Wholly My Dad
So today’s the day. On this day, 4 years ago, my dad died. Rather unceremoniously, surrounded by my mom, my aunt, and my half-brother. Pieces from his many lives. Memories personified. Every other year, I’ve felt deeply in the days leading up to and following this day. Passionate anger, heart-wrenching sadness, grief that consumed my body and mind. This year I feel nothing. But perhaps nothing is my peace. My dad and I did not have a traditional relationship. His demons separated him from my mom and ultimately me. While his intentions were always admirable, his actions were not. My dad’s best years coincided with the years I don’t remember. Chubby legs wriggling out of diapers. Preschool Halloween parties. Birthdays with single candles. With every fiber of my being I want to remember. But I don’t. I look at old photos and pretend. I write myself into a fiction. And my best attempts to reconcile that narrative with my reality fail. Crash and burn. Only s
