July 9th, 1977

He’s dead. We buried him yesterday morning. 

He died Tuesday at 7:05. I held his arm as I watched the heart monitor drop slowly to zero. His body got colder and colder. I watched him die. Short bursts of breath pushing through lips caked with dried mucus.

I won’t write about the funeral. The awful mannequin lying in the casket as the old women dabbed at their eyes. And my mother who is alone now. 

I sleep on the floor next to her. As my dad used to. And I need to be held.