his dad

He wondered this a day or so ago and it caught him by surprise because he does not wonder things like this very often. But he wondered if he would see his father, again. He misses him and he’s not sure about an afterlife. Part of him – the major part of him, you must know – believes that afterlife is a flimsy, whimsical figment of hope, a crutch of an idea for those who cannot face mortality on its own terms: that is, you’re born; you live; you die. Deal with it. For most of his life, he believed that the only “after” was the goodness left behind, which, to him, anyway, bestowed upon it an honor and a dignity in an intrinsic sort of way. But now he does wish, or did, at least once, the other day, that he could see his dad, again. He’s not sure exactly why, but the idea makes him smile. Funny, he does not wonder the same about his mother, but he does not let that bother him. His father’s name was Ernie.