Dad

My parents divorced when I was 6 months old and I saw my dad only a handful of times during my childhood. My memories of him include a couple of visits to his house when I was little, maybe about 5 and then maybe 10. I could have gone more often but don’t recall and really don’t think so. His wife took me shopping once and I sat while she got her hair done. I remember he would brag that he could eat a cheeseburger in two bites. I thought it was gross. There was once that I was up visiting my grandma the last summer she was alive and he was supposed to come spend the day with me. He never showed up and later my mom and brother found him in a local bar too ashamed to come see me for some reason. Seems like that was pretty much how he operated, he just didn’t show up. I was 13 that summer.

I remember bringing my brother up to Ohio to live with him and meeting his 3rd wife and her children and the girl who was about my age asking me if I was going to be her new sister. I just looked at her astonished. I don’t think I said anything, but I definitely wasn’t going anywhere to be anyone’s new sister.

There were years where I didn’t hear from him. Then I got a call one day when I was about 23. My brother had found out that the reason we hadn’t heard from him in so long was because he was in prison. I won’t go into the who’s what’s and where’s about that, really doesn’t matter at this point and for this particular account.

I got the address to the prison and put it in a drawer for about a year. Then one day I ran across the piece of paper and for some reason decided I would write to him. I didn’t know if I would hear back and wasn’t sure what I would do if I did. Well, he did write me back and it began a connection with him that I had never had. We wrote about 2 letters a week for almost 2 years. I found his writing familiar in a way as if I had written it myself. There was a connection that I couldn’t explain exactly, was this the genetic thing that people say really doesn’t matter when a child is adopted? I had always felt very different from my mom and my brother. Not in a bad way, just different like they didn’t get me and I could never completely get them. And for the first time in my life I felt like someone really got me and I got them. It doesn’t completely describe how I feel, but that is the best I can say. I didn’t agree with everything he said and there are parts of his personality that I just chose to move past because if I had focused on them I might never have gotten to know the other parts. But there were parts that were like the missing parts of myself.

I went to visit him in prison about a year before he got out. I sat across the table from him in the visiting room and noticed for the first time that he had blue eyes. I have brown eyes and so do my mom and brother and I had only black and white photos of my dad so it just never stood out to me before. We realized that we both had the same funny ears, but he thought they looked better on a girl.

When he got out of prison my brother and I flew across the country to bring him to California with us. He never really felt comfortable living out west and eventually moved back east. He did get to come to my house once after my first son was born. He was pleasant to have as a house guest. There was something very homey about him. He would be up before me with coffee made sitting at the table. He helped around the house and mowed my lawn and in general seemed to like to keep busy. Of course I had to look past the 10 beers a day he would drink and the chain smoking….. after all nobody is perfect, right?

I was able to go to visit one time with my boys when they were small so he got to meet them both. My older son who tends to be somewhat guarded with his emotions and not one to hug someone unless he really knows him, ran up to him upon leaving to give him the biggest hug I have ever seen. I don’t know if he remembers or not, but I do.

The past few years have been more distant and we rarely spoke. I don’t know, I think we both were lazy about it. I allowed myself to feel like he should call or write me so I would just wait for him and it never happened. So finally we did begin again, it was a small attempt and unfortunately didn’t last long. We wrote a few letters and soon the letters stopped. With all the things going on in my life I didn’t slow myself down enough to make the effort to find out why.

I got a call from his sister on Tuesday to tell me that he was in the hospital and really sick with cancer, it had spread to his brain and probably wouldn’t make it much longer. I got to talk to him two days ago and hear his voice and told him I love him. I just wish I could have seen him one more time. I planned to fly out to see him, but got a call that it was only a matter of hours. Last I heard he is still with us but unconscious and I was able to have his wife hold the phone to his ear so I could say my goodbyes. I cancelled my trip because I am needed here at home and they told me I wouldn’t make it in time anyways and he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. So here I am up late writing this blog. I expect I will hear something soon and I hope I wasn’t wrong to cancel my flight. I’m glad I was at least able to have the connection that I had, as small and kind of broken that it was. He had a whole lot of flaws and some bigger than others, but I felt like I got to know this tiny part of him that was really sweet and that is the part I choose to remember and hold with me.