You are afraid of leaving me, I am afraid of you leaving me at such a frail age, 15, not so grown up, I would know. You are scared to DEATH of dying at 47, just like your father, scarring you forever. How do you think it will affect me? How do you think I will feel? You think I do not care? THINK AGAIN! You think i could care less when you go to Russia,
I think I couldn't care more. Scared to death everytime you step on a plane. You know how many planes AREN'T staying in the air these days? You think I have no respect for you, think again. My hard shell, so hard to penetrate, so hard to see my feelings. I have a door, with a keyhole. The door has no key. Emotions, dripping through that keyhole, slowly, oh so slowly. Too slow for you, I know. Every once in a while you are able to break open the door and get me to talk, to empty my bottle filled with feelings. Every time you do that I build a thicker, harder to break door. You think I am totally different with my friends, don't think again, you are right, right on the bulls eye. They must go through a totally different door. A much tinier keyhole with no key. Though, their door had a bad lock, every so often the flood gates open and they feel the rath, the rath of hurricane me. And I feel bad, because once they open that door, they cannot close it. Once I start, I cannot stop. And I am ashamed.
And so Dad, back to you. Demons, they haunt you, they haunt all of us. Stop thinking of death, I do not like it and will not allow you to talk about your death that could happen next year or in 50 years. Yes, I like that, death at age 97.