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e n d . o f . d e c e m b e r

( Wrote in December of 2008 )

e n d . o f . d e c e m b e r

I realize it has been a while since I have put pen to paper. It seems more and more difficult to find the time to write anymore. But as I sit here and watch the clock roll over to four am, I cannot help but ponder on the lessons that I have learned over the period of my life, and how I have failed them. Depression is pouring throughout my veins.

When I was young boy, I was walking in the mall with my mother and father. Buoyant, my brother and I floated past store after store as we saw the horizon come to an end before our very eyes. There stood Imagination. There were two doors, one giant door that several people could walk through at one time and another; tiny and only a couple feet tall so that children could run in... and of course one of the best parts was running through the door made for us. We flew into the store, our chains broken from having to be within a certain range of our parents. My mother distracted us with new toys and acted as if she was interested while my father purchased the items that we had had our envious eyes upon. And when their attention had been turned away from us for a split second, my brother and I picked up a book about collecting rocks that we had assumed was free. We had made it only a couple of steps out of the store before my mother realized that we were not bouncing around everywhere, excited about the next store, but distracted by something that we held. We learned several lessons at that very moment, you do not take things with a sticker on the back stating very clearly that it is not free, and you do not lie to mom about it being free.

Do not steal and do not lie. Two lessons that I have carried with me from that very day. Although I had probably heard of those lessons several times, I did not learn them until I experienced the punishment from committing them. I have always had to learn the lessons of life the hard way. For the majority of lessons learned in life, my father tried to warn me beforehand so that I did not have to learn every lesson the hard way. I had an easy ride the beginning of my college career because my father beat the lesson of getting a "B" on a report card. I have a drivers license because he taught me the lesson of getting a speeding ticket when you don't have a job to pay for it. But he could not teach me everything.

Unfortunately, my hangover taught me the lesson from drinking too much the night before. Although that has been a lesson taught over and over again, it's still hasn't been hard enough for me to learn it quite yet... =) Unfortunately, he could not teach me the lesson of debt before I had to experience it myself. When I bought my first car, he did lay out for me the responsibilities and requirements and consequences of buying one. And he did help me pick out one that would be within my price range. However, when I broke from his reign and thought I could own the world, I made the mistake of purchasing a car that I could not afford. And I think he knew that I would make that mistake, because I was everything that was in him at the same age. My dad's knowledge seemed to be infinite and it amazes me still even after two years... past his death.

Unfortunately, my parents could not teach me the repercussions of breaking someone's heart. I remember when I thought I had first fallen in love. My high school sweetheart, or the closest to it, was not the smartest girl in the world. And I think my father realized then that I did not have tolerance for ignorance, although I did not realize it. She was having difficulty finding her way home after leaving my house and I yelled at her on the phone when I found out that she had done exactly what I had told her not to. And looking back, I can see how it would be difficult for someone that had not been to my house. My father took me for a walk and literally put me in tears with one small talk. And yet it wasn't enough. I still broke the heart of someone that I had held close to me for three long years.

Tonight, I sat across from a table and held good conversation with two complete strangers. They were a young couple and I had served them one night before and so I sat down and talked to them. History, past, jobs, and politics flew through the conversation before I realized that I had brought up dad in the conversation. I tried to ease into it, but I failed and the girl gasped and flung her hand to her mouth as I told her how my father died. It seemed to come too easy, too quick. Their little girl, nearly three, jabbered about wanting some ice cream as I tried to explain that it wasn't a big deal... that it was nearly two years ago and that I was okay with it and that I wasn't trying to... get that reaction. And yet in the back of my mind, I knew... I know, that I'm not okay with it... even still.

Unfortunately, my father could not teach me the lesson of taking someone for granted. It angers me still, it upsets me so much to know that I'm alone in this god forsaken house when I should have a mother and father watching TV or doing something in the living room as I come home from a long shift at work. That they should be asleep and I should be worried about waking them up as I blast my music as loud as I can to the saddest songs because my heart is broken. All my life, I've been told that I have the biggest heart... and yet I know now that that's no longer true... but just a couple shards left from a sudden shot that sent my heart shattering into millions of pieces. This has been the loneliest and most heartbreaking Christmas, and I am glad that it is over.

The new year comes, and all it brings is an anniversary of something that I do not wish to remember. I cannot wait until someone, or something, finds the pieces of my heart and places them back together. Because there is nothing I want more in this life than to have the light and joy in my life that I had before my father passed. To look at my family and friends the way that I used to, and treat them with the love and respect that I should. There is nothing more that I want this new year, than to be the person that I was... that I used to be.