Southwest 8th Street and 40 Somethingth I write this almost a month later. Everyone is saying take your time. How can anyone do that as they walk intentionally toward a motherfucking land mine of tears. The night before, we had visitors in the room late Ismelia talking over my answers to her questions repeating how she knew him since he was a boy me talking right back over her just because I'm an asshole. Jose doing his best to be supportive of me though I am a cunty contrarian right up to the end of my father's life. Saying how proud my father was making sure to tell me he's there for me but not to replace my father knowing the kind of shit I look for knowing what a piece of shit I can be when someone is trying to help me. Everyone saying fucking talking you're doing the right thing though I find no power resides in me to keep my father from going under to right the left side of his face to stuff the chuckle back into his mouth when I say the docs say there's no fix for this "No ay arreglo" after the multiple brain hemorrhages and the erratic heart rate. How he shook his head when I asked if he wanted them to bring him back when the heart attacks came. These motherfuckers expected the heart attacks like rain. How he nodded when I asked if he wanted to be comfortable though I don't know if he knew it meant the dimming of the lights or if I even had that conversation or if I just said yes, please make him comfortable. I held his hand as I spoke on the phone to one of his buddies from the neighborhood and I think maybe he waited that he wanted to make sure those humble people knew. These were his people away from home. That taste of country Cuba. I wasn't looking at him and I felt his hand pull away a little and I just knew. I told the guy I had to go and hung up saw my dad take one last long breath and just stop. A single tear crept down from his closed right eye and drowned all light in my life all the safety gone no more Sprites in the late night when my stomach went sideways no more big red truck rolling into my swale no more voice in the car laughing at me about being the family food delivery person. And into the business of Death I went. Now I sit here in the air conditioner ordering computer parts writing this non poem crying slow. He sacrificed so much for me. He gave up a relationship with a lady because I was jealous of that woman and he comforted me saying hey her kid didn't want it either. The last thing intelligible he said was hey careful driving home because I drive like an asshole. He suffered me so much and I feel I am letting him down with every interaction I have with my son. I asked him, as that day went and after when his hand was cold. I prayed to my father only Him and to no made up motherfucking anythings please please leave me your patience tell me the trick how do I shut the fuck up Tell me, Titan. He took care of everything a while back. I didn't have to find a groupon for a funeral and a burial. With the motorcycle cops we took all the red lights on the way there and Christina laughed, remarked how he'd have gotten a kick out of it. He wanted to be up high in a crypt so people couldn't step on him and animals couldn't shit on him. I think he wanted to look down like this was a balcony and he knew I liked the shade so there's shade there. I dread going back looking up but I know where my god is: Southwest 8th Street and 40 Somethingth.