As I am getting older, and have little ones of my own, I realize all the hell I went through with my parents, but especially my dad.
My dad passed away years ago, just before my birthday. My family had never been close; in fact I haven’t seen most of them in years. I was always the black sheep.
I don’t have any bad feelings about it. They were a pit of toxicity I never wanted my own children to be exposed to, so I walked away from them with no feelings of negative Karma at all.
But the thing I regret is that I let them take away my chance to say goodbye to dad.
See, I was forbidden by the family to go to his funeral. I know… I should have ignored it. I should have gone on ahead and attended despite — or to spite — their protestations. But it was already a horrible time for me, even before he passed away, and I felt that it would be best for all involved to just stay away.
I regret that choice now.
The relationship between dad and I was never any good. When I was a child, he took his anger out on me. His whiskey-sodden brain couldn’t comprehend doing that kind of thing was wrong.
When I was around 9, that changed. He stopped drinking and began to turn himself around. I know getting sober is hard. I’m 30 years sober at this point, myself. I saw his hands tremble as he crocheted afghans in order to keep them under control.
He would do it hour after hour. Every day, he’d get more yarn so he could create yet another blanket. I’m not sure who taught him, though it was probably someone from AA giving him something to get through the hard moments.
The irony is, my second wife — an abuser, herself — helped re-foster the relationship between he and I.
Though he left me with PTSD I still haven’t recovered from four decades later, I’ve figured out how to forgive him for his actions.
I understand, within my mind, there are two “dads” existing on contradiction with each other. One is the drunk who, with his hands and words, took me to task.
The other is a man I grew to respect and, ultimately, love.
So, dad, allow me the chance to say goodbye to you in a way that I think you’d like.
In this photo is my wife, Jolene. She’s the kindest, sweetest, prettiest thing I know, and I think dad would have loved her as much as we all do.
See the blanket she’s laying on? That was the last thing that my father made, before he passed away. He always made such beautiful afghans. Though he was offered hundreds of dollars for them, he never accepted a penny.
Instead, he always gave them away to those he loved.
It’s also the only physical thing I have left to remember him by.
So we have his favorite things here. A beautiful, sweet, lady with a smile on her face, relaxing and enjoying the sunlight shining in a window, while resting upon something that he made with his own hands.
There’s no better way I can think of to say… goodbye dad. I always loved you, no matter what happened. I wish that my kids could know the best person I have ever known.
Perhaps they will through me.
Goodbye Dad. I miss you.
About me:
I am an author with over a dozen books and dozens of short stories published. I have experience with both traditional and self-publishing and love to discuss the pros and cons of both.
Why do I write? Because I am blind and live on low disability payments each month. The government graced me with trying to live on about $700 per month, and I decided to start publishing because it’s a way to supplement.
If you like my work and feel inclined to support it, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi.
Thank you from the depths of my soul for being here. Keep striving to “be the best you that you can be” at this moment.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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