Today would have been your 67th birthday. I wonder what it would be like to live 67 years. What would I be like? How will I age? If I am telling the truth, I don't like smooth faces without lines. I like to see lines on faces, especially around eyes. I think each one must have a million stories to tell. Laughter, anger, sadness. I miss you but there's so many versions of you that I must say I don't miss them all. I miss the Dad that gave me wings on the back of your motorcycle. You shaped my soul into one that loves adventure. I miss the Dad that I could sit up all hours of the night with, listening to old records and new artists that we found. Playing and replaying songs to hear every word, soaking up the melody like it was the air we needed to breathe. I miss the Dad that loved his grand babies when he was around. The one that always tried to be present. The one that walked my crying or sick babies up and down the hall for hours when he knew I need just a bit of sleep. I miss the Dad that made delicious meals at the drop of a dime. The one that loved to cook and loved to create his own variations of something delicious. I miss the Dad that would take me camping. The one that would set up the ATV and let me go for hours. The one that taught me how to ride dirt bikes and motorcycles. The one that would fall asleep on the lake as we were fishing and snored so loud that no fish would come near the boat. I miss the Dad that would wake up early and load us into the car so we could drive to some amazing spot and watch the sun rise in the mornings. The Dad that taught me how to pee anywhere because of these adventures! 😜 I miss the Dad that let me lay on his lap, even as an adult, and rubbed my back to comfort me when I've had a bad day. I miss your hugs because they were always so full.
There are so many versions of you that I don't miss. The one that hit me, knew where to hit to hide the bruises. The one that told me I was worthless, made me feel less than and walked out as a way of punishing the people that loved and cared for you. The one that left me a note telling me it was my fault you tried to end your life. The one that hurt me so badly I have a layer around my heart, as protection, I'll never be able to peel away. The Dad that hurt Grandma, hurt Mom and made me feel like I had to be the protector. The one that hurt Debi and didn't fight for Scott. I had to grow up too quickly and there are times I'm so grateful I did but when I look at my babies, I feel anger towards you. I should have been a child at their ages, sheltered from the pain you inflicted on us. I'm still angry, I'm still hurt. I have this wounded child still inside of me. It amazes me because it took years of therapy to be able to confidently say "I'm angry. I'm hurt. It affects all of my relationships."
Yet, when you were hospitalized, after disappearing for over a year, I went to your bedside. I CARRIED you to the bathroom, hugely pregnant, so you could have some dignity. I fought for your treatment. I was there even when you thought I was Mom. I was there as you broke me down with your words. I was there when you lashed out violently, hitting and kicking me. Biting me. Pinching me. I was there. No matter what you did to me, you were still my Dad and I loved you. I may have hated you for all of the bad, yet I loved you for all of the good. I fed you, bathed you, did any therapies I could. You kept deteriorating. You lost the ability to swallow and I knew it wouldn't be long. I told you it was okay to go. I laid on your chest as you took your last breath. There were so many things that were unresolved, that I still wanted to say to you. It took me a while to realize that I really just needed to be able to say those things to myself.
You still have a spot in my home. You and Ben. I put flowers up next to you, decorate your shelf with seasonal things, even hang your Christmas stocking up under you each year. The kids still remember you. Sarah misses your cheesecake. Liam misses all the things you taught him about cars. He reads Road & Track and all the other magazines you loved. The little girls have memories but they're a bit more fleeting. Memories of cooking with you, taking walks. When you chose to be present, you were the kind of Grandfather I wish you were as a father. I don't know what I did to cause you to hurt me or be so cruel because I looked at how you treated my babies and it was so different than how you ever treated me. Was it because I wasn't planned? Because I came from Mom? Because I was the result of two people who hated each other so much, most of the time? I don't know and I'll never know.
All I know is that I miss the good. I miss what could have been. I miss the idea of the person I thought you could be, but I don't miss the person that you so often were. I wish you were here to celebrate another year of life. I miss feeling like there was still a chance that you would be the best version of you possible, at some point in the future. I just miss you and wish there had been time to say all of this to your face. Likely, you would still be the same person you were all of those years but I would still be hoping for more from you. All because I remember the good. When it was good, it was really good. I think that's what kept me hanging on for so many years. I loved you. I hated you. Now, I just miss you and try to remember the good.
You would have been 67 today. 67 full years of life that you could have lived. Happy Birthday, Dad. I wish you were here so I could say it to your face. No matter what, I still wanted my Dad. I still want the good. Today I'm going to tell stories to the kids about you. Im going to tell them the good. Only the good. Because I want them to be kids for as long as they can. I miss the good. I hope you're sittin' on the dock of a bay somewhere, watching the tide roll away.
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