An Outlet, A Repository

Rest In Peace, Dad.

Your long shadowy fight with the brutal and unrelenting Parkinson’s disease is over. It breaks my heart that I could not have been there with you in your final hours. I hope you understand why. We are trying to quell another shadowy disease. After you were in recovery, and I told you what it was like to grow up with you, you hugged me, and you were crying, and told me how sorry you were. And, later, when I told you I was gay, you hugged me, and said how proud you were of me. Unexpected from a tough guy like you, those were amazing gifts of affirmation and love that helped me move forward in life happier and more confident. Thank you. 

I owe you for cultivating so many of my passions in life … exploring faraway lands, vast deserts (and desserts), cars and motorbikes, Premier League Football, Russian literature, painting, photography, a love of animals … what a life you lived. What a teacher you were.

This is one of my favourite photos of us. A game we often played. You would collapse on the floor and feign death. Then I would climb all over you, trying to resurrect you. And the dog would join in. After several minutes, you’d always rise up and tickle me until we both laughed and laughed and laughed. If only that could happen again.

I have missed your wit and wise counsel for a long while. And now I will miss steadying your hand to help you with your paintings. I will miss our long discussions on social and political issues. I will miss our FaceTime calls where you helped me rebuild a rusty old Land Rover.

We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste! - Mr.Pearlman