The death of my father.

Writing this without crying is impossible, I never wrote it before. But it’s a major part of me, and this whole attempt would be a lie without it.

Noelle wasn’t with me, she wasn’t home or reachable either that night. I got a call from nanny. She said in tears, you dad is dying. He’s in a coma and they said even if he recovered, he would be a vegetable. They told me they just took him off life support. I didn’t have a car at the time I could drive, the camaro was sold by then. Just couldn’t keep it running. Or legal. So I got a ride from the neighbors and on an incredibly cold, snow laden, stormy night in torrential conditions, they drove me to the hospital and dropped me off. I had a million thoughts in my head, the worst was the past and how things ended.

He was in and out of the hospital a lot. They by passed his liver and he still wouldn’t quit drinking. I went over to his place on Washington street and saw him a few times. He lived in a shared house, rented a room in the attic. Miserable conditions but right next to the worst bar in town. The landlord was called the colonel and he was very nice to my dad, he liked him. Fed him once in a bit and they’d watch tv together from time to time.

He’d come by drunk to borrow money with a bad story hustle or to sleep. Sometimes he’d shit his pants and I’d have to wash his clothes. He’d eat rotten

food out of my fridge and usually be too drunk to talk to. All the pressure of holding the place down and bills piling up were couple with my relationship troubles, I had it. The guys in AA told me to give him tough love, write him off. All he was doing was hurting me. I listened, and to this day I never forgave any of them for that direction. It was heartless, and when it came to my father all I ever was heart. Until that day, I called him up because I got a dentists bill for 300 dollars to repair the tooth he smashed. I demanded he pay it, he refused. I said I didn’t want to speak to him anymore. I didn’t want to see him anymore, I said fuck off out of my life. Those were to be the last words we ever spoke. 6 months before this day.

I was outside the ICU, they had a phone to pick to get buzzed in. I lifted it and no one was picking up the phone, it rang for minutes. I’m going crazy wondering what the fuck is going on. The nurse picks up finally and said can you buzz me in I need to see my dad and I don’t have much time. At first she said hold, I screamed HEY! look I don’t know how long he has, just buzz me the fuck in! She replied He just died, you’ll need to give us a minute to clean him up. He flat lined when I was outside the door. One wall away. I finally get in and walk past the other people in there dying, and there he was. Bloated like I never seen, he was huge. Could barely see his face let alone recognize it. There was a priest there, Big guy he said he was a childhood friend of my fathers. The name he went by was fatty, fatty Madison. He said he was confident dad went to heaven, He was praying for the Lord to take his soul and he flat lined. I cried standing for hours, I couldn’t, I wasn’t ready. I was I knew, but nothing was right. I was supposed to restore this man, instead I destroyed him. All the things I could save, all the things I could fix. It was all down to anyone I loved or tried to, anyone to close to me I could not fix, I would be the destroyer. If I could not heal you, Vincent would destroy you. In turn, destroying me. Every action you put out in this worlds comes back for collection of payment. No exceptions, not even for me.

The official cause of death would be sepsis. The unofficial story is he was coming home from a party he went to, they got him drunk fed him a bunch of pills robbed him and threw him in a ditch. He got up, stumbled home and while crossing a street he was hit by a car. He got up, walked the rest of the way home or crawled. Went up 3 flights of steps and crawled into his bed and bled himself internally into a coma. His housemates when they found him in his condition robbed anything he had in his room and whatever he had left. Even his shoes. I was told the car was intentional, I was told the pills were spiked, I was told all kinds of things. The truth is, he was dead. I had my part in that.

Noelle and me went to the funeral, he was cremated. The urn for years sat in my grandmother dining room, draped with a rosary. The funeral was at the grandparents. I really thought it odd everyone showed up drunk or drinking.

They even spent the time bullshitting about the wine cellar and how they brewed. No talk of dad, no talk of his life, no talk of his death. The only really notable

thing was Gregory. He was there, he was just sitting in a chair, looking so pissed. He spoke to no one. I walked over to him and said hey, if you ever need to talk to anyone or you ever need me, here is my number. I handed him a business card. I never heard from him until many, many years later.

A couple days after it hit the paper I had a buzz on my intercom. It was Bobby Altone. He said he heard about dad and wanted to come by, he had a bottle of southern comfort 100 proof, my drink of choice for a very long time. I didn’t even let him in to see him. Told him I was clean and out of that life, and I never saw or heard from him again. In retrospect, despite the addiction and all we were through, he was a good friend.

So good bye to my dad, and every moment we shared, every moment we laughed or cried. A couple years would go by before I was asked to clean out the attic where he had all his things. Pictures, letters from my mom, his high school memorabilia, his drawings, his life. I still have his hooded sweatshirt and I wear it all the time. The only other things I kept sacred was a copper key he kept and a steel leash. The key I was to save for the one true love of my life, it was to be worn by the woman my father wanted me to have, I was to look upon it and see my life finally complete, in fruition. Full circle.

The leash? That was all Vincent. It’s the only one I ever use on all of my submissive. It was to be part of ceremony, and session. Only ever to be used for what I owned that was special, and sacred. Noelle never fit into either categoiy at that point, so in a box they would go for many long years.