RSSMy Father’s Keeper
I know exactly how the therapy thing works. The psychologist scribbles a series of illegible notes onto a legal pad, intensely observing your every move. She asks questions about your deepest feelings. Of course, she questions about your father, while you sit there spinning around in a wheeled chair, wondering how the heck the good folks at Trident get their gum to taste like a real pina colada. The memory of him visits me like summer skies transforming themselves into dark clouds, causing them to crack with thunder and lightening and raindrops on steroids hit the city streets. And that’s when I realize I’m still not over the death of my father.
I cleaned out my closet today and discovered a gray A-line skirt I had forced him to buy for me. I’m giving it away now, and I decided I don’t want any more gray skirts. Gray skirts remind me of him and those gray skies. Summer changes seasons quickly. Three months, he was in the hospital. The doctors diagnosed him with an already developed form of stomach cancer. He was to receive chemotherapy but developed a blood infection that prolonged the process. Needless to say, the chemo never got a chance to work. Everyone who knows both he and I can tell you I was his favorite. The first one to call me “Monie.” The one who fought the flies off my beef patties in Jamaica. The one who loved me beyond measure but found a hard time showing me how much he did. We were never able to talk about my favorite subjects—love and marriage–because he’d get nervous, start sweating, and change the topic altogether.
Before he passed away, I met someone who could possibly be the one to show me what loving beyond measure really means, and I had planned to let him meet my father…that Monday. Never got the chance to. Losing him makes me look at life in a whole different light. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. I wanted to let him know how happy I was and how I really couldn’t wait for him to walk me down the aisle someday because that’s what daddies are supposed to do. I wanted him to embarrass the hell out of me one more time like he always did, by skipping ahead of me in the streets of Manhattan like a 5 year old hyped off of a ring pop sugar.
Some may say we weren’t close. But, we were as close as he allowed us to be. The album of my christening (another “cleaning out the closet” discovery) shows my father in a gray pinstripe suit, white shoes…making funny faces at me as I cried my brains out. And who could forget his signature shades? The ones I could always see myself in. I always begged him to take them off. It bothered me not being able to look into his eyes.
The moral of the story really, is not to take anyone for granted. It goes without saying that some of us have fathers we’d rather not even claim as ours, but we’re forced to love them. Imperfection lies in everyone, but no one ever said imperfection, at least when it comes to one’s parents, should allow us to opt out of that love. His last words to me were “I love you.” My last words to him were the same three. Tell someone you love them today and please don’t let gray skies cause teardrops on steroids (you know, the really heavy kind).
Gray Skirts. Gray Suits. Gray Skies.
I don’t need therapy. I just needed to write.
8 Comments, Comment or Ping
TROUBLMan
First, my prayers are with you and your family. Your dad is watching you and smiling. The journey don’t end when we die… Remember that.
Also, I feel you when it comes to loving our parents. When I was younger I used to have resentment for the things I thought my parents could have done better. But as I got older, I realized they’re just people. My pop was actin’ a fool when I was young, gambling and being abusive, so when moms got fed up… he had to go. Because of his actions he missed out on a lot of events in my life.
Of course I was mad at how he treated my mom, but I was also mad that he wasn’t around to teach me how to box or to come to my basketball games. I carried around this resentment without even realizing it. And it’s crazy how unconsciously I began adopting so of his destructive ways, which in turn hampered my relationship with my mom.
As I matured though, I realized my dad still had maturing to do himself. Instead of mad, I became sad. I realized his dad had not been around to teach him and therefore he was simply continuing a path that had been set out for him. Once I realized that, I decided to break that chain. I decided whenever my dad reached out I would at least make an attempt to reach back. It’s a process building a relationship because even though he’s my dad I don’t feel like I really know him. Still, I love my pop and since I’m fortunate to have a dad that is alive and I know where he is, I can’t take that for granted.
[Reply]
LilMissTROUBL
Thank you!
Our stories aren’t exactly the same but they’re similar, my parents divorced when I was 15 so he did miss out on a lot of things. But he never disappeared. & he always made sure I was ok.
That family pattern is hard to break. We never want to make the same mistakes as our parents but sometimes we find ourselves falling into their same habits. When we realize what’s happening, we definitely need to check ourselves.
I really don’t like when people use, “Like father… like son” in a negative context.
It’s easy to take people for granted.
I won’t be doing that anymore.
[Reply]
TROUBLMan reply on July 30, 2008 10:14 am:
Thank you for sharing your soul with us. You’re teaching people, know that!
[Reply]
"A Mom" reply on July 30, 2008 12:18 pm:
This was totally beautiful!
I think about my father all the time. He died of cancer as well. He had lung cancer. Yes he smoked a lot 2 packs a day, as a result he died at 57yrs. old, still asking for a cigarette on his death bed. He also drank a lot and I’m sure his liver was pretty damaged as well.
My memories are not all sad. My father had a good job. He was a top electrican and worked for a big company, and he support his family. The job was not something that many blacks had back in his days. I’m must say my dad was not the touchy, hugging showing love type. He never really held us as I remember (seven of us), but he did show his love in other ways. He took us to everywhere, camping,disneyland,concerts,drag races, rodeos, you name it. He didn’t discrimenate with the boys/girls and taught us everything. I remember him teaching me how to box and protect my face. So many things.
Most important in the last months before he died, I cared for him and I realize now he was showing me all the love and affection thru my little daugther who was just 1yr. old a month before his death, that he couldn’t show for so many years, and couldn’t because he didn’t have a teacher and no one showed him love.
My Dad was a good man, and I remember him sitting on the stairs with his 49er hat and jacket on every morning when he was no longer able to work. He left us with good memories.
“Dad, I Love You”
[Reply]
Troublsome
I know the feeling LilMissTroubl… I lost my mother 5 years ago tomorrow, and there is not a day that goes by where I don’t miss her. There is something that always reminds me of her love, strong will and virtue. Like for instance someone I was having lunch with today was ordering homemade biscuits, and I was reminded of how mom’s use to throw down in the kitchen… I still have not fully dealt with the death of my mother, but one thing I can tell you, is that it gets easier… Trust and believe…
In that regard I can say that I am my father’s keeper from a different aspect.. When I lost my mother (My best friend) H e lost his soul-mate his, his confidant… I know as much as I miss her, he misses her 2x’s more. Therefore as his keeper I have to do everything that I can to replenish the empty glass as much as I can. I know it’s different duties than one of a companion but everything helps…
[Reply]
LilMissTROUBL
Thanks guys
[Reply]
RBT
Thanks for sharing your story you have really just inspired me to call my grandfather and tell him I love him …..Again Thanks
[Reply]
TimahMonae
That was beautiful. You’re a great writer. Fortunately my daddy is still here. I have nightmare’s of the day he’ll no longer be. Unfortunately, I lost my granddad in January. The pain seems to never go away only subside a little when you force yourself not to think of them so much because it hurts to bad to face the reality of them not being there. Everytime I’m forced to remember the days or when I’m not able to tune out his voice in my head it takes all that I have within me not to fall out kicking and screaming.
I used to read ur blog but I haven’t been on blogger in a lil while. I went to read the blogs i frequently read and urs wasn’t there. What happened? did you change the address? Hope all is well. Take care.
[Reply]
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