My dad died last week. He had been sick for some time and didn’t take care of himself. To me, he died about 35 years ago so this day where his soul left his body really doesn’t affect me that much. But it seems strange to not care. You should care when a parent dies. You should feel an ache, a hole. Like someone just ripped out a core piece of your life and you don’t know how to move forward.
Losing a parent should be that horrible.
I wish I felt that right now. But instead, there’s this nothingness. Hearing he died was about as emotionally impacting to me as Jimmy Buffet’s death. I didn’t know Jimmy, just like I really didn’t know my dad.
I do have snippets of my dad in my mind. I remember he had a sense of humor and on occasion, he did make me laugh. Him calling me the midnight sailor because I wet the bed at an older age. Looking back, the fact that I peed the bed at the age of 7 was likely from the stress of my childhood so that’s not really that funny anymore.
Aside from those brief moments of laughter, I remember the bad. The abuse. The alcoholism. The pure inability to be a good dad. I don’t blame him for it. I am not mad. I forgave him years ago. But those are the memories that I have.
I lost my dad before I even had him. That loss, that “lack of,” is what makes me a little sad – if anything makes me sad about his passing. On the one hand, I wish I had a dad. I wish I had a protector, someone to hug me when I fell down, someone to be my safe space when other boys broke my heart. To have someone that my girls can call Papa. I wish I had that person. But, on the other hand, not having a dad (or mom for that matter) made me who I am. It put me on the path to this life. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.
And other people filled those spaces. My uncle, my father-in-law, my husband. They filled in those holes the best they could where my real dad couldn’t. It’s not the same…. but I am grateful for those men.
What is truly sad about this whole thing is that – from my viewpoint – he missed out. His life could have been filled with such joy if he could have found a way to overcome and be stronger. But his weakness led me here. So maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe him not being in my life or my kids’ lives is not sad. Maybe he had what he wanted and needed after all. I don’t know what his life truly looked like over the past few decades. I don’t know his thoughts, hopes, dreams, wishes or if he even had any of those things.
All I know is that he’s dead now and I’m ok with that. Even though I maybe shouldn’t be.