A Eulogy

I don't remember what it was like when you first moved in with my mom, and I barely remember my childhood. If I were to discard this past year or two of independence, I wouldn't remember a time without you: from the time I became a teenager to my young adult life, you were there.

I vaguely remember the earlier stages of your relationship with my mom. I had hope for you, then - you weren't like the others. Sure, you had an alcoholic streak, and sure, you looked like every rough-and-tough bad-boy that we've eventually kicked out of our house, albeit bigger. But you were respectful and kind, with a strong sense of morals. You had great a sense of humor. And you had a job. Money.

Then, as I grew older, I started noticing things. I noticed that, when you called the guy driving out of the public library a nigger, it wasn't because he was a bad driver. He was black, and you were racist. I noticed the way your temper flared more often when you had alcohol, and the way you blamed it on work. Eventually, you were more willing to disrespect my mother out in the open, away from the closed doors where you thought I couldn't hear you. You were foul, an alcoholic and an addict. Of course, you never lost those qualities that made me love you, even if I didn't realize it. Even if it was only when you were sober.

When you lost your job, these problems compounded. You just couldn't bear the thought of my mom having a job while you stayed at home all day, getting drunk with the neighbors and going to strip clubs. Some of this time you were legitimately looking for work, and occasionally you'd land a job. But you - or your temper, I should say - lost it soon enough. Eventually you got a nasty habit that made life miserable: In your jealousy, you started accusing my mom of cheating. The night-time arguments kept getting louder and louder. I could hardly sleep.

And then you died. Just like that. It was a good morning. We were both pretty jovial. You dropped me off at my girlfriend's house for Christmas day, and asked me to take good care of your Steeler's Santa hat.

Those were the last words you said to me. I was at my friend's house watching a movie, and we were having a sort of Christmas get-together, my girlfriend and our friends. I found out around 8 PM - got to the hospital around 8:15 PM - and was back at his house by midnight. I couldn't stand the thought of going home to an empty house with my mother, and besides, she needed to get roaring drunk by herself - so I stayed the night.

I wish that was the end of my story with you. It kept going, though. Your son spent the next year trying to steal the drumset you gave me. He won it, eventually. Your brother was hostile to my mother and I. And, oddly enough, he kissed her when she was trying to hug him goodbye at the Christmas party. Haven't seen him since. The worst part is that nobody understands how I feel about you, and why I don't talk about you. My sister thinks I'm upset. My mom thinks I'm trying to shove you out of my head. Really, though, I'm just.. okay with it. You were a father figure to me in ways you'll never imagine. Because of you, I strive to be true to myself. Because of you, I have an idea of what a man should be - even if you never were that man. But, because of you, my girlfriend's family doesn't trust me. My mom is having a hard time dating again. And I'm wary to let anybody into my life who has an affinity for alcohol.

I don't think bad of you. I think of you just the way you looked in your coffin. Relaxed, and smiling a little bit, just on the verge of laughing. That's another thing I took from you: Smile, laugh, have fun in life. Your life was hard. Your kids hated you, and your family just wanted the things you owned. Well, you'll always be part of me. You'll always live on. In me, and in my kids, you'll live on. I won't forget you.