no one asks about my dad anymore.

gone are the awkward uninformed moments of “how’s your folks?” or “are your parents doing well?”

FB used to be a cold water stunner.


2 years ago today – my dad pushing a bowling ball sized burger into his mouth. great memory even if the share is algorithmically tone deaf.

but hey at least FB is checking in.

my mom is slowly and imperceptively rebranding back into a version of herself, casting off she eddies in a soupy sense of burden.

she, without actually asking, is chasing ‘who am i’ or more exactly ‘tell me who i am.’ without someone that needs her help she seems unmoored and lost.

and she doesn’t talk about him much.

if I mistakingly use present tense and direct reference “Dad told a funny story” “Dad loves burgers” her body takes exception to this.

long dog gazes.

sudden storms of tears.

anxious exits.

post trauma shutdowns.

alone with my thoughts i’ve noticed that my rite of mourning flits between talking to and with my dad.

i have not conceded to talking about him.

i can’t.

it feels like he’s had two deaths.

one while living.

one in memoriam.