When my father died, there were three things that I made a point of taking.
There was a small framed tapestry that had once belonged to his father. My father kicked the living shit out of me, once, after I'd been fucking around in the house with a BB gun and cracked the glass on it.
There was a small framed print. In the print, a decrepit old king sat upon a throne. Bottles by his side. Head wrapped in wraiths made of smoke from his hookah, as the imps and demons danced around him. The caption read a slightly non-standard version of Proverbs 1:22 - "How long, O' Foolish One, will you love your foolish ways." My father had given it to his father one of the times that his father had gone through rehab. Rehab never quite stuck with my father. If I'd ever gotten a tattoo, I think that this would be the image. I'm told that there's a bit too much light-work in it to do it without completely blowing it up, though.
And the last was a copy of Micah's senior picture. Not the graduation picture here, but the senior head shot. Ended up in a pretty large argument with my mother about that. My mother insisted that as he was her son, any pictures of my brother were hers and hers alone. Which is about as it ever was. Of the three, this is one that may still have made the moves.
He'd have turned 38 today.
's all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago.
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