after major depression

This is
what
ma­jor de­pres­sion
leaves
af­ter you pass in the night.

Please be aware
that I don’t post this to shame him; my birth fa­ther, Ed­ward, was a tru­ly good per­son. He loved me in his own, less than in­ti­mate, but very self­less way.

But he was also very in­se­cure and filled with a fear of the world. The last few years he maybe called me once a year. He just had too many demons from his child­hood that fol­lowed him and nev­er let him rest. It made him a true recluse.

He was an abused child, a vic­tim with a ptsd one gets when they are phys­i­cal­ly and emo­tion­al­ly abused on a dai­ly ba­sis from too young to re­mem­ber. He nev­er got to tru­ly be a hap­py, in­no­cent child. At age 8 he was run­ning milk to the curb for the milk­man, and in turn his job mon­ey bought his vi­o­lent al­co­holic fa­ther booze.

He drove his 8 younger broth­ers and sis­ters to school and back every­day in the fam­i­ly car at age 14. As a mid­dle-aged man, into his sec­ond mar­riage, he had to sum­mon up all he could muster to re­sist the in­stincts to take his re­sent­ments, in­se­cu­ri­ties, shame and anger and act out on them.

In­stead, he turned those in­stincts out­side-in, and de­cid­ed that if he re­sist­ed deep, in­ti­mate con­tact, life would be a lit­tle bit eas­i­er. He left his sec­ond wife and nev­er had an­oth­er re­la­tion­ship. He didn’t make any new close friends.

My for­mer wife and I moved him into this small stu­dio apart­ment in Ko­re­atown where he sat every­day alone for more than 15 years (with his won­der­ful, timid res­cue dog Murf for much of it) un­til he died in his sleep last Sat­ur­day, 10 Feb­ru­ary 2018.

He did­n’t have much and he didn’t let me help him if ever at all, hence the messy, dirty, lone­ly apart­ment. He was of the gen­er­a­tion that too much help was a sign of weak­ness. He re­al­ly tru­ly did­n’t know any bet­ter.

But one thing he did know was that I loved him. But the fact that he was in so much emo­tion­al tor­ture leads me to tru­ly be­lieve in the most car­ing, com­pas­sion­ate way, that he is now fi­nal­ly at peace.

I don’t need your con­do­lences. I tru­ly don’t. I am at peace with him be­ing at peace. We had good mo­ments that I’ll get to take with me. But say what you can while you can to those you love.

Now. I did. I can rest. He can rest.
 

—lance web­ber

Flom­mist Lance Web­ber is in the band. Copy­right © 2018 Lance Web­ber.

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