And so we drove away. Early Wednesday morning, this house of his empty, scrubbed of almost every scrap and trinket that would let you know that a man named Peter Schilling once lived here. Except for his customized chopping blocks … Continue reading
There’s a wake tonight, from 6 to 8, for Dad at the Hibernian Pub in Raleigh. I’m hoping for a night of wonderful, crazy, strange memories with good people. While toodling around on Dad’s computer, John found the above photo … Continue reading
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light. –Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go … Continue reading
Swallowing and eating. Doing a crossword puzzle. Moving, talking, pissing, writing. These are the little things we now mark as larger achievements, but they lack the shiny feeling of a toddler’s first steps or inaugural word. Some days he wants … Continue reading
Allow me to delve into the deeply personal for a moment: my Dad, Peter Schilling Sr., was diagnosed last March with stage III lung cancer. This was an incredible blow for him, obviously, and it devastated me for a few … Continue reading