My father was murdered back in June of 2014. He was beaten for not paying back a debt and got a severe infection in his blood from the bruising. He had quit taking his HIV medicine a month prior unbeknownst to me. His face swelled where he was unable to breathe and he was placed on a respirator and breathing machine. He was on life support more or less for a week. The doctors never called it life support but when I went to the hospital that morning to visit, the Doctor caught me in the room and told me that he was not responding to the antibiotics. She asked what he would want to do. She said that he would have to be given a feeding tube and also that he would be sent to a nursing home most likely the rest of his life if he were to even survive the infection. So when given facts such as these and forced to ask myself what my dad would want–he had already basically told me since he had purposely not taken his medicine for a month prior. And it broke my heart to realize that the loneliness hurt him that bad and angry as well since I hadn’t been able to visit as much as he would have liked but it wasn’t fair because I was allowed to have a life too. It overwhelmed me. Does overwhelm me to think about. We had a fight a month prior to death, I’m guessing which might have been the catalyst for him to decide to quit taking his medication. He was accusing my boyfriend of stealing money which he hadn’t–my father had paid for a trial membership on Hulu and it had expired and debited his card. My father wouldn’t see reason and would not release my boyfriends things until the money was returned. I went into the apartment to get his things–I simply walked in and grabbed his things and walked out of the apartment with my father screaming behind me. To which I responded “Fuck You” when he began to have a coughing spell from yelling so hard. My last words to my father. I shit on him when he held me for the first time and my last words were Fuck You. And yet he is the one, the parent that really understood how I thought and operated, who could talk sense to me and who I guess I kind of identified with. My mother and I are extremely close, similar to best friends that tell each other most everything…my father was pretty much deaf the last years of his life which made it difficult to have in depth conversations. He was the only one that ever would tell me that I wasn’t crazy. And I tended to believe him and know it to be true now. It hurts to think about the way he died, the pain and suffering he felt, it hurts to think about the details of the story and the ironies and the circumstances. I moved to Colorado for a new start of sorts and I will not lie. It has been difficult. Heart breaking as well. Frustrating. I can speak about my fathers death without actually going there in my own mind and then sometimes I lay in bed crying till the wee hours of the morning. I do not seem to be amounting to much which I never really anticipated. But I am 30 now. 29 1/2. And it scares me to realize how little I have accomplished in my time that I have been given. I am waiting tables. And in debt. And not even divorced but SEPARATED and I have to tell you..it kind of makes me wonder what is the point? Wealth isn’t even that important but purpose. I long for purpose.
I can’t really answer what the point is but I do know deep in my gut that impressive things can still happen although most days I am skeptical that they will. I feel jaded in most regards but still have some sort of fight, or hope or something I believe to be possible so I trudge on. And these friends that come in and out of my life–it is so nice to meet them and get to know them and yes it is unfortunate the way life pulls us along our own paths but the friends a long the way–they fill my heart with love and I sincerely hope I touch their hearts as well. I love deeper now that I have no significant other to love than I ever was capable of encompassing earlier in my life. And that is a lonely feeling.