Today also marks the 1st anniversary of my dad's passing.
If you've been following along for any amount of time, you'll already know that my dad was pretty absent from most of my life. His passing was sudden and unexpected. It forced me and my sister into a world we had never been a part of. And the whole experience just reinforced how foreign we were to him and his life.
The very nice condolences left on the funeral home website mentioned how dependable he was, how they could count on him for anything. And as I read them I would think, 'Who is THAT person?', because it wasn't the man I knew. In my experience my dad was a lot of things, but dependable wasn't one of them. After the memorial service was over, every person that filed by, after fiercely hugging my step-sister, would tepidly shake my hand without a bit of recognition in their eyes. The majority of those people had no idea who I was, and what my relationship was to their deceased friend. I understand why they wouldn't know who I was, but it still hurt my heart.
Sorting out his few belongings in his tiny apartment was another ordeal. I kept saying I didn't care what happened to the stuff in the apartment, and that I certainly didn't want any of it. I avoided being in the apartment and instead loitered outside. I blamed the cigarette smell, which was part of it. Looking back now, it was mostly because being in his sad little apartment and going through his meager belongings would just finalize the alienation of our relationship. He had framed photos of my sister and I piled in a box. As if he had won the box in an auction without knowing what was in it, and then realizing later that it didn't contain anything he wanted or needed. I understand that my dad was a widowed bachelor who never had a need to do a lot of decorating, which is the more likely reason why the photos were in boxes, but it still hurt my heart.
And, really, that's what it all comes down to. Everything about that day crushed my heart. I handled the whole situation with simmering anger, disdain, and feigned indifference in an attempt to keep all other emotions at arms length. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to miss him. I didn't want to feel regret. And I didn't want my heart to hurt.
Why didn't he want me? Why was he ok with being absent from my life for all of those years? Why did we have to end up as strangers to one another? Why weren't we worth the effort to try and be a better dad?
I would say I'll never get those answers now, but honestly I wouldn't get the answers even if he were still alive. My dad had no real answers for his behavior. He just lived his life the way that was best for him, and I'm not sure he gave much thought to who he hurt in the process. And that's how he left us, without much thought to who he would hurt in the process.
I'm working on letting go of the anger. It still might take me a little more time. But I'm trying to remember the good memories, most of them from when I was young. We did have our moments. And to mark the first year of his passing, I wanted to do something to honor him...something to help heal my still broken heart. So, I've decided to make a donation to the Alcohol & Drug Abuse Council for the Concho Valley. Maybe my small donation will help another dad out there who is struggling, but still trying, to be a better father to his kids.
Happy Father's day, Dad.
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