Jinx’s story
There will always be something to be said for the prospect of missing someone for what things could have been. That’s where I stand with my dad.
We weren’t close. In fact, our relationship was quite bitter and vindictive. He drank. I spit venom. In no way was he ever your typical angry drunk. Rather one who couldn’t quite control his sensibilities. Him drunk was just more obnoxious than anything else, but that didn’t spare us from the occasional spew of dejection.
Nonetheless, he was simply a lonely man in a house full of strangers. Whether or not it was his fault seems futile to discuss now. His death was supposed to be a moment of change. He was supposed to get better. Stop drinking. Be part of the family again.
But his doctor disgraced him and in an effort to rush my father out of the hospital, or even slow his treatment down to make him last another 3 days, just to go on a vacation that weekend, my father died.
My world crashed and burned. I lost everything. My home. My family. My career. My daddy. Guilt enveloped me. I felt as though my angst and misery lead to his drinking which in turn lead to his death. And worst of all, in an effort to be hopeful and in the lightest way naive, I never saw him in his final days. Words cannot pin the guilt.
As I grow beyond that painful day I grow beyond the guilt. I Learn that though my decision was cruel and heartless, my presence would have made no difference. The pain never fades. But my dreams stay full of him, creating new memories where they were lacking in person. He unleashes rain whenever I need it. And no matter what, he always hugs me in my sleep. I scream to the sky imagining he is still just behind my shoulder. I write letters to him as if he’s reading them next to me.
For a long time I felt undeserving of my grief. As though our strained relationship didn’t grant me permission to miss him. But I’m not sure that I miss him as he was, rather the father I remember in glimpses before my angst took over. And that’s okay. I think he’s forgiven me.