I’m Still Here.

I’m still here.

I don’t have much of a point to this post. I just need to feel like I kind-of sort-of did something of some importance this morning. My brain is fogged, and no amount of caffeine can fix it. I got a full night’s sleep but I’m very tired.

This must be what mourning feels like.

… There’s a pun in there somewhere.

It’s strange – it doesn’t hurt to remember my father is gone. There’s a piece of me missing, maybe my sense of immortality, perhaps a loss of wonder or magic or a shred of innocence that was hanging on by the tip of its pinky whilst dangling over a deep expansive crevasse. I am changed, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t hurt.

And I feel kind of bad about that.

It hit me hard Sunday night. I sobbed, the salty taste of my tears and mucus running across my lips, and I hurt and I crumpled like the tissues I used. But after that, it’s been better – or at least as “better” as it can be.

I’ll miss him, that snarky ass that was my dad. He taught me a lot, whether it be directly or indirectly. I learned from the lessons he spoke, did the opposite and learned from those actions as well. I just wish I knew him a bit better. But that’s got to be pretty common, right?

Anyway, to you folks that followed me when I started talking about the comics process, know that I will get back to it eventually. I’m still here.



My father passed away last night. I wrote this a moment ago. Something may come of it, or maybe not. I felt I should keep it here, as if on a shelf, saved for later.

There was always a stigma around having children. Bryan grew up with a firm understanding that the life of a parent was not for him. Parents could be brash, confusing, arrogant, and false. Bryan wanted nothing to do with that world.

One night, while he slept, he dreamed of a child. His child, he knew in his heart, a part of him. There was warmth and contentment, a kind of peace you can only find in the world of dream. When the shrill cry of 6:30 came, tearing him from his make-believe progeny, he felt a loss and disappointment that could only be cured by a shower and a cup of coffee.

He didn’t think much of the dream after that.