I had the joy of celebrating this past weekend– and celebrating hard. With friends and family clustering around at every side throughout, it was well worth putting my phone down, laptop away, and simply being with my most adored ones.
It wasn’t until getting off the phone with our dear family friend, Tina, yesterday that I realized that I had been quite mum about well, my mum’s marriage.
It has been six years today since my dad, Hal, died. It feels like that time has passed in a heartbeat yet in the same breath like he’s been in the shadows of my memory for a decade.
It’s Father’s Day and like every year since mine has passed, it’s a day that proves to be difficult, or strange at least in one way or another. Certain events though, especially in the past few days, have made me reflect especially on the man who raised me for twenty years of my life.
As yesterday passed I looked at the date on a number of occasions: 5/28/2014. While signing papers, following up on emails, flipping through my planner, checking on documents. What didn’t occur to me was that it was my late dad’s birthday. It’s very strange that I hadn’t taken note of this or grieved not being able to give him a warm hug and cut him a slice of his favorite German chocolate cake. He was never one for making a fuss for his birthday, ever, so I suppose my lack of remembrance would have been fitting. It did make me question though, has almost five years of him being out of my daily life changed the way I miss him?
It won’t be until 10:10 today that my dad died four years ago. I honestly and embarrassingly can’t remember whether it was morning or night, the fluorescent hospital lights and agitated sleep on hard, angled chairs warped time and reality.
Reposted from Salon, this article written by Liz Fields spoke to me in so many ways.
Common knowledge if you know me or have read any of my previous blog posts is that I am adopted. A happily adopted daughter who has an incredible mother, enjoyed twenty years with the greatest man on earth as a father, and have a beautiful, warm-hearted sister of Indian descent who is adopted as well.
While reading this piece, however, several of her statements were almost word for word things I’ve felt or said in the past myself. I thought I would share.
A few of my favorite excerpts as follow…
I watched World War Z this Monday (finally), and I came away with two things.
- I miss dressing in a post-apocalyptic friendly manner: biker boots, thick denim with long johns underneath, oversized tee shirts and leather jackets. Also known as Washingtonian Fall/Winter attire. These flimsy silk dresses, satin boudoir shorts, crepe silk joggies, and heeled sandals that are basically my staple wardrobe items would have me hungry for brains within minutes.
- I battle abandonment issues just as strongly as our character Gerry does with the undead.
We played this song at his funeral; he and I had recently spent hours ruminating over both Jeff Buckley and Leonard Cohen’s renditions in his study.
Thinking of Dad on Father’s Day. Missing an incredibly and deeply loved man, grateful for the years I got to be his daughter, honored to have been a piece of his unforgettable life, and looking forward to seeing him again one day.