August 20, 2012 the world lost a man who doesn't matter to the "whole of society;" however, to some people it was a huge loss. The weight of the world, which burdened some people--became four times as much. I don't know if you've ever yelled at your parent, I don't know if you've ever been so upset that you wanted to hit them. I don't even know if they treat you right, right now. But if you live under their roof, or you hear them call, or you talk to them. I implore you to tell them that you love them. Why, though--would I say that?

You think you hate your parents--when they yell at you. Imagine when they make you angry--and when they make you happy. Imagine when you call them and ask for advice, and they give it to you. Even if you ignore their advice--imagine the smile that it brings to their face to see their child call them and ask for help. Now, imagine one day you've got a question or you've had a hard day--and you call your parent's phone. And someone else picks up. And it suddenly strikes you--again, that "He's dead."

Not only is it just as shocking as the moment you found out, but it's just as troublesome to get over it. Every day you look at things and see what he or she gave you. The life they strived for you to have--the happiness they had when you were with them. When you went to college in a different town--when you went on vacation and they lived alone--when the last thing they had was a cat, and plants. The last family member they enjoyed was you.

Imagine walking into the house to clear it out--and the first thing you see is the Bread Maker they were going to bought you--and on an envelope is a list of bread that you were supposed to make for them for their birthday. Their birthday--the day you clean out their apartment and make their "Stuff" yours, the day you have to situate for arranging their deathly arrangement, cremation or funeral.

Five days before my father's 52nd birthday--he passed away. He told me a month prior "Hey Nick; this your dad" (as he would say in his unique voice) "You know, you have to come up to see me to get your birthday present!" to which I replied

"Obviously--dad, I will! I'll be up there that day and we'll have three days!" Prior to that, the last thing I told him, next to "I love you" was 'Hey dad--isn't it funny? The older people get, the more likely they are to die on their birthday! So--remember--you shouldn't die on your birthday. Okay?' A brutal alcoholic, he was, a brutal son of a gun he had become since losing his job; however, in spite of that, he took care of his kids--even when one insulted him, after he gave him money. After lending a thousand dollars to my brother--the child had the gall to blast him with texts the next day saying how he was the worst father in the world.

This coming from a 25-year-old is un-called for. The real thing he should have said? "Thank you, dad--I know we have had hard times, and I haven't made it easier, but I love you--and thanks for helping me when I asked. I'm sorry for manipulating your feelings." Even weeks before his death I would get calls asking "Why does he hate me?" My only reply was "...he's an ass--I don't know."

The world lost a man who cared more about the well-being of anyone, a man who; in spite of his age--went INTO a burning building to grab his cat because he didn't want him hurt. And the second time someone set fire to the apartment, he went and knocked on every door. The same man who couldn't sleep because of fear--the same man who ended up becoming so weak and fearful of leaving his house--that he could hardly stand to leave it for even a few hours.

This man was a marine--and what set his downfall was the loss of a job--due to outsourcing. Due to the economy--due to "cheap labor" in another country. I don't blame Indians for taking his job--I blame his company for keeping [x] workers who didn't know how to do their job--and would ask my father for help. I blame the company for firing him--after the first time in 11 years of work--he took 5 months off because of the Walking Pneumonia. He didn't realize he had it--could hardly breathe and I forced him to go to the hospital, that stubborn mule finally went and was hospitalized.

The day he was laid off was the day he sunk lower than I could ever imagine. His whole being was shattered--when a man loses his job, he can lose all motivation to move on--he attempted, but being in his late forties at the time--he didn't seem wanted. He decided, eventually--after a fire--that he couldn't leave home. He had a hard time sleeping--he couldn't do what he wanted out of fear. He wanted to move, but he didn't.

His sudden death struck me by storm, tears stormed down worse than New Jersey could ever see--but I sucked it up and knew what I had to do. Imagine calling your grandmother, and telling her "...your son is dead." Then calling your aunt and saying "I'm sorry--dad's dead... I don't know--please... call who you need--I told Grandma because I know he told me to. And--and I knew that's how he'd want it." And then you call your mom--the last thing she said was, essentially "I dislike talking to him" and the first thing you tell her is that he's dead--she is sad, obviously--because he was your father. And still is.

Imagine, that same night... the only thing you crave for is to hear it. Is to hear his voice. And you crave to have him call and say "Hey Nick; this your dad" in that voice that only he had. And you call his phone, only to hear his oh-so-familiar voicemail "This is Mike and Spike; leave a call, bye."

August 20th the world lost a man. But more importantly. I lost a father.

It gets easier--and the only thing I want you, as a reader--to do. Is if you speak to your parents. Even if you're mad. Even if you are so angry at them you can't talk. ... tell them you love them. Because that will make them happy--even if you are so frustrated. Tell them you love them. Because that can be the best thing someone can hear before they die--just knowing that someone loves them; their child whom they have protected with so much.

[update: There's another entry I may or may not put up that I'm still wondering about--it's a bit more powerful than this; but it's very personal. So if I do it'd probably be later--the chances of my Category:Father being updated often is slim; probably on rare days, and his birthday]