Thinking about my dad---

Yesterday was Fathers' Day, and it was a pretty decent day, all told. The news feed on my Facebook was making me sad, though. So many photos of folks with their fathers, some still with us and others who have gone on before. I don't have a lot of photos of my dad, and that makes me sad. The posts that have prayers for "dads in heaven" make me sad. The posts sharing memories or plans with dads make me sad. I miss him.

My father and I were very close when I was quite young, but too many times, his attention was redirected by my mother. Later on, while I was growing up, he was my principle defender, often calling out my mother for her over-the-top reactions to things I'd said or done, or quietly slipping me a little money when I needed it. As an adult, when I'd go to visit, my mother would insert herself into conversations, and I wouldn't get a lot of time to talk to my dad, just us. Same if I phoned with a joke or a book or music recommendation. I don't know why she felt threatened by our talks-- so many times, she'd interrupt or loudly complain that she felt left out of whatever we were talking about. 

When my mother died, I had a couple of years to catch up with my dad, but that was the beginning of his final decline, both health-wise and mentally. Things he used to be so sharp with slipped away. His taste in music never changed, but his ability to read and really enjoy and understand books left him. He was content to re-read old favorites, and that was fine. I'd stop by before work to check in on him, and we'd talk for a few minutes-- those chats before the dementia really manifested were wonderful. I felt cheated when the dementia really kicked in; he was a pun-master, and all of a sudden, it seemed, simple puns or jokes puzzled him. Words, which were our bond, were failing him. 

When dad died, I mourned --I still do-- the loss of time we could have had. Mom kept him busy with chores, and we had precious little time to just sit and talk about things. She never wanted us to, for whatever reason, and that makes me very sad. I'll probably never be able to unpack the why of her insecurity, and it's unfathomably sad what I know I lost out on. 

So, I tried to stay off the internet yesterday. I didn't need the reminder of what I've lost. I prefer, instead, to hold close the memories I do have: Saturday morning cartoons, reading books, even learning how to splice a wire (dad was a electrical wiz). What I recall fondly are moments filled with talk about music and musicians, about shared interests in books and movies. It still hurts a lot some days. Not so much his loss; the poor man was very ill and had lost all facility for even conversation. His struggle was painful for both of us. What hurts is my loss of time with him. I know he loved Meg very much, and he would have delighted in Holly. 

He was a good man, for all of his flaws. He was my dad.

C