- Jan 1, 2001
- 3,043
- 9
Hey,
My Dad died. But he didn't really just die. My Ol' Dad killed himself last Friday, the 7th. I guess he was tired of dealing with the bull****. He went out in his backyard and shot himself. Rio Rancho Police called my sister-in-law in Washington State and she called me about 7:00 AM. My little brother was in town, by chance or by fate, and we went down to UNMH thinking we'd be picking up Dad and bringing him home. But instead we got to say our last (or is that first) I love you’s; then had to pull the plug on the assisted breathing. Dad died about an hour later. Too tough to even kill himself quick, I guess, or maybe God just wanted my little brother to give his Jesus Lord and Savior speech.
We spent the week dealing with the stuff you would expect for such an event. Dad didn't want an obituary or a funeral or even a memorial service. He was specific about these things in his will. We had his body cremated and we spread his ashes at a little place up in Northern New Mexico, Charette Lake. We have a lot of family memories up there.
I figure I should have shared this little saga sooner, but the truth is I've only told two people, Rick Sieman and Ron Burton. Rick started Dirt Bike Magazine back in '71 (but you know that) and literally saved my life, I ain't bull****in' about that either. Ron is a good friend of mine from back in the glory days of dirt biking. So anyway...I don’t know how you tell this to your friends without sounding like a homo looking for sympathy. I have a lot of stuff to do since I’m the executor of the will. I guess that’s because I live in town and my other, smarter, brothers are out of town or are assholes.
Good thing Dad wasn’t a millionaire, I’d never go back to work.
I don’t know what really made Dad do it; his own stubbornness or the ****ty way health care makes the old geezers wait forever to have their problems addressed. Doctors should run health care, not insurance companies.
I’m bitter and guilty and I better stop now . . . had a few sips of wine you know. And maybe a few sips of that Crown Royal from my Dad’s cabinet; I gave it to him for Christmas and it wasn’t even opened yet. His house is empty and the painters started erasing his presence today.
Wes
My Dad died. But he didn't really just die. My Ol' Dad killed himself last Friday, the 7th. I guess he was tired of dealing with the bull****. He went out in his backyard and shot himself. Rio Rancho Police called my sister-in-law in Washington State and she called me about 7:00 AM. My little brother was in town, by chance or by fate, and we went down to UNMH thinking we'd be picking up Dad and bringing him home. But instead we got to say our last (or is that first) I love you’s; then had to pull the plug on the assisted breathing. Dad died about an hour later. Too tough to even kill himself quick, I guess, or maybe God just wanted my little brother to give his Jesus Lord and Savior speech.
We spent the week dealing with the stuff you would expect for such an event. Dad didn't want an obituary or a funeral or even a memorial service. He was specific about these things in his will. We had his body cremated and we spread his ashes at a little place up in Northern New Mexico, Charette Lake. We have a lot of family memories up there.
I figure I should have shared this little saga sooner, but the truth is I've only told two people, Rick Sieman and Ron Burton. Rick started Dirt Bike Magazine back in '71 (but you know that) and literally saved my life, I ain't bull****in' about that either. Ron is a good friend of mine from back in the glory days of dirt biking. So anyway...I don’t know how you tell this to your friends without sounding like a homo looking for sympathy. I have a lot of stuff to do since I’m the executor of the will. I guess that’s because I live in town and my other, smarter, brothers are out of town or are assholes.
Good thing Dad wasn’t a millionaire, I’d never go back to work.
I don’t know what really made Dad do it; his own stubbornness or the ****ty way health care makes the old geezers wait forever to have their problems addressed. Doctors should run health care, not insurance companies.
I’m bitter and guilty and I better stop now . . . had a few sips of wine you know. And maybe a few sips of that Crown Royal from my Dad’s cabinet; I gave it to him for Christmas and it wasn’t even opened yet. His house is empty and the painters started erasing his presence today.
Wes
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