Something I wrote tonight

I was listening to Guy Clark tonight and I wrote this.

I could not get over how much you looked like the pictures I had seen of your dad. Before, you were confident and fatherly. You were vibrant and the life of the party. You threw all the parties. You toked it up and drank until everyone else left or passed out. You gave advice and people listened. You deserved respect and it was given, not because it was demanded, but because of your character.

Afterwards, you seemed to have lost your confidence. Instead of a father figure, you seemed like a scared child in an old man’s body. I was scared seeing you like that. You were no longer the life of the party, dispensing advice like a psychologist. You were searching for answers. You were the one asking questions.

You were bitter. You went into hiding. You talked of putting up locked gates and privacy fences. You planted weeping willows all along the road. You put up blinds on the front porch. The parties stopped. You talked about yesterdays, regrets and remembrances. You talked about how no one came around anymore since there wasn’t free whiskey.

I think people didn’t come around not because of the lack of liquor, but because of changes in you. You didn’t consciously decide to change. We all knew that. Nonetheless, you changed. It scared us all when you asked us questions about the meaning of life. We were used to your rhetorical questions that helped to drive home your point.

Your character remained. The respect for you stayed. Maybe that is why people stayed away, out of respect for you. Life changes us. Fear changes us. Chemo changes us.