My father died today. Actually, he died April 13th, but I just found out about it today so to me he only just died. When I say father I don’t mean in the Leave it to Beaver sense of the meaning. He sits on the spectrum of fatherhood closer to sperm donor than to #1 Dad coffee mug father. This is not to say he was one of those total 1970’s dead beat dads who dropped their loads and left in the haze of joint smoke. No, he was firmly in my life for what my mother explains to me as three joyful, loving years where he dressed me in cute red outfits and took photographs of me. He was present.
Then one day he just wasn’t. He wasn’t a husband and he wasn’t in the house to be my dad. He toyed for a time being the one weekend and holidays kinda dad but the new woman had kids, who in her mind came first and then my dad...wasn’t.
You would think 39 years is long enough time to come to terms with the fact my “daddy” wasn’t going to make a grand gesture and return to my life carrying a cross and wearing a crow.
I found out about his passing by accident. Curiosity doesn’t kill the cat, it just makes her wish theIinternet didn’t have so much information. A morbid sense of curiosity sends me to google from time to time. I have never found anything on the man until today.
Imagine my surprise when the first piece of information I find on my “daddy” in all these years is that he is dead. Not quite what I had in mind. His obituary said very little for me to piece together who he was except he liked cars (me too!), had a soft spot for animals (me too!), and loved fishing (2 outta 3 ain’t bad).
The biggest scrap of information about him was that he had two sons (not his) and eight grandchildren. I read it three times before I fully acknowledge that I was in fact NOT listed as one of his achievements. I do not exist, it seems, on any level by the person writing said obituary. Hmm, curious. Actually, not curious. Anger-inducing, gut- clenching, sob-worthy information. Could my daddy have completely forgotten of my existence or am I left out because a 70-year old man can’t have a dirty little secret?
So, I grieve the loss of nothing it seems. A portion of my DNA maybe? I grieve for the idea of daughter/father relationship that never had a chance to be. I grieve for the possibility of tomorrow, a tomorrow that stopped on April 13th. I certainly don’t grieve for the man. He was and now forever remains the ghost of my father.
