Imprints Part 1 of Trilogy

(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father) His shoes by the front door make me cry like his glasses resting atop an unfinished crossword and his toothbrush in its holder the bristles still damp. And I wonder... Did he brush his teeth before he put the gun to his heart? A cereal bowl waits in the sink The laundry basket overflows "To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator. Suicide is not on the list, and I am almost surprised. He was a tidy person, neat organized almost to the point of obsession That's how he lived; that's how he died. But Dad... I'd have felt better if, for once in your life you'd left a mess. But no even in the ultimate act of selfishness, you strove to be polite, choosing to lie on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt thinking we could just flush the blood away    with the turn of a faucet. Yes, the place is spotless. A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile are the only signs that a life ended here. It seems, somehow, that there should be more.