The death of a salesman

My father died two days before
Christmas. There was no new snow, no
cold snap-- just dull and grey and
mixed emotions.

No one knew exactly
how to handle my mother. Her random
outbursts spraying the ham and black olives--
no one moved to get her a tissue,
we all assumed it would pass before desert.

I did cry-- once. I thought about the first
time he left, and how very similiar it was to
this... how he always knew how to damage
without touching. My sister-in-law said this
was his final jab at us-- dying around Christmas.

My oldest brother called him right before
he died. I guess he had lost his ability to speak.
My brother said he forgave him, said he loved him.
My uncle was there--he said my father's lips began
to shake and his heart rate increased. I figured
we could take that as an apology.