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And here I was sitting on the top step of the porch, smoking a gross, stale cigarette, acting like the world suddenly revolved around me.
What a shitty mom thing to do, Sage.
Well done.
Pollute your own son’s lungs after your grandfather just passed…
At least he didn’t die of lung cancer!
I had to shut my eyes to prevent myself from bursting back into tears.
I refused to cry in front of Travis.
I wanted him to cry to me.
“Mom, are you smoking?” Travis asked.
I had a long line of smart ass comebacks lined up, but not for a kid.
Not for my son.
“I am,” I said. “You caught me.”
“Why?”
“I really don’t know, Travis.” I quickly stubbed the cigarette out on the second step of the porch. It left a black mark - like a patch of contagious mold.
I heard my father’s voice in my head, scolding me for the getting the porch steps dirty.
I stuck my left foot out and used the bottom of my shoe to wipe away the black mark.
“Mom?” Travis whispered.
“Come here, baby,” I said. “Come here. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
Travis sat down next to me, too big, cool and tough to sit on my lap.
“He’s really gone, huh?” I asked.
“I guess so.”
“It’s okay to feel things about it, Travis. You don’t have to hide it from me. I know your great-grandfather could be tough at times…”
Which ironically enough, he died of heart failure.
The one thing everyone said he never had - a heart.
But I had seen the best and worst of my father.
He was the definition of a stubborn hard-ass.
Right down to his choice of dying.
Choosing to die in the front room of my house.
My father deserved no less than what he wanted.
He took care of me.
