Still My Father
~ no do-overs, just better next chapters
He gave me life. But more than that, he gave me his example, this part of him that was quiet, consistent, imperfect, generous.
When he died ten years ago, I thought our relationship ended.
It didn’t.
It changed.
What was once a mostly unspoken two-way relationship (meaning, we could have talked more) contrasted with this one I have now … we talk often, but it’s a one-way flow.
He doesn’t answer.
I hear him anyway.
I see him in my wrinkled hands, in my decisions, in my silences, and lately he’s showing up more in my mirror than he ever did.
I guess, if we ever question whether or not our dad was our real dad, we should compare our picture with pictures of him at the same age. I am so much more like him than I ever thought I was on the outside and I struggle to be more like him on the inside …
He shows up when I need patience, when I need courage, and sometimes when I fail.
I remember him more for his support than for his critiques, more for his kindness and loyalty to me which I probably didn’t tell him nearly enough, and for his shortcomings and failing too, because of knowing my many failings better than I ever did, I see we were more the same than we were different in many ways.
I wish I could ask him hundreds of questions I never asked. And I’ll never understand why I didn’t, but that’s OK … I have so many memories of times we had and how much I know I meant to him, and I could beat myself up with regret about that, but there is no need for that because I can tell him now. I don’t need to hear an answer, but I imagine him smiling. When I smile I think I look a little more like him …
Being a father myself, having fumbled, stumbled, screwed up, fallen short, and misunderstood the assignment, my ‘new relationship’ with him encourages me that there is hope yet, for me to have a better relationship with my daughters now and in the future. I have no way to know if that can or will happen, but I know it’s not only my effort that is required.
The missed moments with my children?
They haunt me a bit. Not with guilt, but with an ache. There’s no rewind button. No redo. We cannot reverse what has happened, and at best we can see some things differently, though we have no control over whether they ever will.
If this message lands anywhere, let it be here:
Fatherhood isn’t a day on a calendar.
It’s a legacy of presence, silence, error, and grace
~ and it’s passed on, long after the noise is gone.
I miss him more than I could have ever imagined.
I remember, when he died, several people asked me if it was hard to deal ‘with everything’ because, as an only child, I didn’t have siblings to share the tasks, decisions and difficulties.
It was never ambiguous; I didn’t HAVE TO do it all, I GOT to do it all … I didn’t have to share any of that with anyone. I treasure it. Lucky me.
