My dad died of cancer when I was twelve years old. Who knows what kind; bladder, pancreatic, who cares. I just remember being a young girl, scared, going every fucking night and sitting in the “solarium” “white room” as I was too young to go into visit my “dying daddy”. Twelve, no brother nor sister, an only child. Where the fuck was the pastor, the neighbor, the friend, not even my grieving mother to console me, where the fuck was anyone? I wanted him dead…and what power I felt when the hospital called, “he’s dead” What power….
I remember the morning, a very early phone call from the hospital. “Mrs. West, your husband has passed”. I had a friend over spending the night. That phone call came; then a phone call from my mother to my friend’s mother, “come pick up your daughter, Patty’s daddy has died”. “Yay!! The drunk, falling all over me grabbing his drunk penis asshole is dead!!!”
Where the fuck did she go??? My friend? I know where my dad went, his sorry ass is in a hole in CA somewhere. Did we go to school together? I don’t even remember how we met. I think maybe we went to the same church. She was my friend and I treated her like shit. I do know that we went to Haydock Junior High together. I would pass her in the halls and act like I did not know who she was. WHAT A SHIT!!! She was there the morning of my father’s passing, the most important phone call, I should have clung to her but no. She was there at one of the most intimate experiences of my life and I chose to later treat her like shit…
Where are you now, Sheila Brown? I just want to tell you that I am so sorry..