I guess I always knew this was coming, although to be honest I always thought he'd go much more suddenly. I had heard that he had a heart attack about a year ago, but what I hadn't heard what that he was pretty heavy into crack at the time.
Not that that's a surprise. I have my first memory of him as a child narrowed down to one of two things. One is of my mom coming into the room and freaking out (rightfully so) because he was having me pass the pot pipe between him and his wasted friends. The other is of standing next to him at coffee-table, watching him cut out white lines on a mirror and suck them up his nose through a rolled up bill.
I guess what really surprises me is that I don't really seem to care much. I should probably be sad or angry or something.
I probably will be later.
This just sucks.