I am a man, desperately trying for redemption. Quietly now, loudly soon. I know I need change, and I feel the burning will of God coursing through my veins. My body, soul, and mind were never meant to contain all this rage. This is letting go. This is my Phoenix, for I refuse to be a slave to my flesh any longer.
Sha Awa It’s taken me quite some time to be able to sit down and write my “final words” to you… Truthfully, I kind of allowed myself that wild hope for your recovery, and even to speak with you again. But I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t make it in time. This past weekend, I spent a lot of time with your family. They are all great people, and I want you to know that I will keep in contact with them. I know that you would have wanted that. Cierra will still have a brother, I promise you that. I’ve also heard a lot of stories about you, and the more I hear, the more I realize how similar we are in attitude. Its odd, that I grew up without ever knowing you, yet duplicated so many of your mannerisms. It’s really difficult for me to say goodbye. This world truly is cruel. After years upon years of curiosity, agonizing questions, and mystery of my biological father, I finally connected with you… Only to lose you, yet again. There simply wasn’t enough time to receive the answers to life’s questions. And I think that’s what I’m struggling with the most. The lack of time spent with you. I wish you would have lasted long enough to see your Grand daughter. (Good call by the way.) She loves you, and dances when I tell her your stories. I wish you had the chance to meet Monica, too. She asked about you often, and wanted to travel with me, badly. I miss you. I still haven’t allowed myself to let it sink in that I wont hear you speak again. Or hear you sing your songs. See you dance. Or get the chance to get in the ring with you. You’re still the greatest mystery in my life. There were so many things that I still needed to know. So many questions I still had. I’m very thankful for the time we were given together. But it still seems as if it were a single painting in what should have been a gallery. If I tried for the rest of my life, I don’t think I could forget the two weeks we spent together. You, and the stories I have from our time will live on. When my daughter, Phoenix is old enough, I’ll tell her about you. And I’m sure she will always cherish the Rattle you made for her. Thank you for everything, Sha Awa. I hope you’re having a big time Hunting with the Old people. I’m sure I’ll see you there one day. Until then, you’ll know where to find me.
The death of my biological father is not a shock. As much as he tried to sugar coat it for me, and say he was just sick, I knew he was dying. 2 summers ago when Daniel and I went out there to L.A. to see him, he would frequently excuse himself from us, and vomit black blood. We all knew it was coming. As sure as the sun falls at night, we all must die. The only problem I'm having is wondering what to feel. I know I'm kind of alone in this. Not many have been through my exact situation. It's like reading only book 2 of a 3 part series. He wasn't present for 18 years of my life, but for the past few, he had become a great friend of mine. You read that correctly. I view Sha Ahwa, Phillip, my biological father as a good friend. He was a much better friend to me than a parent. Don't get bent, don't get offended. That's just how it is.
He held a thousand secrets, that I'll never know now. And I think I'm ok with that.
I was hoping to fly out, to be there for the family in the wake of the tragedy. Unfortunately we were unable to afford it. It's looking like if I do go out there, it will be via Greyhound. Whirl wind adventure, here I come.
Thank you for your Time.
I miss simplicity! Back when the most I ever had to worry about was what my schedule at work next week was gonna be. I have a lot riding on my shoulders. And I think I am just now grasping the concept that I will have another living being depending upon me to feed them, clothe them, love them, care for them, change their dirty diapers, make sure they have a roof over their head, and ultimately raise them. I'm up to the challenge, clearly. I haven't run. I haven't tried to weasel my way out of it. And I wont. Ever. But reader, to be honest. I am very afraid. I just hope things can change for the better. That my family problems straighten out. So she doesn't grow up in a broken house hold. I miss relaxation. Being care free. I know that will never happen again.
I'll keep it moving along. I'll be fine. One way or another.
Writing has always been a hobby of mine. Publicly displaying my emotions, trials, and errors has always been a fear. Guess it's time to step up. I'm falling apart this season. I'm not too great at revealing my inner thoughts, they're mostly dark. I don't like people feeling sorry for me. I don't ask for sympathy. I just want someone to listen. Every day my mind gets darker. My temper grows. My biological father is dying. I didnt know him for 16 years. In the past 4 I've been in contact with him, and even gone out to Los Angeles and seen him. It's tearing me up because there are still immense painful questions I cannot have answered. I can't talk to my family about it because they despise him. Thanksgiving has just passed. We were missing two from last year. My beloved Grandmother Bard in December of 2010. And her daughter, my aunt and former english teacher Gay Bard passed in April. My grandfather, Bubba, is in the hospital now, and could go any day. My fiance and I have a daughter on the way. She'll be here Feb 5 of 2011. I love her already, but it adds more stress. Stress. I don't really show it. But it weighs heavily. I work 2 jobs. Don't get much of any time. When I do, its stressful even more so. I guess it's just the way things have to be for now. Just listen. Get to know me. By my thoughts alone.
