Hi Dad

 Hi Dad

                           By Teak Kilmer

                          Sometime in 2002 

Did your dying start when your dad died
and your mother wanted to die and you asked
“Don’t you even want to live for us, mom?”
and you were eight, and the youngest and her favorite
and she said “No, Thalas... not even for you!”
 
I was glad, mostly, but scared when you died
but dumbstruck that there were nausea and trembling
where fond memories and joy might have been

What a chance we missed
 
We could have fished together
but you took the Chesterfields and Jim Beam
instead of me into that wood smelling
lake rhythmed, oar driven row boat
 
We could have played ball, taken walks
talked about our lives; you could have parented
but you spent your nights mated to bookkeeping
for your Speed Queen Appliance Company store
 
While addicted to our round screened, black and white
Zenith TV, to a can of Planter’s Cocktail Peanuts
and a gallon of Gallo Port Wine served up
over the rocks in eight ounce “peanut butter glasses”
 
You were not heard from except to banish
me to my room where my day-mares became my nightmares …
nightmares so bad I had to read comic books with a flashlight
to get my mind off the dread of that nightmare, certain to appear
 
You wormed our rabbits with more affection than you ever showed me
 
My sister Martha, your love object, caught mom’s schizophrenia
Brother Marty hid behind a wall of mistrust and under a pile of image
I have caressed more character defects than one can keep track of
have bipolar, PTSD, severe generalized anxiety disorder and ADHD … yet with an utter
shock of creativity serving as pain relief and even intermittent joy
 
I’m ten years sober now, but first I had more slips than a lingerie factory
I’m better now

I’ve worked hard at it

and have had services and gained 'awarenesses' 
that were not there for you
 
I forgive you; I pray for you; I pray for me
I hope some day that we will meet again
And that love is all there will be between us …
 
And you know, Dad, I think we do what we know until we know better
 
Your son,
 
Thalas, Jr.