know I needed one.
I don’t think anyone knew who I was at first, then, somehow, they figured it out. Or someone must have told them. They began to ask me questions which I answered with a smile but when I turned the questions about my father on them, they didn’t have any answers. No one really knew my daddy. Most of his family was dead, had moved away or just didn’t care.
We buried him in the little cemetery beside the church. I paid for everything and saw that he had a proper burial. He deserved that.
When everyone was gone, I went to his grave alone and asked all those questions I never got to. Like, why didn’t he love my mother? Or did he? I never got a response, but it sure made me feel better. I could finally breathe. I could finally be alone with him. I didn’t care when it got dark and I could hear the coyotes. It didn’t scare me, not like it used to.
I stayed with him all night. He might have died alone but he wasn’t going to spend his first night in the dark by himself. I didn’t sleep; I roamed around a little, and then sat down beside his grave. I was scared, but I lived through it. I had to give him something. He’d given me life and he deserved that.
When the sun finally came up, I stopped crying. I wiped my tears, told him I loved him and walked away. I never went back there, though I did hire someone to look after his grave and to put flowers on it. I would do it myself, but it’s too painful.
The thing about my daddy was he always made me feel good about myself. Even though he was ‘no good,’ he was good to me. He may not have done shit for me, but he gave me this life and that’s saying something. I don’t hold grudges like my mother and other people I know. I can’t. They drain me. No, they don’t drain. They freeze you. You can’t move forward because of them. I refuse to succumb to grudges because then someone really has power over you. If you’re holding a grudge against them, they are controlling your life. And I’ve always been in control of my own life, thank you very much.
I’d rather think of my father as being good, even if it’s not necessarily true. I won’t think of him any other way. He and I had a special bond even if we didn’t see each other very much. Even if we really didn’t know each other, we belonged to one another. And no one, not even my mother, could take that away. I think that’s what killed her—that I refused to hate him like she did. I just saw him as a man who had made mistakes and as terrible as his mistakes were, they were just mistakes. He was human.
Bruce was so happy to see me when I got back. I don’t know why God gave me such a good man. Such a loving man. I don’t deserve him, but I’m sure glad I got him.
My mother should have been as lucky to have someone like that. But on the other hand, so should have my father.”
I stared into space. I had always wondered why she wouldn’t let me go with her to his funeral. She wanted to be alone with him just once. She’d never gotten that. She knew I wouldn’t have let her stay alone all night beside his grave.
I suddenly wanted to hold her so bad. Just hold her in my arms. Console her. Let her know how important she was to me.
Some of the resentment I felt was draining. I could feel it go. It was being replaced by sadness. I couldn’t hate her, no matter how bad she had hurt me, no matter how much pain I felt because she was gone, I couldn’t hate her. I wanted to. It would have made things so much easier. But I just couldn’t.
“Of course, Mom had to say, ‘I told you not to go.’
You know, sometimes she agitated the shit right out of me.
I said, ‘And that didn’t do you any good, did it?’
She just stared at me. I got so frustrated then. Why did she always have to be like that? I had begged her to go with me but she wouldn’t. I begged her to put her resentments behind her and move on. She wouldn’t. She was so stuck it drove me crazy.
I told her,
I don’t think anyone knew who I was at first, then, somehow, they figured it out. Or someone must have told them. They began to ask me questions which I answered with a smile but when I turned the questions about my father on them, they didn’t have any answers. No one really knew my daddy. Most of his family was dead, had moved away or just didn’t care.
We buried him in the little cemetery beside the church. I paid for everything and saw that he had a proper burial. He deserved that.
When everyone was gone, I went to his grave alone and asked all those questions I never got to. Like, why didn’t he love my mother? Or did he? I never got a response, but it sure made me feel better. I could finally breathe. I could finally be alone with him. I didn’t care when it got dark and I could hear the coyotes. It didn’t scare me, not like it used to.
I stayed with him all night. He might have died alone but he wasn’t going to spend his first night in the dark by himself. I didn’t sleep; I roamed around a little, and then sat down beside his grave. I was scared, but I lived through it. I had to give him something. He’d given me life and he deserved that.
When the sun finally came up, I stopped crying. I wiped my tears, told him I loved him and walked away. I never went back there, though I did hire someone to look after his grave and to put flowers on it. I would do it myself, but it’s too painful.
The thing about my daddy was he always made me feel good about myself. Even though he was ‘no good,’ he was good to me. He may not have done shit for me, but he gave me this life and that’s saying something. I don’t hold grudges like my mother and other people I know. I can’t. They drain me. No, they don’t drain. They freeze you. You can’t move forward because of them. I refuse to succumb to grudges because then someone really has power over you. If you’re holding a grudge against them, they are controlling your life. And I’ve always been in control of my own life, thank you very much.
I’d rather think of my father as being good, even if it’s not necessarily true. I won’t think of him any other way. He and I had a special bond even if we didn’t see each other very much. Even if we really didn’t know each other, we belonged to one another. And no one, not even my mother, could take that away. I think that’s what killed her—that I refused to hate him like she did. I just saw him as a man who had made mistakes and as terrible as his mistakes were, they were just mistakes. He was human.
Bruce was so happy to see me when I got back. I don’t know why God gave me such a good man. Such a loving man. I don’t deserve him, but I’m sure glad I got him.
My mother should have been as lucky to have someone like that. But on the other hand, so should have my father.”
I stared into space. I had always wondered why she wouldn’t let me go with her to his funeral. She wanted to be alone with him just once. She’d never gotten that. She knew I wouldn’t have let her stay alone all night beside his grave.
I suddenly wanted to hold her so bad. Just hold her in my arms. Console her. Let her know how important she was to me.
Some of the resentment I felt was draining. I could feel it go. It was being replaced by sadness. I couldn’t hate her, no matter how bad she had hurt me, no matter how much pain I felt because she was gone, I couldn’t hate her. I wanted to. It would have made things so much easier. But I just couldn’t.
“Of course, Mom had to say, ‘I told you not to go.’
You know, sometimes she agitated the shit right out of me.
I said, ‘And that didn’t do you any good, did it?’
She just stared at me. I got so frustrated then. Why did she always have to be like that? I had begged her to go with me but she wouldn’t. I begged her to put her resentments behind her and move on. She wouldn’t. She was so stuck it drove me crazy.
I told her,
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