Time passes and the pain and "missing" lessens. Wrong. Maybe for a time. But I'm finding that as I get older I'm miss my father more and more. I'm not sure why. Maybe it has something to do with his suddenly dying when he was 55. I think I was 23 when it happened. Recently I turned 54 and well, I ask myself what if I don't make it another year. I can't be sure if he was happy or not. We, at least not until the end of his life, were we close.I still remember the phone call, not from family, but from Bob, who worked for my father, telling me he died. I think I suffered not only from the pain, the suddeness, the loss, but from the fact that I wished my father would die long before he actually did. There were many times I hated him. For his work, for his marrying my mother and from his being a part time father.
But I'm so much older now. I have my own son. I'm a far better father than my father was. But I understand a lot more. I wish I knew then what I know now. I have guilt. More now at 54 than I ever had in the past. And it hurts.
I wish I even just had another day with my father. To talk to him, to tell him I love him and miss him so. To let him say hello to his Grandson. Oh, how he would love his Grandson. And I think my son would love him back.
Tonight I'm in New York. That's where me and my father are from. I don't like coming here because it not only brings back memories, but New York is just not New York without him.
I was in Phoenix when I got the news. I don't really recall the events prior to the call. He was going in for a hernia operation. He never made it out of the operating room. The last time I saw him was months before when he flew down with me to Arizona. He stayed with me for a few days.
I'm not sure I'm putting this right, but I fell in love with him again during that trip. I was sorry I even wanted him to die. He gave me a big hug before he boarded the plane back to NY. That was the last time I ever saw him alive.
The next time I was watching the black hurst over a hill at the cemetary. His casket being slid into the slot. It took me years to get over those images.
I remember flying back for the funeral on TWA. There were not many people on the plane. I remember looking out the window into the night sky, the clouds lite up by the moon. I swear I saw him being carrried up to heaven by angels. I was so sad I couldn;t breathe.
God, how I wish I could see him again. To say hello. To let him know I'm ok. I want to tell him so many things. Funny things. Sad things. Many things. I laugh when I know he would love my laptop and Blackberry.
I want to tell me about my life since that last hug in Phoenix. I want to tell him what I've learned. And that he was right about alot of things and wrong about some others. I want to ask him why he died? What happened? What did he feel before he went into the hospital?
Oh I wish I could remember if I called him the night before. I don't think I did. Damn idiot I was. I just didn't know. Not saying goodbye is the worst. But then I could have never said goodbye.
My anger at my father before we flew out West was quickly transferred to extreme anger at God. I've NEVER forgiven him. I couldn't imagine what I must have done to cause my father's dying. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I'm saying. There's that guilt again. But I believe I have blamed myself ever since the call from Bob.
Going back for the funeral was terrible. I felt my mother and brother considered me the enemy - the troublemaker - the intruder - the black sheep. If it wasn't for a major snow storm that hit the area, I would have been on the plane back to AZ sooner. I didn't want to go back, but I wasn't asked to stay.
Writing this is very tiresome for me. Maybe I'll dream tonight of talking with my dad. That'll be nice. I've got to admit that there are times that I wish that could happen and I'd never wake up. That were could be together in better and happier times together. At least for just a few more minutes.
Photo credit: http://images.bugaga.ru/posts/2008-04/1207483288_sadness_by_pincel3d.jpg
