Funny how quickly a year passes

A year ago today, my father died. He was walking home from Denver General Hospital, where he’d gone to the emergency room to have a tooth pulled, when he collapsed on the sidewalk. An ambulance then rushed him back to Denver General, where he later died of natural causes.

Aside from my father’s death, I feel horrible for whomever watched my father collapse, for whomever rushed to his aid and called the ambulance–that must have been a terribe, terrible site . . . to watch a stranger in pain, to perhaps have some intuitive sense that this stranger was going to die. I wonder if my father knew he was about to die. He always told me he wasn’t scared of death, which is a sentiment I find very amusing. I don’t think too many people are scared of death–it’s the dying that frightens us.

I wish his death saddened me, but it was for the best. He was living alone, living in a delusional fantasy land, and quickly going broke. Soon enough, he would have been living on the street. What saddens me more is his life, because he had the potential to be such a wonderful human being, but he wasted it on feeling sorry for himself. He was so afraid to fail that he simply refused to participate in his own life. If he didn’t participate, then he wouldn’t have to blame himself for anything that went wrong.

A year later, I can’t say that I feel much different about his death. We had been estranged for years. I do hope, however, that he’s at peace, something he never had in life.