EXES AND OH'S

Heaven Up There

Tim kept his promise — he didn't die of cancer.

My dad passed away Thursday morning due to multiple organ failure because of septic shock. Turns out, there was an infection sleeping deep in his stomach. 

Phil tried to explain to me what happened; how the doctors claimed that Tim's infection was like a sleeping monster, and that dad didn't feel it because of his already compromised immune system. The monster had woken up, and it was already out of control at that point. They weren't able to contain the infection anymore because the symptoms had only shown just the night before Tim passed away. 

So... yeah, my diva dad ultimately had the last laugh. He might not have beat cancer, but he didn't let the bitch kill him — just some other cunt disease did.

And now, I sit alone on the farthest pew of the tiny chapel where Tim's funeral service is being held. The pastor is already quoting some bible passages about eternal peace and rest, and honestly, I just don't have the mind and concentration to listen. I don't even have the strength to talk. 

I haven't really spoken much to anyone since learning of Tim's passing. I've managed to successfully dodge everyone, including my dads' relatives. I'm not really in the mood to... converse. I did write a eulogy, but I decided I won't say them. What's the point of all this anyway? It's not like my dad will hear and know what's happening right now. 

He's dead, for fuck's sake. 

It's true what other people say, funerals are for the living. Just look around here, all these people Phil and I don't even know. 

But what I'm absolutely sure is, my dad left Pasadena because he wasn't accepted here by some of his family... for what he was. Most of these people are bigots and homophobes, yet they walk around wiping crocodile tears with their fancy little lace handkerchiefs like they knew my dad. Why are they even here? Like, screw them, a thousand fucking times. 

And remember that time when I said funerals are better than weddings? I absolutely take that back. 

I guess... I never really knew until now how it felt like to lose someone you loved deeply, someone you held so close to your heart, a family member — a kind, loving parent.

Truth be told, I haven't felt this level of grief and sadness when I lost both my biological parents. It's probably because even as a child, I've always thought and I've always had the impression that... they'll be gone soon. 

My mom and dad weren't virtually present all the time to begin with. So maybe in my mind, they were already long dead even before their actual deaths. I already prepared myself way ahead from that initial shock and denial that one usually feels when a parent dies. I've accepted the truth that my parents are inevitably going to abandon me — cause that's what they did ever since I was born anyway.

But this, losing Tim... how do I feel? Well, it feels like heaven and Earth is no longer familiar to me. I couldn't access religion nor faith — cause I don't have any of those things. Earth is on an impossible tilt right now, and the world I'm seeing is a very jagged puzzle.

The microphone screeches, and feedback echoes through the brown brick walls, white marble floors and the high beams and ceilings of the small chapel. I gaze up at the altar and see Phil come up on the pulpit, a two-page letter on his hand.

Dad clears his throat and sniffles before addressing the small congregation. "I'd like to thank all of you for coming to my husband's — Timothy's funeral," he starts, a little teary-eyed already. "Especially those of you who have flown in from out of state. It means so much to all of us, Tim's family, and I know it would make him so happy to see all of you here."