Oct 2

 Tired and full of aches. I'm doing alright, but have had little energy today. Not done shit.

I phoned the old man up today. I. Kinda. Slowly realised I should probably do that. I feel a bit disconnected from it all. I'm usually tip top aware of what to say, who needs support, and yada blah. Except perhaps when it comes to this ? I don't know.

Anyway.

I phoned the old man up.

He was ok. "OK". A studied OK. The old mans "OK". You'd have to know him. You'd have to know your shrinkology.

He's not ok. He's not dealing with it. He's burying it.

At one level, if you ask, he's matter of fact about it. This has happened. That has gone on.

But it's the little things if you have the ears.

He said more than once. She'll just be burned. The emphasis was on the burn. Subtle. But there. It's not a term of sadness, or loss, or respect. It's spat out. The anger beneath the surface. The fuck you this is the brutality of the world. You just *burn*. Don't you. Burned. Like so much garbage. And that's your fate. That word. Burn. Loaded with emotion and callousness. On purpose. A cry of pain. A snarl as its mouthed. Burn.

There is a depth of rage underneath it. Kept in check. Almost, but not quite, unnoticed. It is the language of brutal hopelessness. The language of the depressive. At least. Of my dads type anyway. I know it intimately. Better than anyone. I know him better than anyone.

If it was a kid, and it was a simpler response it would be something like. FINE BE LIKE THAT, I DONT CARE ANYWAY. It's that kind of response.

Another day, someone dies, the world rolls on. His words.

Think about that for a moment. You could, at the surface, just surmise this is some brutal, cold blooded response to my moms passing. Or perhaps something very zen ( my dad absolutely does not, has not, never will do anything zen ).

But it isn't.

It's that anger. That depth of sorrow of railing at the world and its unfairness. But condensed down into the petulant quiet hopeless statement. The embrace of the void. It is the familiar whisper of the depression demon in your ear. Embrace the void.

It leaked at one point. I. Sometimes think. He lets more slip with me at times. Another, small thing he said.

No funeral. No service.

I wont have my heart ripped out. Quote, unquote.

There in black and white. He is not dealing with it. He's burying it. He cannot deal with it. Wont deal with it. Like everything in his life. The auto pilot comes on. And he buries all that emotion and feeling. He can't express it. If he gets close to it, he is out of his depth. Scared. Worried. He doesn't how to handle any of it.

So he buries it. And the rage follows.

I listened to him for 10 minutes, go from matter of fact, to dark, to matter of fact, to dark, to glimpses of utter sorrow to matter of fact. He settled somewhere in the dark.

He talked to me about how he had a pact with my mom. That when it got too much for her, he would end it for her. That it wouldn't matter what they would do to him. He told her not to suffer too long in pain. He said she was comforted by that in the last few months.

He then told me, she had said she had had enough. The day she died.

Shortly after he said, her face lit up, she was alive, and she said I'm going to my happy place.

I am not 100% sure what he's telling me there. Whether he's telling me he finished her off. Or whether it just happened anyway. It doesn't matter in any case.

They are doing an autopsy on my mom. Because. "She died so suddenly". I am pretty sure it will just be pneumonia. But. Given what my dad said. And what my dad said to my sister....

My sister asked him outright, in a gentle way, did you end it for her ? He answered. Let me put it this way, I left at 5, she was dead by 7.

Even still. It could be either way. My dad at crazy emotional points where he cant deal with shit, sometimes acts and says the weirdest of things.

The autopsy will show it one way or the other.

If he did do something. Then he will commit suicide. Of that I am sure.

If he didn't do something, I'd give you odds he will commit suicide anyway. Everyone, from my siblings, to my nephews and nieces are all aware of it, and have all - as it turns out - said the same thing in the last 24 hours.

His reputation precedes him. And his self destructive tendencies.

He has spoken to me often about the suicide plan. And the various things at times he has had waiting and ready. He talks to me freely about it.

I am not the one to talk to to heavily dissuade anyone from that path. I get it. I've been there myself. And it never really leaves me.

He is old and tired, ill, confused, scared and now alone. Even if you wanted to, you would not be able to dissuade him from any given path. He will do what he will do.

When he said the "another day, someone dies, the world rolls on". It sounded like he was talking about himself as much as my mom.

So there's all of that.

I am pretty much ok with all of it. I get somewhat emotional when I talk to anyone about it. But. It's not overwhelming. It comes and goes.

The odd thing is. It's not the loss of my mom so much that is the thing. I am at peace with it. It's. The line it has drawn. It's making me think long and hard about who I am. What I am doing. How different I am ( to my family ). I feel in some aspects like I have just been fractured from the family. That I don't belong. I am different. A different voice. More than that. It has raised everything about that. Perhaps I should just shut my mouth. Close my eyes. Let the world pass by. Live simply. Live in isolation. What is the point of anything. Everything turns to dust. The whole of my past is just turning to ash. What was the point ?

Odd. It feels like it's testing all my links.

Perhaps. At the bottom of it, is that seismic change in your world. You lose a parent. Your foundations shift. Everything above it - which is everything - then shifts too, even if subtly. A tremor up the building.

Maybe.

My dad admitted that he felt as if he had been freed. A weight had been lifted from him.

Very understandable. I am slightly surprised he admitted it. It can be one of those horrible confessions. But. Of course that happens. The stress and strain and everything else is suddenly lifted.

I feel it too. But in a different way. It feels like a leash has been cut that I didn't really know was there.

Perhaps it's all just weird manifestations of grief.

It remains to be seen what happens with the old man. Can't tell. If he was well, then it would be a toss up between enjoying his freedom, and just ending it all. He is a very long way away from being well, and is circling the drain. He knows it. I cannot see the light at the end of that tunnel. Not a case of if, but when. But who knows.

My sister said if it did happen it wouldn't be nice for the person that discovered him.

I said to phone me. I would come down. If you had doubts. I would come down. I would do the thing. I would go find him. I walk those paths. I am ok going there and finding him. I understand the dark.

She refused. They would sort it out someway. But thank you.

Hmm. I wish she would call me. It would save anyone else doing it. And. It would also be my final point of contact with my dad. A very fitting, if awful, one. On the paths of misery that twine their way through the abyss.

So. Yeah. All of that.

There are very few people in the greater sphere of people that I know, that know my mom has passed. One of the few asked me today, how on earth I coped with the idea of my dad committing suicide in relation to this. How does that not tear you apart ? If there is only one thing about me you take. Then it's the fact I have long walked the paths of the abyss. I am very familiar with suffering and misery, I understand its nature, I understand the ways it warps people, the choices you have down there, and how very different it is from the world of light, where everything is happy and positive or at the least comfortingly banal. It is the nature of existence to be that dark, at times. The world does a fine job of ignoring it, or rationalising it away to a minimum, anything to not acknowledge it. But it's there, it's enormously powerful, and it is awful. I get it. I am ok with it. It's not happy. It's not "good". But I can walk there where perhaps others would find it extremely hard. That's how it doesn't tear you apart. Anything you do a lot of, you get good at. I walk a lot of dark paths. That's it. I don't recommend it. It's not sane. But that's my experience. So. You use what you got.

In the end, he said goodbye to me, short, suddenly. Awkward. I could tell he was struggling to keep it down. He had to shut it off. So. Goodbye.

The phoneline buzzed. I let out a ragged long breath.

That. Was a thing.

I then phoned my sister to check on her. She's ok. Happy that it's over I think. Another one that guards their emotions. But she was ok. She had pre-dealt with it quite some time ago. Me too.

Eh well.

Tomorrow is another day. The next few days I think will be critical. Autopsy. The slow realisation for my dad. Which way that coin flips short term. Medium term, I know which way that coin lands.