On Death and Dying

Less than 10 minutes from this posting, I found out that my stepfather (the father of my younger sister) died. No news yet as to what cause - just that. He died.

I don't really remember much of him. He came into my life when I was about 13 or 14, when I didn't really give much of a f*ck about much of anything. What I do remember was that he made me laugh a lot, which says a lot about that man. Few things truly amuse me, even to this day.

It's said that of any industry, clowns have the highest suicide rates. I wonder if it's true that the people who most make others laugh are actually the loneliest people around.

My stepfather was just halfway through to 60, going on 23, the way he was living.

But, yes. I assume that he was lonely. Very few people liked him (I have no idea why), and those that claimed otherwise took advantage of him (he was rich, prior to his becoming alchohol dependent).

But again, I never really knew him. I knew him for less than a year. After which point, the family had to move, and I was shuttled over to an Aunt. They went to live together. Last I knew was that he was over his bingeing days, and was trying to come clean.

I didn't know him. I really didn't. I wish I did.

Now, I can't.

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