Father's Day

We never celebrated Father's Day when Dad was alive. The man was positively allergic to holidays. Once we kids started growing up and moving out, they practically had to wrestle him to the ground to celebrate Christmas. Can only guess his chilly upbringing was the cause, or one too many disappointing birthdays, or something...gift giving and harmless hoopla were lost on the guy.

So it feels hypocritical to celebrate him on this day, because it would be just another day if he were here.

I miss him. We've all moved on, best we can, but there's still and always this gaping hole where he used to be. I don't quite know where I'm at these days where he's concerned. Was going to take his pictures down on the right, but realized the Cyril one needed to stay...it's one of my absolute faves, so tender. That was a rare state to catch him in.

We don't keep secrets from each other now that he's gone; we're more honest with each other. We kept things from him because he was so rigid sometimes, it was just easier for all concerned to stay quiet, dodge a potential argument. That hurts like hell now, makes it feel like we're better off somehow with him gone. My stress dreams usually involve that guilt...he's come back somehow (details fuzzy, and since he was cremated, my brain concocts some rather convoluted answers to that question) and we're living the way we live now, and I'm trying to bring him around to my way of thinking about something. That's gotta be old sadness from 1997 manifesting itself too...when I told Dad Les was moving in with me, he didn't speak a word to me for at least 6 months. Felt a lot longer, and maybe it was...it took quite a few arguments that I thankfully wasn't privy to, to get him to my wedding at all. If I visited during that time, he found a reason to be in the garage, or he went to run an errand. His righteous beliefs simply didn't allow for his eldest daughter to exert that level of independence. Old hurts die hard. And time heals very slowly apparently. 3 years ...

About a week ago, I returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak. My mom had a myleogram done at Baptist downtown, and the day stay wing was exactly one floor down from the heart hospital where we lost him. I had a long time to wait for Mom and thought about going up to that floor to confront whatever I was feeling, but while I was sitting there, they called a Code Blue to the heart hospital that I heard 2 floors down in radiology waiting. I experienced a flood of emotions and had to concentrate for a moment to regulate my breathing, so I figured there was no need to be self-flaggelating and go up to that floor.

We'll never be better off without him. I miss the debates that he and I had, and I actually enjoyed butting up against his beliefs, because at least he was knowing the real me. Now, can't argue with a ghost...hence my current cast adrift feeling. So Happy Father's Day, Papa! I remember you today, the good and the bad, and miss both very much.