Guilt
I wasn't a very good daughter. At Christmas, I mailed a package to my friend in Puerto Rico, and to my mother and grandmother in Oregon, because I didn't want them to have nothing for Christmas. My present for my dad, and my brother & his wife for that matter, is still sitting on the floor upstairs. I never mailed it, and it probably made my dad feel sad.
I loved my Dad, and I know he loved me. Neither of us were the best at showing it. He had his demons, and his battle with them took his energy. When he wasn't battling, he was lost to me. When he needed help, I tried to be there as much as I could, and I tried to protect the rest of us, the family, from troubles that might be left to us an inheritance. On that front, I did okay. We had the paperwork in order (I hope!) and we kept the few things of importance, his books, his butler chair, in the family. That was good.
I keep thinking that I blew it at his memorial. I tried to front a strong presence, and remind folks of the goodness in my dad. In hindsight, I probably came across as flippant. That wasn't my intent. I should have talked more about how smart he was, and about the integrity he had as a man and police officer. I should have talked more about his kindness, although he was often more kind to strangers than to family. I could have talked more about the races he won, the poems he wrote. I wish I had done so.
My dad kept things I couldn't believe. The Hobbit poster I gave him when I was (probably) 10 years old, was there in his apartment. The Japanese sword I was so proud of bringing him from Japan hung on his apartment wall. The old can of "junk" - the odds and ends that we kept on the coffee table from the old house was on his dresser. It still had the junk - he probably couldn't ever find a place for those things, and yet he still didn't throw them away.
My dad loved ice cream, but weighed barely anything. My dad loved his grandkids, but rarely saw them. My dad loved to travel, yet I couldn't get him to come to Fairbanks to see us. The one time he did, he left at 4:00 in the morning. It made me sad.
I remember what he was, and envisioned what he could be- what I wanted him to be, as a father an a grandfather. It is those visions that break my heart, not just for me but for us all.
I miss him today.
I loved my Dad, and I know he loved me. Neither of us were the best at showing it. He had his demons, and his battle with them took his energy. When he wasn't battling, he was lost to me. When he needed help, I tried to be there as much as I could, and I tried to protect the rest of us, the family, from troubles that might be left to us an inheritance. On that front, I did okay. We had the paperwork in order (I hope!) and we kept the few things of importance, his books, his butler chair, in the family. That was good.
I keep thinking that I blew it at his memorial. I tried to front a strong presence, and remind folks of the goodness in my dad. In hindsight, I probably came across as flippant. That wasn't my intent. I should have talked more about how smart he was, and about the integrity he had as a man and police officer. I should have talked more about his kindness, although he was often more kind to strangers than to family. I could have talked more about the races he won, the poems he wrote. I wish I had done so.
My dad kept things I couldn't believe. The Hobbit poster I gave him when I was (probably) 10 years old, was there in his apartment. The Japanese sword I was so proud of bringing him from Japan hung on his apartment wall. The old can of "junk" - the odds and ends that we kept on the coffee table from the old house was on his dresser. It still had the junk - he probably couldn't ever find a place for those things, and yet he still didn't throw them away.
My dad loved ice cream, but weighed barely anything. My dad loved his grandkids, but rarely saw them. My dad loved to travel, yet I couldn't get him to come to Fairbanks to see us. The one time he did, he left at 4:00 in the morning. It made me sad.
I remember what he was, and envisioned what he could be- what I wanted him to be, as a father an a grandfather. It is those visions that break my heart, not just for me but for us all.
I miss him today.
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