So Long, Pops

Hello, fellow travelers!

It is I. I have emerged from my grief-induced coma resultant from the death of my pops, Ralphie. For those of you who knew him, you can understand why this is such a huge gaping loss for all of us. It has been ... difficult, to say the least. However, the planet continues spinning on its axis, the sun rises every morning, the kids have poo diapers that won't change themselves. So I go on. We go on.

I didn't grow up with my dad. My mother had me when she was 18 years old, and my dad was eight years older than she, an epileptic, heroin-addicted alcoholic. So, once, when he was in jail for acquiring a mass of DUI's, my mom and I visited him to say goodbye. 

I didn't see him again for 15 years.

We were reunited when I turned 19 through a series of events I won't go through here. He had cleaned up, given his life, heart, soul, and mind over to Jesus, and was a new creation. He also dabbled a bit in this and that.

I loved him, and he loved me. Not a perfect relationship, yadda yadda yadda. I can say with full conviction that there is now no one left on this planet who shares my exact odd humor. I feel as if I have died as well.

But we go on.