This fall is turning out to be quite full of memories and anniversaries. Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of my father's death. As I wrote back in March, he is now gone for as long as I knew him. This is a strange place to be. So much as happened to me in the last 16 years. It's strange and sad to think that he hasn't been a part of it all.
Yes, you can wax philosophic about how he knows and has been there because I carry him in my heart. As long as I remember him, he's not truly gone. Blah Blah Blah. Folks always tell the grieving shit like that. At times it is a comfort, but mostly it's not. The truth of the matter is he's gone. Dead. Buried. He never saw me graduate high school or college or grad school. He never saw me get married (or divorced). He never saw the freakin' Internet, for god's sake.
But I think what gets me the most, is that I'll never have an adult relationship with my father. Our relationship is frozen in the parent-rebellious teen stage. When I wonder what he would think of my life now, I can't help but think of him in the judging parent role. I never got a chance to grow with him out of that.
You'd think that after 16 years the grief would be different. And yes, that is true. It's not the stabbing pain of a fresh wound that just won't heal. Now it's more of a scar, one that is tender when poked at, but mostly forgotten in daily life. But is still surprises me at just how tender it can be when poked. It's sad. And longing. And more sad.
