relief in release

Today, I would like to write about my dad. Most who know me well know that he passed away when I was 10 years old. Those who don't know me hear me talk about my mom and my sister always and wonder why I never mention my dad. Some of those people, like a coworker today, are upfront and ask about it in their own way. Today I was sharing my mom's opinion on something, and my coworker said, "And what does your dad think about that?" When something like this happens, I am momentarily speechless. I don't realize that I was doing anything strange by saying "my mom" instead of "my parents." The word "parents" is one I rarely use. "Dad" also rarely leaves my mouth in everyday conversation. It has become so natural to just speak of those things that are comfortable, familiar, and normal to me. Talking about my dad does not feel comfortable or normal. It leads to questions and curiosities and unfelt feelings that I would rather avoid.

Now, to say that my feelings about my dad are unfelt is unreasonable. I have felt a slew of feelings over the years about my dad. Mostly sadness and confusion. Never, or very rarely anger. If you are unaware, my dad killed himself in the midst of a divorce with my mom, caused by his infidelity. This may seem a generous divulging of information for the internet, but it does not make me uncomfortable. What does make me uncomfortable is when something happens like what happened with my coworker a few minutes ago. Back to that story: When she asked me "What does your dad think about that?" I responded after a few moments of thought, "My dad isn't around anymore." She persisted with "Oh, sorry, where is he?" I replied, "He passed away when I was a kid." She responded, "Oh, I'm so sorry." Then after a few seconds "How did he die?" This is not an unusual conversation; I've had it dozens of times in my life. I am used to it, yet still extremely bothered by it. It makes my blood rise up inside of me like a tidal wave, and I want it to crash down on the person who was rude enough to make it swell. I used to lie or evade the question by saying "It was very sudden," or "Heart attack." I've given up trying to protect the people who are rude enough to ask this question from the discomfort that will come with my answer. I lay it on the table in three words: "He killed himself." Hopefully they realize a little bit of how I must have felt as a child faced with those same three words.

This response usually leads to more "I'm sorry"s and I don't mind all that. I mind that the conversation occurred at all, and that thoughts about living without a father were brought to my attention once again, when I feel I have done immaculately well in coping with them and loving my situation without a father. My mother is strong and steady and I have never seen her shed a tear. I loved my dad, still do, but his death made me who I am today. I try to be strong like my mother, but I am emotional and sensitive like my father. That being said, I feel I am wise beyond my years for not only having to go through his death at such a young age, but for having sporadic reminders of it throughout my adult life. I know I have dealt with his death, but it still lives inside me, a sleeping dragon that has been prodded awake by a minute of conversation. My heart beats faster, my palms sweat, it's 25 years of repressed memories, every moment I shared with him, every moment after he died that I was reminded of him. And I'm expected to walk away from this conversation and carry on my day as if nothing has happened. I think this is why I keep my dad's younger brother at arm's length. I love him dearly, and he is a link to my father I hope never to lose, but he has a habit of reminding me of my dad in every interaction we share, whether in word or otherwise. I wish we could have a relationship without this barrier between us, but I fear neither of us knows how to. I remind him of my dad, he reminds me of my dad, we have so many complex feelings buzzing around us, it's hard to focus and just get to know one another as who we are instead of always thinking of the other as "Dad's Brother" or "Mickey's Daughter."

Thanks for reading this unplanned, super sensitive entry... I needed to get it out.