From my journal, Last Ditch Effort

Excerpt from my journal, Last Ditch Effort.

Thirty-Five Months, 1065 Days.
“My son’s eyes saw poetry in a sunset, romance in the clouds and wishes inside rainbows. He was exhilarated by heights, his soul was at peace at the beach, and every sunrise meant a new day to chase endless cars.
He loved bricks from old buildings and books from fifty years ago.
He was a dream chaser who was grounded in reality. He was a poet and a writer.
He loved to play his guitar, but had no patience with practicing.
He loved vinyl records and old stereos.
Frank Sinatra, Cole Porter, James Dean, Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac and new shoes.
Road trips were an adventure for him. When he was truck driving long distance, he took pictures all along the way and sent them to me.
He achieved everything he ever set out to do financially, and he had a beautiful family.
He saw beauty in the ugly and the ugly in the beauty. He was a philosopher and a thinker, and we could talk for hours.
He would’ve made an awesome lawyer, because he loved to debate, and he would research to back it up.
He had a genius level IQ, and a photographic memory, and he remembered every detail from the day he was born.
The only battle he ever lost, was his battle with alcohol and drugs.”
Richard William McClellan, Jr.
12-29-78~4-18-23