Yesterday was Father's Day. Mkkendrick and I have two little boys who are the loud, cheery, charming heart of our world.. so you might say on this day it's all about me and all the other dads out there.
Which is why it jarred me so much when an evening conversation turned to the topic of a friend's deceased father... and I realized I had not thought of my own dad, dead for 14 years, not once the entire day.
For once upon a time, I had a father.
Who was this man?
He was a godlike figure to my little self; more a presence than present, to be loved and beseeched at times, let alone and avoided at others. He was loud and strong in his joy and in his wrath...and quiet or out at others.
It was nice to wake up after falling asleep on the couch or floor and feel and smell my own blanket in my own bed; someone had carried me to bed. That's a pleasant surprise for a little one. You just feel loved and dream back to sleep.
It was nightmarish to be late getting home or cross some other heretofore invisible line.. for my early childhood was in a time and place and household where spankings were dealt out.. and done so with a belt. In .. hindsight .. it was not even especially vicious. It was terrifying enough when it occurred.
We would go on trips. I remember riding his shoulders at about the age of two on Cape Hatteras. I can see the lighthouse. I remember it clearly because my father among his many, many talents was an artist. He painted - not especially well in detail but his eye for color was fantastic - lighthouses, sunsets. It relaxed him. I would learn to follow his example.
One time he he painted the old Cape Hatteras lighthouse.
I would ask about the painting, and get told the same story again and again, of how I starting to complain of the hot soft fine grained sand underfoot and then my being carried aloft high high high above it all, clinging to his hair, being told to hold his neck instead...and being lifted by a god and getting over my feel of being spilled over and just enjoying the slow stomping cadence of a much larger person. Smiling and laughing at my nearby mother in the noontime of her beauty, golden locked and tall, smile shining like a second sun. And of course glancing nervously at my stern older brother.. but Daddy was there. Mommy too. There would be no afflictions that day.
Once upon a time I had a father. There were many, many other stories...including our final conversation in the fall of 1996, about him, me, us, his health, his hopes that this last surgery would fix everything, his fear - near certain knowledge I learned later - that this could be it. His then-former marriage to my mother, his comments - all descriptive and fair if not perfectly kind - of her.
My father left this world asleep. The surgery to repair his steroid-depleted intestines, steroids needed to keep his lungs healing after the removal of a small tumor, went ok but one night he awoke in terrible pain and went right back to the hospital. Something had gone wrong.. it was just too late to fix the damage.
So, I had my last talk with my father... then a few days later I saw him for the last time, asleep in a strange bed in an ICU ward. I had a terrible cold. I was terrified to go into the room, lest I get him sick. The nurse nearby did her utmost to urge me in...said in as many words "Hon, you can't make him any sicker." She pointed up to the bio monitor on the wall. I saw his blood pressure his heart rate and knew she was right.
And still I did not go into that room. I just saw him from a few feet away..on a ventilator. On a bed that moved to and fro to keep him from settling too much in any one position.
The nurse said - maybe just go hold his hand... I couldn't. I was holding one hand over my mouth, doing my utmost not to lose control of my emotions.
My father had been a god to me as a little boy, mighty in every endeavor, in every word, in every moment even when just a presence, not present.
But he was born a man..and he died a man. And now he is no longer present...and often not even a presence, as yesterday demonstrated to my tearful shame.
Once upon a time, I had a father.
But he will always have a son and I miss him terribly to this day.