Seven years ago today my father died. We had a complicated relationship, although not dramatically so. I had a very happy childhood provided by my reasonably stable family life and then a very angsty teenagehood that was pretty much entirely self inflicted in its misery. You know how that goes. In the interest of full disclosure and because this is not the time for getting weepy I will say that my dad was never my superhero - he was entirely too human. And we fought a lot. Then, in our typical melodramatic style we would both cry and then we would end our fighting. We were very close though - I think because we are two sides of the same coin. Anyway, I have a hard time connecting to him in the city so usually I buy myself some white roses and then have a drink for him [I know he would like this tradition - he loved buying me and mum flowers and always said that he would rather see flowers while he was alive, rather than decorating a grave - yeah, we're a morbid family...as to the drinking he always said that he wanted a party when he died - and we did just that after his funeral...and it was a beautiful day and a fun party - of course it would have been better if he could have been there].
The other day I was watching CNN and they were showing a slightly old interview with Barack Obama. He was talking about his father and said something to the effect of how he has spent his life trying to live up to the myth of his father...while also trying to fix his father's mistakes. And I was like - yeah...that's exactly it. So today I did buy my white roses and I did go out for drinks and I bought a memoir [Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama] and I started to read it. I know I'm a shameless Obama fangirl...but I love this book already. Also, I know my dad would be really interested in the upcoming US election - we've always both been into American politics...but I'm not sure who he would be rooting for. Parent-child relationships are complicated...I remember thinking I was the only one when I would fight with my dad - most other families I knew seemed so idyllic. But now - as I continue growing up a bit...I feel as though I can let go of some of my anger over my father's death. It's true that most of what I hate about myself I also saw in my dad...but also all of what I love about myself is also a reflection of him. So there. I still miss him and it still hurts. I think that's a forever thing.
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4 comments:
That's a really good way to honour your father.
My father is alive, but my grandfather died 11 years ago. I still have dreams about him.
I know that my dad would like the attention - I'm like him in that way too...kinda saying we don't like attention, but then getting upset if we don't have it.
My grandfather died on the same day as my father - 11 years previous. I still dream about both of them - the three of us were three peas in a pod.
My father died back in February. It's something I have to take day by day. Some days are good, some not so good.
I look back to the first year after my father died and I feel like I held everything together too well. I think if I had of just let go and not been so stupidly strong that I would have been much better in the long run.
I am sorry for your loss, Jackie. Keep your head up.
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