Second Fathers day without a father

Often it seems as though we never take the time once the pain is gone, to revisit the feelings that we have tried to conceal and push ourselves away from. Above are two pictures taken in the spring/summer of 2006. In them are my Father, and myself. I don't fancy myself as a writer/poet or a person who knows absolutely everything. I don't ask for sympathy, but I'll be right there to give it to those in need of it. I have been off of work now for some time, not by choice as you may know, and taken some time for reflection. This last week it has been centered around my father, and I think it is because Fathers day is coming up. The 2nd one I cannot call him during.

My (birth) father and I were not always the closest of close. He had chosen another route for his life when I was very young, and continued along that path to his final days. A couple days before he became really ill and brought into the hospital, we went fishing, and were able to sit and have the most wonderful enlightening talk that you could ever wish to have with your parent, especially with hindsight now showing it was our last "real" conversation.

I asked him about the alcoholism, I listened to the stories of him growing up, I was able to hear some of the things that were important to him as a child, teen, young adult, and at the time 49 y/o. We sat there, and although he outfished me, I think I enjoyed it the most, because of the talk. It all came about because my son was doing a family tree/geneology report for school, and I was looking for information that I might have not known growing up.

My mother and father seperated when I was about 2 years old. They remained friends, and I was able to see him off and on. But the off and on consisted of a week here, a weekend there, even though it was only a 60 mile drive. I developed some resentment, but was eager to try to see what it was like to live with him when I turned 18 and he moved to Michigan.

Things didn't change, as naive as an 18 y/o could be thinking things would be different, I was shown that they would be the same. Always seeming to come second to the bottle was an aggravation, and it seemed to put some distance between us. He left for Oregon one morning with no warning, just woke me up and asked for cab fare to the airport. I thought he was kidding until he didn't show back up at home.

I am not asking for sympathy, I am not asking for pity, if those are what you are thinking, then quit reading, and avoid my blogs in the future. I guess the real reason I am typing this is to help me during this, the 2nd fathers day without a father. It may seem trivial to some, but to those of you who might know me, you will understand.

My dad was able to move back here to michigan to be closer to me and his grandkids that he loved so much in the summertime of 2006. We were able to get a lot of time together, and spent a lot of time just sittin there, talkin to one another over nothing in particular. He would call and ask me to meet him for lunch in town, and we'd go in there, and he'd flirt with the waitress. It didn't matter who she was, he would always be joking with her. We bought go karts and used them on my property, down the road and took a couple trips with them. We had a bit of bonding time when I wasn't working. I guess looking back, even if we spent every day together though, it wouldn't seem like it was enough.

When my father became ill in Oct 2006, I was the only one here to take control. He had been distanced and pushed away by his own brothers and sisters, as well as his birth father, but I did what I could. Working 60+ hours a week along with trying my best to be there with him when I could. I know there were times in which I could have been there, but chose otherwise, but I know that is because it was just too difficult for me to sit there and watch my father die. I was lucky enough to learn of Hospice, and lucky enough to have the support of my family and best friend for years, kristina. My mother agreed to come back to michigan from oregon to help as she could. She had assisted in the "crossing over" of my Step Father, and two of my uncles. She is a much stronger woman than I am a man sometimes, and was able to help me in this time of crisis.

I attempted to get in touch with my fathers family (blood relatives in Oregon) and was able to actually reach his father and his sister. His sister cried, and tried to talk about how long it had been since she had seen me. I asked her not to do that, as she was my fathers sister to me, and not my aunt. You know, it had been 18 years and this woman still thought of herself as my aunt. His father, same amount of time, still wanted me to call him Grandpa. I respect those who deserve it, but will not forget those who have forgotten me. Out of respect for my father, I told them what was happening, and the main reply was, "keep us in the loop" "let us know how things are going".

I was able to have my father talk to his sister, although not really coherently, because he was crying a lot on the phone, this was after I had to tell him for three hours one night that he was terminal, and that he had only days left. He celebrated his 50th birthday in the hospital in restraints because he wanted to get up and walk around, but couldn't without the fear of him falling. I went to see him that night, and he told me of seeing my mother and a few of his passed on relatives in the hallways, I knew his time was near, this was Nov 25th now. That is how quick the progression was. The 2nd week of December we were finally able with the help of hospice and my mother, and against the wishes of the home he was in, bring him home.

The day before his trip home I had went to see him, my mother was still on her way from Oregon, and he was dressed and ready to go home. He thought that it was his day to go home then. It killed me as I told him that it was one more day. The eyes that were once so full of life, and energy and hope for the future to be able to spend watching his grandkids grow up, were now seeming hollow and empty. It was as though he was only physically there, he showed no real emotion as he took off his vest and sat back down on his bed.

We got him home, and into a comfortable bed in the living room. I again continued to work, and my mother was able to take care of my dad. I became an ordained minister in order to marry my father and mother for him to have Native burial rights, and did so on the 18th of December. I was there on the 19th for quite some time, but he didn't really wake for much of anything. On the 18th I had the ability to get him to talk to his father one last time. He sat there and tried to hold on a conversation, although his mouth was so dry the words were so labored. Most of it was crying, and saying that he loved him. Even though his father had treated him like 2nd class trash, on his death bed, my father, was forgiving his father.

The 20th, about 1 in the morning, my mother called me and told me that my father had just passed away. I went over to their house, and on the way called those who had asked to be kept informed. As Native practice, the body is to be kept for 24 hours to allow the spirit to leave comfortably, so I stayed there at the bedside for 18 of those hours. I finally had to go home and rest.

Although my father was able to forgive his father, and tell me that he was an ok guy, I was never and probably never will be willing to accept him as more than my dad's dad. When I flew out to scatter my fathers ashes in March of 2007 in oregon, I introduced my sister to her grandfather. He attempted to be polite to me, but I asked that he spend more attention with her, as she didn't know him at all, and it was more important for her to get to know him. This was because I already had given them their opportunity, lived for 20+ years just 60 miles away, and only seen them one time in my life, to me, that just didn't count as "family".

Later on, in the summer of 2007, I had to fly out for his funeral. I could not cry for a stranger, and felt no sorrow for the survivors. I went there and stood at the back of the room. I felt out of place, as I was introduced to people I was related to, by people I didn't know. There were a few faces I had seen in pictures, but I was only there for my sister and my father. My mother was kind enough to accompany me to the wake, as to help me maintain my composure and not express my true feelings. I placed the tobacco at the collage of pictures of the man's life. I only spoke aloud once when I seen the title of "Proud Father" over a picture of him and my father. I asked how many people really were being fooled by the BS. At that time I went out and sat in the Hummer. I was done and it was for the best.

I have typed all of this, not with the intention of anyone really reading it. I have typed it selfishly, so I could tell the story again. So I didn't seem to forget it, so I don't think to myself that I can move past it. There have been many things that on judgement day I will have to stand accountable for, many things that I could have done that I am glad I am not going to have to stand accountable for. But when it comes time for this, I hope that I can stand there proudly and say, I did the best for my Dad that I could, and that my Dad would have been proud.

I had written this poem 1 year exactly after his crossing over, I will leave these words as the last in this post. Again, please understand, that this post, is for me. It is for my selfishness and attempt to be certain that things happen for a reason, even if those reasons are not apparent. I have always vowed never to be like my father, because he had taken the easy out and left when things were tough, although in the end, he showed me what I really needed to be like, the one who could forgive after 40 years of neglect and feelings of self worthlessness, the one person who made it happen. I hope that I can forgive myself for the things I have done that I still live in turmoil over, knowing that it was with the best of intentions, and for the best of all involved. And I also hope that my children never have to endure anything such as this. As I end this, please understand, in my beliefs, our loved ones are still around, and can still be spoken to as though they are directly in front of you. Otherwise if you didn't know this, the next part would seem a little less sane to you.

Dad, as I close this, I know that you know I did the best I could, and will always wish I could have done more. One more phone call, one more fishing trip, one more time of going to lunch at that greasy spoon cafe'. Please accept this as a Fathers day gift, my words to myself, an attempted forgiveness of myself, knowing that you would want nothing less. I know I have said a lot of things, some that probably would have been better left unsaid, but I cannot hide my true emotions, and will not lie to myself about your family. Of all the things in my life right now going on, that which I wish I could hear, is "happy fathers day bud". They say this is part of healing, but I don't really understand how.

Although today it's been a year
the time has yet to dry my tears
Happy Holidays they say to me
wishing me both joy and glee

I know the day must carry on
these thoughts of pain don't feel so wrong
It seems to me like yesterday
I came over to begin to pray

In that bed you laid to rest
I sat 18 hours on a personal quest
to sit with you while you crossed over
watching you breathe no more, the thought still sobers

They say with time the wounds will heal
How can they pretend to know how I feel
One more I'm sorry for your pain
I swear to God I'll go insane

I think of us on everyday
the stupid little games we'd play
I'd call you with my news of joy,
you'd beam with pride 'cuz I'm your boy'

I know that you're still watching me
even if it is just a fantasy
I sometimes hear you call my name
I've often felt I was to blame

The things to be done differently
will haunt me for eternity
A simple call upon the phone
a moments stop on my way home

Many things have came and gone
I pray to God I've done no wrong
I wish I could have spoke with you
but you were sick and were not you

The choices that I had to make
the cracking of my heart to break
I watched in pain as you passed away
and I still wish for one last day

Another day to tell a joke
even a day to sneak a smoke
I don't know if you understand
I felt as though you went a man

Many journeys in your future lie
many times I've left to sit and cry
of all the things I have to say
You'll be with me to my dying day

Again I know one day we'll meet
and fish beside some golden creek
I know with friends and family you are
but sadly that can't heal these scars

One more thing to you I'll write
and get me through a sleepless night
The things I did I did from my heart
Your comfort was my pain right from the start