It is eight in the morning and the world stirs with wakefulness. The sun climbs in the sky. The birds sing. The squirrels chip and chur in tree branches. A dog barks. And I look with dull eyes at the long day ahead, contemplating a single phrase, "My father is dead."
What strange words.
My father is dead.
The man has been leaving for as long as I can remember and yet his death robs the wind from my lungs. My chest throbs and throat tightens. He isn't coming back.
My mom and dad had slipped out of one another's lives before I'd barely begun mine. Two weekends a month my brothers and I stood on a saggy porch, bags packed, eager for our hero to arrive in his old blue Ford to pick us up. We vibrated with hopefulness. Each of us imagined our own version of Dad's bright smile and twinkling baby blues. Our bathing suits already beneath our clothes. Our toes eager to grip and release the salty sand. We could smell the sea. We waited. And waited. Some days he came but often the screen door squeaked on its rusty hinge and Mom leaned out to say, "I don't think he's coming kids."
We planted our feet, clenched our fists and fixed our eyes on the road.
He didn't come.
Years passed with Dad's bright eyes looking elsewhere. In my imaginings Dad was bigger than life, a god of sunshine and sea whose adoration formed a kind of magic that might protect us from the injustices of life. But I was his second child from the fourth wife. One child of nine children from six wives. I grew in the winter of his gaze, loving him with the fierceness of a child. Eventually this love was layered with outrage, softened by compassion and loving acceptance.
But he is no longer here.
The child remains, caught in time, standing on a porch, waiting for twinkling eyes and a warm embrace. Hoping for some kind of sign that she is loved. That she is wanted. That she is seen.
She looks dull-eyed at the day ahead saying, "My father is dead."
I whisper gently to the layers of longing, "I know. I am here. I am here."
And in the sunshine of my gaze, I grieve.
Comments
Love you sis. Lon
Thank you so much for your words and the hand extended in connection implied in them. Tears of gratitude for you this morning. I honestly didn't know that the "Olders" experienced the same thing we did. Dave, Dan and I worshipped Dad and the absence of his light in our lives made all the darkness of our early years that much harder to bear. Dad was a legend to us and mythic in the world. Dad always said I had the least time with him of all his children and when he died the little girl in me was ever hopeful that maybe now he would come find me. I ran to the shore when I was visiting Kauai thinking maybe I'd feel him there. I didn't, but the ocean offered its wide embrace. This grief is hard to carry and even though I have 9 siblings, I feel alone in it. I don't many of you and those I do know are very far afield. Thank you for your comment, for reading my words and calling me sister. Thank you. It means a lot to me. I love you. I love all of you. Growing up Lloyd has been full of longing but you have family in me if you ever want it.
Always your sis,
Angelina
God was How I focused , I could not handle life and all the pain , so I turned to him. I believed he told me to be a beekeeper so that was my focus. with his help I took 8 hives and turned them in to 1248 beehives when I sold them and took a job over here in Hawaii. Believe me that took a lot of , no don't get side tracked ,,focus. I lived with the bees and everything else I let go of. But in my heart you and all of us are family nothing can change that. Your not alone in your grief sis. Your expression of your pain for dad in your blog made me ball. I don't know how to express the pain of our broken family except to cry. Its to deep to know what to do. I think Mike expressed it well in his tribute to dad at his memorial. When he said he has spent his life longing for dad to come home, and he realized that now, Dad has finally come home. ( he posted it on his face book page , its really good you should read it.) Any way I love you too .
My daughter Abigail is going on a short vacation to Kauai , Lihue. So we are going to fly over and stay with her on the sept 11 to the 16th. I know you go over there some times and have asked me too come see you there. I wasn't able too before I didn't have any money. everything went into my house, . But I have a little now, so maybe the next time we can meet up. Aloha sis
P.s . I don't know computer stuff , not sure if this works but im trying
All love and pressing your hand