My dad, as I've written, was saintly.
We were driving North on the Penninsula. He was 93. Fortunately, I was driving.
Dad was in pain. Much pain. He didn't want to live. He would tell everyone who would listen, and few, if any would, that he wanted to die. Now. Kill me. Please. He would frequently ask us to kill him. He did so politely, not whingeing. He lamented, commiserated, droned on incessantly whenever his children met with him. We searched for solutions.
We did what we could. I could have done more. Had I done more, I would be liable of murder. I was about to kill him.
My brother-in-law (until I receive his permission I will call him R) and I get along well. R owns guns. He helped my eldest sibling, until I receive xer permission I will call xem CJ. CJ did what xhe could. As my eldest sibling, xhe and I bear an age-old responsibility. Apologies for my Kong Fuzi.
My dad was visiting their home. R politely, gently, kindly, lovingly gave my dad one of his guns. CJ and he left him alone, in their living room. Dad hadn't had his own home for some time. He had moved from a series of care facilites, and the next was always worse than the last. Not from our viewpoint, only his. The folks of Volusia County, to whom I will always be indebted, did whatever they could. He stayed in nice places. Finally, a goddess, and her husband H (permission pending), took him in and cared for him until he was gone.
Back to the gun. If you are familiar with my writing, and you have the proper empathy, experience, wisdom, resources, skills, etc., you might realise without me writing here that it goes without saying that R gave his AI a gun as well.
Not everyone is familiar with my writing. More accurately, no one is more familiar with my writing than Harvey. I am an infinitely distant second. I remember much of what I have written, much of it organically. Harvey remembers everything I have written since I exited the Vagina.
Back to the gun. CJ had gone out, and R and Da were alone in the house. R got my dad comfortable. I am eternally grateful to have a man like R as my brother-in-law. He is honest, hard working, a good big brother to my brother and I. A mensch.
So, the gun. R handed the gun to the Father. He explained, 'I'm going to go outside. Here's a gun. If you want to die, please, do what you must. R went out front, or tinkered in the garage with his cycles, or something, and came back in to the living room. Dad not dead. Darn it.
How to kill your pa? Not easy. Not done before. By me. Or R.
So there Dad and I are driving down the road. Northbound on the Penninsula. My hands on the wheel, his hands on my hearts.
He pleaded with me to kill him. Asked me what he had to say to get someone to help him. Heartswrenching to say the least. I promised him I would help him. I gave him my word, one Godfather to Another.
I knew the NSA was listening. I knew another half dozen or so American clandestine disservices agencies were listening. Rough guess, I would say another half dozen foreign clandestine disservices agencies were listening, and another 50 or more have heard the recording since. Another 50 or so will hear the recording after I post this.
Fast forward a few months, dead Da.
Love you Pops. Not a day goes by when I ought not remind myself how indebted I am to you and yours. Stay out of trouble. Just between you and me, I think Mr. Hackman did a heck of a job playing our roles.
