Last August my stepfather died, I was in England the day of his funeral but not at it because I did not know he had died


was there grief, I cannot honestly be sure, there was oddness, certainly


a dialogue began between his gf and me (or I as my Grandmother would say)


a memory fragment and a piece of information = knowledge that he stayed for a few days less than two miles from my home here in Kerry


did I meet him? No did I see him? Yes did I choose not to meet him? Yes


for a while I wanted to know who he stayed with, make a connection, ghostconnect


I realised today I haven’t thought about it in months and I no longer care who he stayed with


why? because of the four fragment memories I have, one is me cowering, one is of his genitals (go figure) and the other one of drinking tea watching Charlton Athletic draw 4-4 at Turf Moor.




everyone has a backstory, even a character in a book, some of the story is sweet (for some people), some of it is bad and then there are all shades of emotion between

thank You Lord for teaching me what being a father is.

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