's become habit. I've held it inside all this time, held it so close, I don't know how to release it anymore. My son was 14 when he died. We visited him the night before. He had slipped into a coma after having hallucinations, trying to "brush away the clouds so that he could see his sister, brother-in-law and sister-in-law. A nurse came and gave him a sedative and he calmed down. By the time Chris and I got there, he'd lapsed into the coma, eyes open, ragged breathing, not blinking. I sat by his bedside and talked to him, telling him to rest easy, that all would soon be OK. I called my brothers, telling them to come home quick as Christopher sat with my dad. His grandpa was his best friend (along with his dad). They'd fished together, camped together, worked on things in the garage. Dad was a tinkerer, you see. You learn odd things about people after they die. I'd known that my dad was in the Coast Guard after WWII broke out. I didn't know that he'd dropped out of high school in his sophomore year. HIS father had passed away and he needed to work to help support the family. That's why he was never able to help me with my homework. But the man could build anything. I was always amazed at the things he could produce from other peoples junk. Nothing went to waste - he was a depression baby, after all. Dad also loved to fish. He would catch 200 - 400 lbs of crappie and perch at his Lakeside Getaway. He'd gut them, clean them and fillet them... even cook them for you. Wouldn't eat them, though. He hated the taste of fish. His fish-fries were legendary, though. They eventually moved from the house to his favorite "Tap", aptly named "Johnny's." It's right there still, on the corner of Calumet and Broadmoor. I don't think dad ever paid for a drink there, because he supplied them with all their fish. (He had to! It was better than letting it rot from freezer burn in the deep freeze!) I need him now, though. I keep talking to him, but he's not saying anything back. It hurts, but I know I've hurt him. I've turned to my younger brother for advice. The tables have turned on the two of us. Once I was the one with the good job, the wife, the child and the house. Now he's the one that has it all. Hell, even my son has announce that HE and his wife are buying a house. Mike tells me that it's "my turn to bounce back." He sounds amazingly like dad sometimes. I miss your advice, Pops. Please talk to me. I miss you, Johnny, I really do. In memoriam: John Leo Kus 1921 -1996 11:35 p.m. - 2006-03-31 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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