tonii

I've been thinking about this so much the past few day's. I keep thinking would he have been proud of me and it just brings me to tears. If it wasn't for the manic episode i'm having I would be so depressed and unable to function. Here's the deal


It was a warm spring night. I just left Cassidy's to go down the alley and have a drink on Davies's roof with a few kids from Portland. We were just about to get out of there and go to a party or some other bar and my phone kept ringing. It was my mom and I didn't have the brain space to listen to her complain about my little brother or how she hates her job or what have you. She didn't let up, so at the top of his stairs I returned the call while the boys were screwing off trying to get out of there. It was Bob who answered (the line had been forwarded) and he said do you want me to tell you? I said what? What the fuck is going on?!?!?!? He said Laura.. your dad is dead. He shot himself. I hung up the phone and my mom called through. She said, they found him earlier today, you need to get out here, Dorothy (his ex wife and reason, at least the suicide note that I have said it was because of her, and the cunt that did everything in her power to ruin our relationship even going as far as sending me letters as him) is trying to have him burned right now and is starting to sell his things. I got off my knees and had Davey and the boys ride me to BART. By the time I reached the depressing room I was renting in the strange house I was a total mess and in need of more booze. Thankfully my roommate understood and went and bought me a huge bottle of wine to make it through the night. I spent the rest of the night making flight arrangements and sobbing with my mom and older brother who had been adopted by my dad. I didn't sleep at all and stayed up all night crying and drinking, after all my flight left at 5:05 a.m. I continued to drink all the way to the airport, on the plane, in the 3 airports and for the next 10 days that I was in Colorado. The 30st was my little brother and one of my best friends 16th birthday. He spent the morning watching me sob on my dad's chest (I had convinced the funeral home that I would sue if they burned him without me getting to say goodbye), and then going to the newspaper to have them print a correction to the bullshit Dorothy had printed. We did get drunk together that night. His first time getting drunk and having PBR. The next day I went to the police station to have his personal items released to me. I walked away with a spent round, suicide note, and the gun he had used, covered in blood and brains. Got back to my moms place and got the call from my attorney stating that I needed to stop pursuing any further action as my dad had disinherited me. He had left everything to Dorothy and her kids. I didn't want his money or the bulk of his things, I just for once in my life wanted what was right by him. I wanted the little note cards he wrote all his songs on, that I would read as a child and try and figure out the big words. I wanted his vinyl, I'm the only dork I know that even collects them anymore and I knew the cunt would sell them.. She did. I wanted pictures, and the guitar case that had the yellow Dean Martin stickers on it that is just burned into my brain. I wanted his motorcycle for my older brother, as my dad had taught him to build them from the ground up. I took my suitcase, broken heart and soiled gun and tucked my tail between my legs and left.