As the next road trip approaches, I can't help but think about all the people I won't see when I go home. Don't get me wrong, I love being with my mom and visiting my crazy cousins. But crossing the county line always brings a tear to my eye, especially when I think about Pop. For the longest time, he was the only tie I had to my dad's family. I felt like he was the only one that cared... The last time I saw or spoke to my dad was at Pop's funeral. That was Dec 2001. I always blamed him, held him responsible... And now I regret not keeping in touch. April 8, 2009. The date used to be a happy one, my best friend's birthday. Now it's a day of remembrance for the man that was absent from 99% of my life.
My father had a heart attack. Brandan, my older brother called me that afternoon to tell me. "I don't know if you'll care, but Dad had a heart attack, Sissy. Just thought I'd let you know." It's a pretty big slap in the face when someone says it like that. "I don't know if you'll care..." I'll never forget those words. Never. I know he didn't mean them as an accusation, he didn't know how much they'd sting, but they were heavy words. All my life I thought my dad, stepmom, and uncles didn't care about me. When in reality they thought I wanted nothing to do with them. Edie, my stepmother, said Dad didn't want to "crowd me"... didn't want to "pressure me into some kind of relationship"... he just figured I'd come around eventually, when I was done with school and everything. I was counting on that. But now... I can't. Regardless of what may or may not have happened when I was 7... because I damn sure can't remember any of it... my father hurt me the most when he walked away. I felt like the criminal. I still do. He kept in touch with my two brothers (both from different wives) but not me. My mom tells me he was just living in the fast lane, didn't make time for his children, his children made time for him. And I was too full of hurt and anger to send another Father's Day card (return to sender) or pick up the phone. All I heard at the funeral was how proud he was that his daughter is at UGA... how proud he was that I am so smart... how proud he was that I have big dreams and was going after them... how proud he was that I am going to make something of myself... But why couldn't he ever tell me that?! Why did all these people that I've never met have to tell me how my own father felt about me!?
Numb is a good state to be in. I've staked my claim and don't know when I'll leave. Maybe when I've finally come to terms with everything that's happened in the last few months. I think of my friend Clint losing his father back in the fall and wonder how he dealt with it. Clint was close to his father. "Dad" wasn't a foreign word to him. I don't think I've ever said it aloud. Ever.
Well, I'm driving home in two weeks... home to my mom, my family, my beach, my town. My playlist is set, GPS is set, all that's left is to pack a bag and grab a sweet tea to go... box of Kleenex in the console.
My father had a heart attack. Brandan, my older brother called me that afternoon to tell me. "I don't know if you'll care, but Dad had a heart attack, Sissy. Just thought I'd let you know." It's a pretty big slap in the face when someone says it like that. "I don't know if you'll care..." I'll never forget those words. Never. I know he didn't mean them as an accusation, he didn't know how much they'd sting, but they were heavy words. All my life I thought my dad, stepmom, and uncles didn't care about me. When in reality they thought I wanted nothing to do with them. Edie, my stepmother, said Dad didn't want to "crowd me"... didn't want to "pressure me into some kind of relationship"... he just figured I'd come around eventually, when I was done with school and everything. I was counting on that. But now... I can't. Regardless of what may or may not have happened when I was 7... because I damn sure can't remember any of it... my father hurt me the most when he walked away. I felt like the criminal. I still do. He kept in touch with my two brothers (both from different wives) but not me. My mom tells me he was just living in the fast lane, didn't make time for his children, his children made time for him. And I was too full of hurt and anger to send another Father's Day card (return to sender) or pick up the phone. All I heard at the funeral was how proud he was that his daughter is at UGA... how proud he was that I am so smart... how proud he was that I have big dreams and was going after them... how proud he was that I am going to make something of myself... But why couldn't he ever tell me that?! Why did all these people that I've never met have to tell me how my own father felt about me!?
Numb is a good state to be in. I've staked my claim and don't know when I'll leave. Maybe when I've finally come to terms with everything that's happened in the last few months. I think of my friend Clint losing his father back in the fall and wonder how he dealt with it. Clint was close to his father. "Dad" wasn't a foreign word to him. I don't think I've ever said it aloud. Ever.
Well, I'm driving home in two weeks... home to my mom, my family, my beach, my town. My playlist is set, GPS is set, all that's left is to pack a bag and grab a sweet tea to go... box of Kleenex in the console.
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