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Closure
He died in August. . .
It's almost December. . .
And though I am moving forward with my life. I have found an apartment finally, so I am no longer homeless. I have finished a book, I have turned 19 years old as of November 26th. I lived through my baby shower without freaking out about being surrounded by too many people. I am getting ready to become a mother within a month's time. I am talking to my old friends again, I am opening up. I am the flower that is slowly starting to bloom.
But there still is no grave.
No roses to rest on the ground beside it.
There is no name on a placid stone.
There is no closure to a man who died in vain.
I shed tears when I think about it. Think about his final days and how I wish that I had been there. How I should've been there. And even if I was there right before he died, it still hurts to know that was all there was left of him.
Of the man that I barely knew but at the same time saw almost every day of my life.
The man that loved me but couldn't raise me.
The man that I have known as my father.
He didn't watch me turn 19.
He didn't get to see the ultrasound that shows my son's face.
He will not be here for Christmas and he missed Thanksgiving already.
He will not see my son when he's born or ever hold him.
He will not see me when I get my GED or when I publish my first book.
He will not see me marry Andrew.
Or have any more children.
He won't see his grand-son grow up.
He wasn't the best of fathers.
There are no awards on his walls claiming otherwise.
And I won't lie and say that he was amazing since he died.
Because he was, he was who he was.
He was an alcoholic.
But he sat in the green rocking chair with me and helped me read when I was in second grade.
He didn't play with me.
But he watched movies with me and brought me to Six Flags when I got older.
He didn't know my favorite color when I was little.
But when I got both of ours were purple.
He didn't know me.
But he loved me.
He didn't show that he loved me.
But he stuck around to watch me grow up.
I wish I had thanked him for the things he did do.
But I didn't, and I can't take it back now.
But when he died, I cried.
When he was sick, I didn't want to see him-- Because I knew it would be the last time.
When he was in the hospital, I was worried.
I made mistakes and I did give up on him for a while.
It was wrong.
And I will always feel bad.
But does that mean that I do not deserve closure?
Where is the gravestone?
The cemetery plot?
The flowers?
The tears?
The prayers?
The wake?
The funeral?
Where are my father's ashes?
With the sister I don't know.
The daughter that didn't care about him.
I saw her three times in my life.
Twice she wanted me to babysit her kids for her.
The first time she wanted money from OUR father.
But she gets to keep the ashes.
The ashes to a man that she didn't know.
That she didn't love.
And for the record didn't love her.
He loved me.
I was his only daughter.
He said anytime my mother asked him to get in contact with my sisters or my brother.
He had only one daughter, and that was me.
The daughter that loved him.
The daughter that cried at his side days before he shared his last breath with the world of the living.
The daughter that always tried to be there for him even when he wasn't there for her.
That was me.
I'm the daughter that's not allowed to have the ashes.
Not allowed the closure of knowing it's over.
He's gone.
He's dead.
He died.
I don't get to have that.
Not yet.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Maybe one day.
But until then I have to just cherish my memories.
And the picture of him and I that I keep in every book I'm reading at the time.
And I will cherish the movies we'd watch.
And the jokes we shared.
And the fact he called me 'Meat Head'.
I will love my dad.
And I will release the purple balloons with a message that says 'Rest in Peace' and maybe where ever he is he'll know it's from me and that I am sorry for not being there as much.
For being so cruel to him.
For not loving him the way that I should've.
Because I did and I still do.
And maybe one day I'll get my closure.
The closure to the man that I loved.
But didn't really know.
He died in August. . .
It's almost December. . .
It's almost December. . .
And though I am moving forward with my life. I have found an apartment finally, so I am no longer homeless. I have finished a book, I have turned 19 years old as of November 26th. I lived through my baby shower without freaking out about being surrounded by too many people. I am getting ready to become a mother within a month's time. I am talking to my old friends again, I am opening up. I am the flower that is slowly starting to bloom.
But there still is no grave.
No roses to rest on the ground beside it.
There is no name on a placid stone.
There is no closure to a man who died in vain.
I shed tears when I think about it. Think about his final days and how I wish that I had been there. How I should've been there. And even if I was there right before he died, it still hurts to know that was all there was left of him.
Of the man that I barely knew but at the same time saw almost every day of my life.
The man that loved me but couldn't raise me.
The man that I have known as my father.
He didn't watch me turn 19.
He didn't get to see the ultrasound that shows my son's face.
He will not be here for Christmas and he missed Thanksgiving already.
He will not see my son when he's born or ever hold him.
He will not see me when I get my GED or when I publish my first book.
He will not see me marry Andrew.
Or have any more children.
He won't see his grand-son grow up.
He wasn't the best of fathers.
There are no awards on his walls claiming otherwise.
And I won't lie and say that he was amazing since he died.
Because he was, he was who he was.
He was an alcoholic.
But he sat in the green rocking chair with me and helped me read when I was in second grade.
He didn't play with me.
But he watched movies with me and brought me to Six Flags when I got older.
He didn't know my favorite color when I was little.
But when I got both of ours were purple.
He didn't know me.
But he loved me.
He didn't show that he loved me.
But he stuck around to watch me grow up.
I wish I had thanked him for the things he did do.
But I didn't, and I can't take it back now.
But when he died, I cried.
When he was sick, I didn't want to see him-- Because I knew it would be the last time.
When he was in the hospital, I was worried.
I made mistakes and I did give up on him for a while.
It was wrong.
And I will always feel bad.
But does that mean that I do not deserve closure?
Where is the gravestone?
The cemetery plot?
The flowers?
The tears?
The prayers?
The wake?
The funeral?
Where are my father's ashes?
With the sister I don't know.
The daughter that didn't care about him.
I saw her three times in my life.
Twice she wanted me to babysit her kids for her.
The first time she wanted money from OUR father.
But she gets to keep the ashes.
The ashes to a man that she didn't know.
That she didn't love.
And for the record didn't love her.
He loved me.
I was his only daughter.
He said anytime my mother asked him to get in contact with my sisters or my brother.
He had only one daughter, and that was me.
The daughter that loved him.
The daughter that cried at his side days before he shared his last breath with the world of the living.
The daughter that always tried to be there for him even when he wasn't there for her.
That was me.
I'm the daughter that's not allowed to have the ashes.
Not allowed the closure of knowing it's over.
He's gone.
He's dead.
He died.
I don't get to have that.
Not yet.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Maybe one day.
But until then I have to just cherish my memories.
And the picture of him and I that I keep in every book I'm reading at the time.
And I will cherish the movies we'd watch.
And the jokes we shared.
And the fact he called me 'Meat Head'.
I will love my dad.
And I will release the purple balloons with a message that says 'Rest in Peace' and maybe where ever he is he'll know it's from me and that I am sorry for not being there as much.
For being so cruel to him.
For not loving him the way that I should've.
Because I did and I still do.
And maybe one day I'll get my closure.
The closure to the man that I loved.
But didn't really know.
He died in August. . .
It's almost December. . .
Published 30th Nov 2012
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