whirlpooled topics unbackspaced. streams of consciousness. blurts. scribbled notes. outlined ideas. velocity waves. snatches from icloud. because self-editing is a writer’s cowardly way of preventing a reader from fucking the writer's confidence. dates don't matter. memories and moments aren't chronologically marked on the soul.

What Matters Most

This is my final post concerning the death of my dad. I try to learn with each of my experiences. Me? I use Roman Catholicism as my yardstick. But I think some things are universally true. I’ve learned I sucked at empathy and sympathy. I used to hear someone express grief and I dismissed it as overly sentimental or overly dramatic. I was wrong. Death leaves a hole - an emptiness I’ve never experienced. It’s too soon for me to know if/what can fill it.

I’ve learned sympathy cards matter. Attending funerals matter. Visiting the sick matters. Calling and inquiring matters. I haven’t mastered those acts of kindness in my past. But those failings are in my past. 

And I learned I’ve been intolerant of people who ask for necessary financial assistance. “Go fund me” supplications for funerals might be quite necessary. Thank God we didn’t need one because I’ve learned funerals are very expensive. For instance: an obituary printed in an almost obsolete newspaper costs $550. And that’s a small aspect. Yet necessary unless one lives in a village with a town crier. I’ll donate in my future. God help people who are too poor to bury their dead.