It has been already a month since he left.
Even now, I can’t find words to describe how it feels like. Most of we who remain left, identify sadness as the result of such an abrupt and sudden event… but there is a lot more going on there.
Specially now, Lacan’s registers theory makes so much sense it hurts: Death, the Real Death is something that cannot be fully compress by the concept “death”. Death can not be catch in words neither images… not even to see how his body was buried makes me understand that Death happened to him.
This has been the first month in my life without my father. Despite the funeral, the tears, his absence at home, I still don’t understand he is dead.
It feels like a black hole of meaning has eaten him…
…but I won’t let him die completely.
My dad wanted me to be fluent in a foreign language so he taught me himself the basics of English when I was very little.
Dad was full of magic and rituals I subconsciously inherited, the result being this blog, my starting career as a visual artist, short stories I’ve written, and dozens of irrational behaviors I have.
Dad taught me that people can sense their Death coming; that ironically, even on this technological era someone’s cause of Death can remain completely unknown.
Dad, this life I have left, and the work I make goes in your honor, I won’t let you became a fading-away memory…
...I will tell your story and keep you alive the best I can. Until I decide it’s time for me to die.
Dad. Portrait’s sketch. Pencil on diary. 2016 / Farewell device. Dad’s burial vault enclosing concrete in glass bottle. 2016