last night, i had trouble falling asleep. Thoughts drifted through my brain, and two specific ideas stuck. the first, was how i feel like i could be treated better (an important thought, but not the one i want to discuss). The second, and most pertinent, was how the movie The Road, an adaptation of the novel written by Cormac McCarthy is relevant to my life. The movie features a young boy and his father who must survive in a post-apocalyptic world. The father, slowly dies as the story progresses and tries his best to provude life lessons to his son when the dad is no longer living. The son is stubborn and tries live a life how he sees fit much to the disdain of his father. This movie really hits close to home, because much like my life story, the child's father dies in his arms. The child is forced to go through life without his father by his side.

As I'm sitting here in Starbucks writing this, my eyes are slowly pooling with tears, and I am filled with an all too familiar of emptiness. I am transported back to my senior year of high school, I'm lying on my stomach on my bed, my laptop is on the desk next to me playing some depressing tune. A handle of vodka is sitting on the floor next to my bed. My mouth is burning from the vile alcohol and tears are streaming down my face. Maybe if I drink, it will numb my pain. I can only handle taking a few short swigs of vodka. Suicidal thoughts bombard my brain. "Mike, your life is fucking worthless. Why don't you end it now? You were supposed to die instead of your father. His life actually meant something." I struggle to push these thoughts out of my head. How did ILC do it? I'm so envious of her. How did she overcome these feelings and is now living a happy life? Why can't I be happy?

As the two year anniversary of my father's death comes up, all I can think of is how much has happened since his death. I'm mad at him, though. Why can't he be around to experience life with me? Why can't we sit on the couch in the living room together and watch tv, and observe as he slowly falls asleep with his hand touching his neck underneath his collared shirt? I want to be able to wake him up before going to school by tickling his feet which would always hang outside the blankets. I want nothing more than to walk the streets of downtown Philly at night, walking past all the brick townhouses that belonged to the upper class. We would chat about my future plans, girls, and his life. I just want to go see a hockey game with him one last time. I just want to give him one last kiss on the cheek.

The only time I can see him now is at the cemetery, his body is now 6 feet under. He was only 54. the cemetery is no place for him.