Beer for Breakfast

Summer vacation in our household never equated to big trips. Going “out of state” meant, just ever-so slightly, crossing over the Wisconsin border into neighboring Illinois or Minnesota. My sister and I were robbed of Disney World and never experienced sand and surf until high school, that same trip being the first time we touched our toes in a body of water that wasn’t a murky, freshwater Wisconsin lake.

 

When It All Came Crashing Down, Part III: Life in the Aftermath

In the days following a death, there is no time to grieve. An obituary needs writing. The casket needs selecting. Funeral preparations need making. And a host of other laundry-list items too many to count. For that reason, the reality of what had just occurred — death — hits everyone at different times and in different ways.

 

An Only Friend When All Is Lost

Normally I’d dissect my father’s letters and provide a translation or, at least, shed a little perspective. But my latest discovery in his journal does all the talking. My words merely clutter, worthless babble, considering the context and timing of a letter composed shortly before his life ended so tragically. By me writing additional words just for the sake of writing, I will only detract from the loneliness in his voice.

 

Twenty Words of Loneliness

Not until I recently dug into my father’s letters did I realize how lonely his life had become. Perhaps I was too caught up in my own anger. Maybe I just had enough of his broken and empty promises. Or, quite possibly, it took my being alone to understand what being alone feels like, instilling within me a sense of empathy.

High atop a page in one of those wide-ruled notebooks rests two sentences and nothing more. They’re written in penmanship barely legible because of dad’s unceasing episode of the shakes.

“I’ve never been this lonely and all alone in my 44 years of living. Life is very difficult for me.”