To the fathers who are gone, whatever your reasons, do you regret your departure?
If good memories predominate then we are fortunate, though the moments that we mix with nostalgia are buried in a past that we refashion to suit us.
We know too well the sunlight, in which we stand at your side.
We know too well the shadows, when you are no longer in the picture.
There are Polaroids in the back of a drawer. There are stories that grow more fragile. There were aging relations to elaborate, but now they are ashes and legend.
* * *
To the fathers who have left us: You who have exited blindly, departed foolishly, looked back reluctantly, kept silent pridefully, strode away negligently — we are orphaned by your choices. Some of you disappear dutifully or unintentionally. We imagine your reappearance at our celebratory moments.
To the fathers who have left us: There is much you have forsaken — our wins and our losses, our birthdays and our babies. We patch your light into our lives through dreaming and wakefulness. We settle for wisdom we may work to manufacture, the better to fill our wells of abandonment.
To the fathers who have left angrily, callously, meekly, selfishly: Didn’t you understand the responsibilities of need?
* * *
To my father who left to work and to play like so many of his generation: Your absence marked me more than your presence.
Believe me, I am marked.
To my father who reached out in the months before his death: Our connection is a bridge for which I will always be grateful.
Believe me, we are connected.
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So true BLW. Glad you were able to connect at deathside. Glad it worked well.
Actually, he died in a car accident – and much too young. But he had reached out to me before that, and we had a good relationship at last. I’ve always been appreciative of that time.
Wishing you peace this father’s day, BLW. (hugs)
This is yet another post where you have left me deeply moved, with a need to be quiet and let it resonate. We do miss them. It’s so hard. Thank you, D. A. Much appreciated.
Jan
http://thestylexpert.blogspot.com/2012/06/damn-i-miss-my-dad.html
We do indeed miss them, Jan.
“To my father who left to work and to play like so many of his generation: your absence marked me more than your presence.” Yes, I know this well.
My father reached out two years ago for forgiveness, although at the time, six weeks after labor, I didn’t think I could handle that volatile piece of my past coming back to make peace? Wreak havoc? I didn’t know, and with a new baby in my arms, I didn’t want to know either. I was moving on.
The irony is that my younger daughter looks exactly like him, so every time I look at her, I am reminded of him, and inadvertently of that past. Perhaps it’s a good thing, as it makes me work that much harder to make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that led us here.
Fathers who have left us. That seems to be the story of so many children.
I noticed in the love letter you posted recently that you talked about your father’s death, and I thought about it afterwards. I am sorry for your loss, and that it happened in such a tragic way. “…our connection is a bridge for which I will always be grateful.” A beautiful ending.
Thanks, Robin. The last time I saw my dad was on Father’s Day, 25 years ago. It was a lovely day. I’m glad we shared it.
“We settle for whatever wisdom we can find to fill the well of abandonment.”
And make a home, as best we can, for our own children.
Exactly, Wolf.
Forgiveness is a balm indeed. My mother found peace with her father in the years before he passed and was the only one with him when he died. For all the alcoholic abuse and neglect and hardship he put her mother through with his leaving, she said, “Still, he’s my father.”
Lovely piece. You helped me remember how fortunate I am to have my father still here, after all these years. He’s never been demonstrative. We’ve never been particularly close. But he’s always been there. Steady and dutiful. I have to love him for that.
“Steady and dutiful.” That’s a wonderful description, Barb. But isn’t it interesting that if we were talking about mothers, more than likely, in “today’s world” – steady and dutiful wouldn’t be considered enough? Are our expectations still skewed when it comes to what we expect from a mother – emotionally – and a father?
oh my…lump in throat. My dad was my hero. Literally I held my breath waiting for him to acknowledge that I was in his presence. He had a terrible fight with my mother once. I listened anxiously from the back of the house, until I heard the screen door slam. Then I ran. Out the door, on his heels. I threw myself around his legs, begging him not to leave us. He patted my head and said, “honey, I am just going out for cigarettes”. Three years later, he left for good. Then there was his new family. I realized that every time I saw him after that, I held my breath, waiting for him to leave again. That second family didn’t work out. So 20 years later he came back. If he wore a hat, it would have been in his hands. The way back has been slow…but steady. I don’t hold my breath anymore. I am just grateful for what there is.
I too am sorry for your loss, BLW. For my part this moved me on so many levels that I can’t find the words. I lost my Dad under terrible circumstances. We weren’t speaking at the time and I didn’t get to say goodbye. I carry that around with me still, a heavy burden on my heart.
I’m sorry for that burden you still carry, Heather. When there are issues and you haven’t the time to resolve them, you live in a strange emotional limbo. My mother and I were only beginning to build bridges back to each other after many years of a problematic relationship when she passed away a few years ago. It’s difficult. I try to recall good times before there were issues.
Wishing you well.
Oh BLW. Even though Father’s Day was almost two weeks ago, this post left me bawling. You know why. I find comfort in the last line of your post.
I do know why, Rudri. I understand.