out on a storm

15 years ago, early early this morning, my mom climbed up into my bed with 12-year-old me and didn't have to say anything. There was a big storm that night and my dad, who had been in a scary hepatic coma in my parents' bedroom for many days, took off in a mix of thunder and clouds and downpour. I think last year was the first time I thought about him without crying, but I'm pretty sure that was just a passing phase.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to live on in the legacy he and my mom created in West Oakland and in the world. I will remember his laughter, his ability to strike fear in kids and adults by furrowing his brow, his salt-and-pepper "skunk" beard, his car dancing, his playfulness, his patience and impatience, his bike and roller skates, his love of technology and community, his hairy arms, his wisdom, and his tenacity even in the face of failure.

I know his spirit lives on in me and I'm hopeful every day for the strength to carry it on.