Okay......think I've got something.

Do you ever ponder upon our role on this planet? That despite the claims of scholars, scientists, philosophers, and supposedly learned men and women, there are but a few facts that which all can agree- no one knows what exactly we are doing here and no one knows exactly where we go when we leave. All we can do is draw from our own experience and from those we choose to trust and believe in. I choose myself to trust and believe in what I've seen and sometimes what has been revealed to me in random, hit-or-miss moments with a Higher Power.

My first example of death came from the person who first taught me of life, my father. Here was a man among men, a quiet, tortured genius who, despite having the intelligence and aptitude to accomplish anything, only wished to live simply, work a job, and care for his family. He sometimes was described as, " too hard " on my brother and I, however I loved him fiercely. Among my early memories is one of running to hide in my room once the Woody Woodpecker Show was over, knowing that Dad would be home soon, and after sweating out a living under a asshole boss, he would not be in the mood to be trifled with, nor willing to withstand any absurdities that my small mind could invent.

I was 22 when my father told me he had cancer, and less than 6 weeks later he was gone. It was impossible to me that this immovable rock of a person could succumb to such an end. He was the definition of tough, old-school, etc. He didn't miss a day of work in 30 years at the warehouse. Since my birth, I had never seen him have any sickness other than a sniffle. He continued to trudge through the work week while cancer ate his insides; coming home and never complaining of the pain.

Once he was admitted into the hospital, I would go and sit beside him to sob helplessly and tried to wrap my head around the idea that we are all born to die, and that tomorrow is promised to no one.

He came home to die, but just wouldn't. We had a bed brought into the living room where my mother and grandmothers could keep a unwilling vigil while I pushed the button for more morphine. I could see the anger in his face while he tried to beat back the enveloping darkness that shrouded him. But, towards the end he could not keep his wits about him, and the cancer, morphine, and pain claimed his brain. Running on sheer will, his body lingered. I awoke daily to the " death rattle." For those of you who've never heard one, it's the body's futile attempts at drawing breath- a wet, sickly, sucking sound.

After a couple of weeks of bearing witness to such indescribable pain and heartache, I sat on his bed while he drew labored air. I kissed his forehead, ( something I had never done ) and begged him to let go. I hadn't the heart to see if he heard. I instead went to get high and drunk. About 30 minutes later, My grandmother called me to tell me he had passed; I was just outside the bar, I walked in and stayed there for almost 10 years.

I know life is not an easy undertaking. I know how lonely and excruciating our existence can be. Remember that the pain, the purpose, the moment, and even our minds and bodies are not for forever. We should not lie on our death beds, angry at the dreams left unfulfilled. We are instead to celebrate our swiftly passing sunshine with the pride of lions.

I'm through with pulling punches and will call them as I see them.