If my father were to die today, I would not want to make amends. Nor would I ask for forgiveness (having done nothing wrong save attempting to save myself from his many abuses). And I would not in the least be interested in a tearful apology. The only thing I would ask is that he leave this world with no regrets. The amount of disappointment he had for me was matched measure for measure by my own disappointment in him. The fact that he waited this long to die only mocks my futile appeals for his death all those years ago. I’ve moved on from that time. Don’t regret those nosebleeds, those fists full of hair, those black eyes, those punches and slaps and all the names called. I am who I am today because of them. The universe took those “minor irritations”—as if I were a mollusk—and transformed them into something like a generosity of spirit. I will survive because I did survive. And I will love myself more than Thou. We shall all reunite in the dust that is this planet. So do not rage (anymore), raging man enraged by every-fucking-thing. Slip into that sleep of nonbeing. And hold nothing back because nothing ever held me back. I will not regret never knowing a father’s love as you should not regret never knowing a son’s. But that’s only if my father were to die today. If I know anything about this calendar of recovery, however, tomorrow will be different.