Sometimes we look for meaning everywhere and sometimes we just stop searching.
I was born in a snowstorm.
The last time I saw my father I took a flight a few days before my birthday.
And it had been snowing in Philadelphia.
And we were probably supposed to wait for de-icing or whatever the pilot called it.
But he basically said fuck it, it’s clear skies ahead and we will be fine.
And we were. And it was a smooth flight.
And he was probably a jersey or philly native because that is just how we are here.
No bullshit but you get there in one piece.
If you grew up around here you know it’s the flight that went out of Newark, NJ on 9/11 that fought back. The smallest number of passengers. The most courageous.
And if you’ve spent your life here you know.
No bullshit.
Tell me like it is.
I don’t want to stop seeing my father in everything.
I just want to know when the grief lessens, the hurt lessens, and how I can hold joy for the times that were good.
Laughs and Lobotomies 