i spent a good part of the day praying yesterday for help. you know, just a general kind of all-encompassing “God help” kind of prayer. There’s so much happening a lightening of the load felt in order.

then literally 1 minute after an argument i should not have started i get a phone call that my dad died.

my dad. the only father i had.

not sure what to feel except for a deep black ache that won’t go away. it has been building for a while but to lose my dad, a dad i feel i never really had in some ways…somehow that just cements it all.

my dad died. he died alone.

he feared he would be alone in the end. i understand those fears. i have them.

i am 43 years old and i have never in my life had someone close to me die…until now. my sister died when i was three…my grandfather died when i was 19 but we were not close…weeping does not help. not weeping does not help. seeing people does not help. not seeing them does not help. nothing seems to help. all i want is to be alone…but i don’t.

Peter James Cantelon died. my dad. my name. i feel less somehow.

to know he was somewhere breathing. to know he was somewhere heart beating…it was enough somehow. it was an existential comfort. but he’s gone. no more heart beat. no more breathing. no more dad.

i remember dad.

i remember hot peppers in front of  the Leafs games. i remember sunburned freckled shoulders. i remember ‘i love you’. i remember how the sound of my fork scraping past my teeth would drive him nuts. i remember his cribbage. i remember his tears. i remember his voice. i remember him holding Kevin. i remember him holding baby Billy all smiles. i remember his holding Susan’s hand. i remember him calling to Angel.

my dad is dead.

i cannot bring him back. i have no more time to call. no more time to say i love you. no time to hold him again. no time to yell and scream at him…to forgive him.

i have words and a rocky heart. i have words and an empty cup. i have words…i have no dad.