Father 

By BGlanders

*** 

When I was little, I didn't see my father for nearly a year.

It was right after mom's death.  I remember it was early December and the 
weatherman had been threatening snow for several weeks, but no one really 
believed him.  The sky was a continual gray for God only knows how long and 
the air was biting with cold, but an autumn cold; dry and windy but not 
freezing.  In fact the only way to tell that it wasn't fall was by looking at 
the trees.  They were stripped of their leaves, swaying their dead limbs 
against the slowly sprawling backdrop of clouds.

Everyone saw it coming from a mile away, but dad, grandpa and I remained 
optimistic.  We told each other that she was just 'feeling a little down' and 
that she would be home before we know it.  The worse her health got, the more 
dad would hug me and tell me that mom was going to be just fine, and that 
she'd be home in time for Christmas.

I remember the last day dad took me to see her.  I was only four, but I 
remember it pretty well.  Dad drove me downtown to a huge building that had 
this really sterile smell to it.  Mom was on the third floor, and I remember 
asking dad if we could take the elevator.  He lifted me up so I could press 
the button.  I remember I was smiling because I was about to see my mom, and 
because "she would be home soon".

When we got to her room, I wanted to run right up to the side of her bed to 
give her a big hug, but dad kept his hand on my shoulder.  I remember her 
giving me the warmest, kindest smile I had ever felt, and how her eyes lit up 
when we arrived.  I sat on the side of the bed and told her about grandpa, 
about how cold it was and that dad and I had been eating a lot of instant.  
She gave him a pinch for that one.  

When we left, I remember her pulling me close and giving me the weakest hug I 
had ever felt.  She held me for the longest time, rocking me from side to 
side, telling me over and over again how much she loved me, and how special I 
was to her.  She told me to be good and to listen to dad and grandpa, and to 
make sure they were eating right and staying out of trouble.  After that, all 
she could say was 'I love you' over and over, like she couldn't say it 
enough.  

"I love you.  Please remember that I'll always love you, no matter what.  
Please� I love you so much, you're my whole world, you and your father.  
Please don't forget that, please�I love you so very much�"

I told her 'I love you' back, and when she finally let go I couldn't take my 
eyes off of hers; they were red from all of her crying, but they were so full 
of love that I hardly noticed.  Then she sniffled a bit, smiled at me and 
told me to wait outside while she talked to dad.

I was so young I couldn't even understand.

She was telling me goodbye.

A few minutes later dad came out, took my hand and led me out to the van.  I 
remember him asking if I wanted any ice cream, and us stopping at a store to 
get some.  He said "Tonight we'll make some ice cream floats and watch some 
TV, does that sound good to you?"  I cheered and practically drug him into 
the store.

I didn't really realize until later that his eyes were as red as moms.

That night dad and grandpa didn't talk much, but I was so busy stuffing 
myself that I didn't really notice.  I remember I passed out on the couch, 
and I think dad carried me up to my room and tucked me in.  

The next morning I woke up, looked out my window and cheered.

It was snowing.

Dad said he had to go visit mom, and that I should probably stay here and 
help grandpa.  I remember them giving each other a long look before dad got 
into the van and drove off, and that grandpa was standing beside me, watching 
him leave.

Several hours later I was playing in front of grandpa's office.  It was 
starting to come down nice and evenly, and I was running around, trying to 
catch the snowflakes before they hit the ground.  I was so preoccupied, I 
didn't notice dad climbing the shrine steps.

When I noticed him, I ran up to him laughing, asking how mother was.  He just 
stood there for the longest time, then kneeled in front of me, took me by the 
shoulders and told me.

He said mother wasn't hurting anymore.

He said mother wasn't coming back.

He wanted to say more, but he was crying so hard that he couldn't.  He just 
hugged me.  I didn't grasp everything all at once, but I had gotten enough to 
figure out what had happened.

When he hugged me, it felt as if he were crushing me.  I hugged him back so 
hard it felt like I was going to do the same to him.  I remember him being 
really quiet; his sobs weren't any louder than a whisper.  I don't know how 
long or how tightly he held me, but I remember thinking the whole time that 
it had to be a dream, that I would wake up any second and that mom would be 
okay and�

And at that moment, it felt just like it did when mom was hugging me.
After that, things didn't always make sense.  I remember asking grandpa if 
mom would ever visit us from heaven, or why dad always had to work so much.  
For the longest time I couldn't come to terms with the fact that I would 
never see my mother again.  I could say this, and I could cry about it, but 
for a long time, I couldn't really force myself to believe it.  

Then I started getting angry.  I blamed mom for leaving us and making me sad. 
 I blamed dad for not doing something, even though I couldn't think of 
anything he could have done to have kept her from dying.  I refused to eat, I 
refused to play, I did my best to show the whole world that I was mad, but 
after awhile it just petered off.  

I remember the day I stopped being so angry.  Grandpa had me come to the 
shrine office to train with him, but I didn't want to go.  I didn't want to 
be around him or dad or anyone, I just wanted to be by myself and not be 
bothered.  Ten minutes after I was supposed to show up, grandpa came into my 
room without knocking, marched right up to where I was lying on the bed 
started yelling.

He asked why I hadn't shown up, why I disobeyed him and my dad constantly, 
why I was acting the way I did.

I told him to go away.

When he hit me, I thought my head was going to fly right off my shoulders.  
He stood over me nearly crying, talking in a quiet, angry voice.

"Is this how you want to act? Is this how you think your mother would want 
you to act?  You foolish boy, don't you have any respect for her?  Why must 
you do this to us, now of all times?"

I wiped my nose and yelled back, "If mom cared so much, then why'd she go 
away?  Why'd she have to leave us all alone?  Why should I care if she 
didn't?  I� I hate her!  I hate her for going away!  I hate you!  I�Just 
leave me alone!"

Grandpa froze.  For the longest time he stood over me, not making a sound.  
Finally he knelt down and helped me up.  

"Is that what you think?  Do you really think your mother would have just 
left you, left all of us like that?  Do you think she would have left you?  
You were her life, her entire world.  She loved you more than anything and 
she fought with all her heart to stay, but her body was just too weak.

"I know it hurts, I know you're angry.  I've been angry too; angry with God 
for taking her away, angry with myself for not being able to do anything to 
help her.  These last few weeks have hurt more than I ever thought anything 
could, but I know if nothing else she loved us, boy.  I know she wouldn't 
want us to be mad or grieve for her loss.  I know she would want us to 
remember her love for us, and most of all our love for each other.  I know 
you're mad, but just remember that she loved� that she loves you, and that 
your father and I love you too.  You two are all I have left, you know.  I 
don't want to go through the rest of my life being hated by someone who I 
love so much� I need you here with me, you and your father both�"

I couldn't take anymore.  I was crying so hard I couldn't see straight, and 
grandpa was choking back his sobs with every word.  Before he could say 
anything else, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him, sobbing into 
his shoulder.

He hugged me back almost immediately; his own tears were finally spilling 
over.  I remember that after awhile grandpa was slowly rocking me back and 
forth, stroking my hair and telling me that everything was all right.  After 
that, all my grief started to disappear.

And then there was dad.

I remember that for nearly a year after mom's death, dad spent nearly all his 
time at the office, working furiously on some big important project for some 
big important client.  I would ask grandpa the same question every night, and 
every night he would give me the same answer.

"Grandpa, when is daddy coming home?"

"Soon.  Get some rest son.  Your father will be up to tuck you in when he 
gets back."

 Every night, I would kiss grandpa goodnight and climb into bed, and every 
morning dad would leave for work before I was up.

After awhile I got so used to not seeing him, I started to forget he was 
still around.

This went on for nearly a year.  For an entire year of my childhood, the time 
I saw my father at home could have been compiled into a day.

Eventually dad started spending more and more time at home.  Every weekend he 
would ask me what I wanted to do; go hiking, maybe, or go to the beach.  It 
was like he was so desperate to make up for the year that he wasn't around 
after mom died he thought that if he didn't spend time with me, I'd resent 
him for it.

I remember one night several months after mom's death dad came home early.  
It was almost time for bed, and I asked him to tuck me in.  He followed me 
upstairs, let me say my prayers and then pulled the sheets over me.  After 
saying goodnight he started to leave, then stopped by my dresser.  He stared 
at the pictures for only a moment, and even though the light was dim, I could 
see his eyes.  They looked so empty and desperate, it was like looking at the 
eyes of a wild animal.  Without looking back, he left the room, saying 
goodnight as he shut the door.

Now I'm all grown up, and dad and I still see each other every day, but we 
never spend too much time together.  It's not because I'm angry with him for 
that missing year, or because he's too withdrawn to spend any time with me, 
because neither of these things is true.  

It's just that after spending so much time apart, we're actually 
uncomfortable spending time together.

Whenever we would go somewhere or do something together, we would always be 
haunted by silence.  It was like we wanted to speak, but as hard as we tried, 
we just couldn't think of anything to say.  The truth is, no matter how much 
we tried to spend time with each other, we never really knew each other.

And we still don't, even today.

This hit me today as I was cleaning my room.  I was just dusting the top of 
my dresser, looking at the photos that lined the top of it.  They're all 
pretty old, but I remember each day they were taken.  There's one of mom and 
me at the zoo, there's the one with mom, grandpa and I at the beach, and 
there's the one with me and grandpa sparing.  There's�
 
There's so many pictures, but none of them include dad.

I have no pictures of my father.

It was at that moment I realized something horrible; I could see my mother's 
face as clear as day in my mind, but my father, a man who lived under the 
same roof as I did, was difficult to picture.

It was at that moment I realized; my father is a stranger to me.
    
I miss you dad, I miss you a lot.

*** 

All C&C to BGlanders@aol.com, please