There aren’t words for the confusion I feel about stepping out on the internet stage again. After living at our father’s house for the summer while he slowly sailed out to sea, my brother and I are stumbling into daylight as if from battle: scarred and weary and dazed.
It’s really bright out here, did you know that?
Lest I get ahead of myself and start writing cheeky little numbers which seem utterly inappropriate considering my last essays and Dad’s recent departure, I will close the chapter on Dad with this: the invitation to his memorial which doubles as his ticket for crossing the River Styx and beyond into the cosmos.
I started a graphics business at the moment when Dad came down with a touch of Stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer; this is the only piece I’ve created since he was diagnosed. I’m glad. I never had the chance to focus on business, so I could make this ticket and memorial unfettered, with love and attention to absurd detail which makes me so happy and made him so proud.
Plus, everyone should have a ticket. How will we ever be guaranteed a spot with the nymphs and naiads if we don’t plan ahead?