“Tales of Tycoon”

H,

I am trying to remember less and less but it keeps coming back to me. It is less than pain, now. I remember Tycoon in all his glory and what that meant to me. In this silent time, memory is so loud. The memory of our father is like a candle, a story still unfolding and certainly not something final; buried in the ground.

The biggest thing to remember is how little, at the end, it matters who was right and wrong. All academic arguments will one day cease. We are guessing at things we will one day see clearly, and we will no longer study, but become. There is some light, perhaps all of the light, in realizing that anger and lust and power and happiness in this sense, are all transient beings. There is no future in them. We will soon cease to forget why we were angry or wanted her so badly or longed for power to alter fates or found happiness in crevices and lakes.

When I sat next to his dying bed, I was not angry, and I felt no need to overpower him. He was a fact of my life, the second fact, and I wanted to love him and listen to whatever he tried to whisper into my eyes. I could not hear him. The words never came. Yet, it does not matter. I knew what it meant. It was not the Tycoon there, but the ancient who was in charge and he was going to say only one thing to me. It would be something like this: it is not going to be alright, it is already alright.