fifteen years
Oct. 11th, 2012 01:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brandywine28My father died fifteen years ago today and I can't get over the feeling I should be doing something right now. Something...commemorative? I don't know. The man loved liquor, The Moody Blues and--weirdly, weirdly--the Amish (it's true, he had all these goofy, misguided fantasies about retiring early, moving to Intercourse and building a corn silo, like the one Harrison Ford uses to lure that crooked Narcotics agent to his death in 'Witness'. It didn't matter how many times my catty ten year-old self tried to crush his dreams by informing him the Amish don't accept converts--which is true, although I don't know where I learned that--the man did not wanna hear it.); maybe there's some non-horrifying way I can combine those three things?
I kid, I kid. It's a coping mechanism, I'm perfectly aware of it. Truth is, I miss him terribly. Much more now than I did at first, which is not something I was expecting. Also, I can't help wondering if he'd be amused by how ridiculously similar to him I turned out, crushing mood swings and all. :) (Or maybe that's only interesting to me since, for the first few years of my life, whenever I ticked off my mother she'd make me cry by telling me my "real father" was one of the guys from Aerosmith? Ah, childhood memories.)
Fifteen years. He was only 47 when he died and if that seemed scarily young back then, it sounds positively EMBRYONIC today. My mother has never really gotten past the Anger Stage and for that I guess I can't fault her. It was not in her life plan to become a penniless 45 year-old widow. As for me, I think I've mostly let go of all that ugly churlishness. He had more than his fair share of flaws, oh yes, but deep down he was really just a sweet, mild-mannered, unapologetically nerdy guy with a tendency to form embarrassing obsessions. (Oh man, did I just accidentally describe a male version of myself? Dangit.) I hope he's having a helluva good time these days, gallivanting around in that big cornfield in the sky and gettin' his harvest on.
Uh, not that I believe in that kinda thing. :)
I kid, I kid. It's a coping mechanism, I'm perfectly aware of it. Truth is, I miss him terribly. Much more now than I did at first, which is not something I was expecting. Also, I can't help wondering if he'd be amused by how ridiculously similar to him I turned out, crushing mood swings and all. :) (Or maybe that's only interesting to me since, for the first few years of my life, whenever I ticked off my mother she'd make me cry by telling me my "real father" was one of the guys from Aerosmith? Ah, childhood memories.)
Fifteen years. He was only 47 when he died and if that seemed scarily young back then, it sounds positively EMBRYONIC today. My mother has never really gotten past the Anger Stage and for that I guess I can't fault her. It was not in her life plan to become a penniless 45 year-old widow. As for me, I think I've mostly let go of all that ugly churlishness. He had more than his fair share of flaws, oh yes, but deep down he was really just a sweet, mild-mannered, unapologetically nerdy guy with a tendency to form embarrassing obsessions. (Oh man, did I just accidentally describe a male version of myself? Dangit.) I hope he's having a helluva good time these days, gallivanting around in that big cornfield in the sky and gettin' his harvest on.
Uh, not that I believe in that kinda thing. :)
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Date: 2012-10-11 05:57 am (UTC)*hugs* to you, just because.
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Date: 2012-10-12 05:10 am (UTC)(Hey, did I tell you I've been making my way through 'Absinthe' yet again? Cause I have. Slowly but surely. I just finished the JC-in-silk-stockings section. Rawr.)