on dad and dying

Mortatality only began to haunt me in a way I could see when I was older, when I had someone to care about and I loved my mother again.

Until I was 23, I was at best unaware of the desperate war I’d waged against it: I expected my mom to follow my dad into into it every day, but I was young and I thought everyone knew there parents were already dead.

Now, 26, my back creaks and my uncle lives
with his heart outside his chest. 
Calm and composed,
clear as day,
I am staring at death.

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