19 May Buttercups
My stepfather, John H. S., died on May 2, 2022 at ll:20 p.m. I’ve always known him as my ‘dad’ though, and will continue to do so. I didn’t become aware that he was my stepfather until I was seventeen and, years later, in my mid-thirties, I sought and found my biological father. All of this is another amazing tale, which I wrote about as a short story in Tall Tales and Short Stories from South Jersey. I want to admit right now that I did not have a fuzzy-warm relationship with my dad—not even close. He was man whose heart had a wound in which anger raged forth and it had affected me deeply. I know he loved me, but it took many years of spiritual and psychological work to heal from the effects that he had on my life. He had lung cancer, complicated by four years of painful back problems. His health had declined rapidly in early November of last year, and he was admitted into the hospital. Honestly, the family didn’t know if he would make it. Then, right before Thanksgiving, my brother, Glenn, died unexpectedly. To say I was taken by surprise was an understatement. A few weeks before...
