mjh 08/1954-05/2001

so saturday was the 10 year anniversary of my dad’s death. i did something that i should have done when i first moved back here last july. i went and saw where his ashes are at the columbarium.

my dad died sort of suddenly when i was 16. i say "sort of" because he had been in very bad health since i was little, but died of a massive heart attack at home. accepting his death and the fact that i will never really know who he was has been a difficult feat 10 years in the making. and i’m not sure i’ll ever really be ok with it.
(on a side note, i made a feeble attempt back then to write a poem about how it all made me feel. you can find it a long ways back in my entries. one of my favorites very astutely noted at the time that "sudden death sucks."  then of course there are my first 2 entries.)

i went to his funeral service but zoned out and stared at these little kids playing in the playground across the way for most of it. i wasn’t there when they entombed his ashes* and lived in another state with my mom (divorce), so i never saw where they put his ashes. this weekend, i knew it was time to go see.

after a little searching, mylove and i found the church. he took one side and took the other. i found his name after only walking a couple of feet. it stopped me. right there. i just stared. it was so weird to see his name printed among the dead. and then all of the things i never let get the best of me, all of the things i never allow to come out so i would feel sorry for myself, they were there. it was like i wasn’t just coming to see my dad, i was coming to see all of those things that you just don’t normally let yourself think about. and i cried. i think i’ve only cried 3 or 4 times over my dad’s death. this was one of them.

being a stubborn girl, most of the time i cry out of frustration, not out of sadness. i’m still so frustrated with what happened. the youngest of 3, my parents divorced when i was 2. i moved out of state when i was 9. i never had that relationship with my dad that you’re supposed to have. most of what i have comes from other people. and i hate that. in my opinion, you don’t’ really learn who your parents are as people until you’re an adult.

i don’t know what his sense of humor was like. what got on his nerves. what he loved. what he hated. i want so desperately to know that if my dad were still alive today, i would like him. we would get along. we would have similar tastes in food, movies, or whatever. could we talk about life, politics, or religion. would we have been friends? i know my dad loved me. but would he like me?

i have a few memories that i cherish, but they are tarnished by the embarrassment and frustration that i don’t have more. and i have the stories, or here-say as they should really be called. my parents’ marriage ended in a bad and messy divorce. when you lived with one side, and the other side dies, you really struggle to make sense of everything. so much of what i know about my dad is skewed. i don’t even know if half of it is true. i hate that. i never got a chance to learn who my dad was. as his child, that was my right. and it was taken away by a series of events completely out of my control.

i secretly think that my dad would yell at the news like i do. that he would read reddit and watch house and parks and rec. that we’d have a good time being cynical and sarcastic together. that he’d call me on my bullshit when i’m being stupid or lazy in life. that we would travel. that he’d be proud of me. that he’d love the man i found in mylove.

i hope he would like the man i’ve made up for him to be. it’s all i’ve got. this weekend made me face the fact that i desperately wish i had more.

* i try really hard to make a clear distinction between my dad and his ashes. the body is just a shell. i didn’t go "see" my dad. it’s important for me to keep that distinction.