My Dad Died

My Father Died. We could only afford a viewing and a military burial. I have the triangle flag. I have to get a triangle frame for it. I spoke to him fifteen minutes before he died. I was reassuring. He said he missed his family. I said most people, like animals, instinctively feel more comfortable being alone when they die. I said that he wanted to be different his whole life and that my being an artist was obvious proof of that. I said, "You just say that 'cause on the news on T.V. when Ted Kennedy died, they said he died, 'surrounded by family'. " I said vehemently, "We're not the Kennedy's! Fuck the Kennedys! They're all dead anyway! "

He said, "Yeah, I guess."

His friend Wayne, from Virginia said it the best. He said, "Your father was a really nice guy. He was just really, really nice. He used to bring toys over for my kids, one was a little '57 Chevy model. My kids put it together and were playing with it, because they liked to play with stuff, and they liked to take things apart and were always taking the wheels off it. I'd get mad @ them because it was a nice car, like a collectors' item too, not just a toy. Your dad would help me with my business and in all kinds of ways, never charge me anything, just wanted to help. He was even out there trying to do the actual power-washing recently, I said I didn't know if I should let him, because of his health, you know. He said a lot of things to me that really stuck. He really helped me out in life. He was a great guy. I have to say of all my friends that I've had in my life, that he was the best friend I ever had." I swear I heard him tear up a little on the phone there.

The last thing my dad said, literally minutes before going, was "All right, I guess I'll let you go then. I have to go to the bathroom. Goodnight. I love you Bink."

Thomas Patrick Molloy Junior died Monday, October nineteenth @ approximately seven o'clock PM, eastern standard time. He was sixty-one years' old. Like every father, he was my hero and I loved him.