When he was younger, you could often find my pops sitting quietly in the family room of our house, reading some odd book he stumbled upon, or perhaps a magazine. The content was not quite as important as the act or art of reading. For him, it was a lifestyle. “Reading is knowledge,” he would calmly state before returning to his literature du jour.

On days when mom was emotionally distraught (often) and rampaging through the house proclaiming family conspiracies and inequities, pops would find solace in the basement, feigning a cleaning detail for anyone who ventured down the stairs. Yet when the shouting temporarily subsided, he would open a dusty folding chair and return to his beloved written words.

The inevitable second act of his reading ritual was  his customary nap. Sadly, we’ll never fully know what exciting and worldly adventures he embarked upon in his slumber, but the mere audacity of him to find such serenity while mom struggled through life’s injustices further infuriated her. Walter Mitty would be stymied again.

Eventually, natural age and disease would consume his frail body, and even his kind soul. Instead of books he now stared blankly at nothing for hours until he finally would fade to sleep. Hands folded peacefully. I can vividly still see him, and I passionately still feel for him.

About twenty years shy of his final days and hours, I too now contemplate the many unknowns and yes, my own mortality. This cancer is indeed a motherfucker! I’m one month from the next scan, the next beacon of hope, yet I’m consumed by relentless nausea and intermittent burning in my esophagus – all normal and expected post radiation. All I want to do is sleep, which seems so ironic when I may get more than an ample opportunity soon.

Pops internalized much throughout his life and was indeed the consummate stoic. He found his unique strength through nightly dialogue with angels and reading scripture. Yes, I internalize too but given the right audience, I’m more than willing to share my deepest emotions, my troublesome fears, disappointments, and dare I say – goals. Sadly, everyone close is understandably more fixated on the positive, and there’s an unspoken expectation that I too need to find the needed strength to overcome by often shared diet, faith, positivity – yes, it all makes sense. But still challenging for the Rain King.

The doctors are all highly measured. Understandable as it’s their job. No false hope! And some are better than others. Still, I read the articles, and there are many. All offer various levels of longevity, yet none are terribly encouraging. Which leads to what may be left and what can be accomplished? What do I realistically give up on doing now? What do I do with all my personal belongings I’ve collected through the years that all carry multiple memories, meanings, and smiles.  All those projects, dude! And how do I enrich the lives of those closest, of those I love with the time remaining? Provide those lasting memories, yo! And who do I solicit for proper personal counsel? That’s the big one!

I tell myself I’m at peace with it all. And on many levels, I truly am. My sense of spirituality is a force from within, not of glorified deities or magic. Passing is simply an eternal sleep, and I perceive this next journey to be of dreamless and peaceful slumber. Immortality, devoid of ego, is more about the memories, the dialogue, and the lessons one can share, so to preserve those very memories. To on occasion – warm my wife or daughter’s heart as they continue on with their own journeys. And create their own special memories. Much like pops had nurtured and sustained me as I laid down my own rich and fruitful path.