Oh, I can’t wait for more death-y from you, if you don’t mind.
My father was 61 when I was born, and I was pretty much “totally obsessed and hyperfocused” on his death, my death, death in general, for my whole life, or at least since I was about 5-years-old.
I’m fascinated by death and the way most people run from it, won’t even talk about it, can’t even say the word.
My father terrorized our family. The day he died when I was 38-years-old and he was almost 99, I was euphoric. But I didn’t tell anyone that. I pretended to be sad. I wasn’t.
I was free.
Anyway, I’m more interested in your story, and your telling, then my own right now.
I’ll be waiting for the next installment and the next one after that.
Thanks for your courage and your truth. What a relief.