Friday, September 12, 2003
Sad panda...
For most of today I've been kind of a sad little girl. For the longest time I couldn't figure out why. Nothing has happened today, or last night, to bring me down. I even got a cute e-mail from CuteNerdBoy that makes me smile when I read it (lots of silly puns, most of which make me groan in the middle of smiling).
Maybe it's PMS, I thought. Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe it's the combination of 9/11 and the now non-existent parents' anniversary I mentioned yesterday. Maybe it's because CuteNerdBoy is going out of town again and it'll be awhile before I see him next. Maybe it's because John Ritter and Johnny Cash died today and I'm only now accepting the fact that Gregory Hines died last month.
(I'm still having trouble with that one. Gregory Hines. And John Ritter. I never expected those two to die so young.)
I think all of those things factor into it. But I realized something else today.
I miss my daddy.
Next week will mark the last time I've seen my father in a year. It was around the time of my mother's birthday, which is September 18th. I've spoken to him once in the last year, less than a week after we moved my mom out on September 29th, 2002. It was a painful conversation for me, but not for him, because he didn't have an inkling at that time that I would not be speaking to him again. I couldn't tell him, not then, for very good reasons. None of which I will be going into this blog. At least not for a very, very long time.
He has left a couple of messages on my answering machine over the last twelve months. I've thought about returning his calls to explain my decision and the reasons behind it. Telling him what it would take to have him be a part of my life again. But the thought of listening to his voice makes me tremble. I want to be strong and I don't think I can be.
So why not write a letter? I could do that. I've thought about it, and I think I will do so in the next month. Because, despite what he's done, he deserves to know. He's my daddy.
Others in my family might argue that he was never really a daddy, that he was lacking as a father in many ways, that my mother and siblings were just puppets in his little play and he never really loved us. Maybe they'd be right. But I remember the daily drive from home to high school, where Dad and I spent at least an hour in the car together. He morphed from the distant disciplinarian into a real person, and I thought I learned to understand him a little better. He used to like to talk to me about computers and science fiction and space. Ok, many times he talked at me, but still, I was the child that shared those interests, that picked up those interests from him, interests that I still have today. I was the tolerant child. I was "Sweetheart". I just can't believe he didn't love me, in some way. I can't, I won't, believe that he's never been my daddy.
All the holidays that have passed over the last year have been filled with melancholy, but the family was able to get through them. I was able to get through them. I felt sad when his birthday and Father's Day came and went, with no one to whom I could say, "Way to go, Dad." Otherwise I was okay.
Now the "anniversary" is coming up. I wonder how it'll be for Mom, who's been in contact with him to work out divorce details. I can't imagine what she must be going through. I'll ask her.
I wonder how my sibs are doing, how they're dealing with this month. Or are they so busy with their respective lives and families that they don't have time to think about it? I doubt it, but I wonder. Sometimes it's weird being the only child without a family at home.
I think about how, unless he makes some serious changes in his life, Daddy will never walk me down the aisle, will never know my children. I'll never see him play grand-daddy to my kids the way he used to play grand-daddy to my nieces and nephews. It hurts to think about it. It hurts so much I can't catch my breath and I have to fight the tears while I'm typing this at work during my lunch hour.
People tell me that it might help to write about it, to get it out. I just haven't been up to the task, beyond a few fleeting mentions in pieces for my writing group and a poem. It's been too big for me. It's too big for any child to have to think about, even an adult child. But I think I'm finally getting to the point where I can write about it. I think I can put down every remembered detail in a private paper journal. I even have the opening line. Who knows, maybe in the future I can turn it into a book or a film. I've always thought it would make a great Lifetime TV movie.
***********************************************
Maybe it's just as well that I won't be seeing CuteNerdBoy again for at least a week. I suspect I'm going to be a weepy mess for a little while and I don't know if I'm ready for him to see that. Oh, he knows I get emotional over music. I've told him how so many songs make me cry. He knows a little bit about what's happened over the last year with my family, but none of the details.
Sometimes I feel like I'm so out of control emotionally, that tears fall at the drop of hat, and I'm afraid that he'll think I'm just a too much of a mess to deal with. Then I remember that he's gone through tough times too, and maybe he'll be more sympathetic because he knows what pain can be like. Since his family is very important to him, maybe he'll understand why I'm so off-kilter right now.
***********************************************
And maybe, just maybe, I need to listen to a little less Coldplay when I'm feeling like this.
Maybe it's PMS, I thought. Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe it's the combination of 9/11 and the now non-existent parents' anniversary I mentioned yesterday. Maybe it's because CuteNerdBoy is going out of town again and it'll be awhile before I see him next. Maybe it's because John Ritter and Johnny Cash died today and I'm only now accepting the fact that Gregory Hines died last month.
(I'm still having trouble with that one. Gregory Hines. And John Ritter. I never expected those two to die so young.)
I think all of those things factor into it. But I realized something else today.
I miss my daddy.
Next week will mark the last time I've seen my father in a year. It was around the time of my mother's birthday, which is September 18th. I've spoken to him once in the last year, less than a week after we moved my mom out on September 29th, 2002. It was a painful conversation for me, but not for him, because he didn't have an inkling at that time that I would not be speaking to him again. I couldn't tell him, not then, for very good reasons. None of which I will be going into this blog. At least not for a very, very long time.
He has left a couple of messages on my answering machine over the last twelve months. I've thought about returning his calls to explain my decision and the reasons behind it. Telling him what it would take to have him be a part of my life again. But the thought of listening to his voice makes me tremble. I want to be strong and I don't think I can be.
So why not write a letter? I could do that. I've thought about it, and I think I will do so in the next month. Because, despite what he's done, he deserves to know. He's my daddy.
Others in my family might argue that he was never really a daddy, that he was lacking as a father in many ways, that my mother and siblings were just puppets in his little play and he never really loved us. Maybe they'd be right. But I remember the daily drive from home to high school, where Dad and I spent at least an hour in the car together. He morphed from the distant disciplinarian into a real person, and I thought I learned to understand him a little better. He used to like to talk to me about computers and science fiction and space. Ok, many times he talked at me, but still, I was the child that shared those interests, that picked up those interests from him, interests that I still have today. I was the tolerant child. I was "Sweetheart". I just can't believe he didn't love me, in some way. I can't, I won't, believe that he's never been my daddy.
All the holidays that have passed over the last year have been filled with melancholy, but the family was able to get through them. I was able to get through them. I felt sad when his birthday and Father's Day came and went, with no one to whom I could say, "Way to go, Dad." Otherwise I was okay.
Now the "anniversary" is coming up. I wonder how it'll be for Mom, who's been in contact with him to work out divorce details. I can't imagine what she must be going through. I'll ask her.
I wonder how my sibs are doing, how they're dealing with this month. Or are they so busy with their respective lives and families that they don't have time to think about it? I doubt it, but I wonder. Sometimes it's weird being the only child without a family at home.
I think about how, unless he makes some serious changes in his life, Daddy will never walk me down the aisle, will never know my children. I'll never see him play grand-daddy to my kids the way he used to play grand-daddy to my nieces and nephews. It hurts to think about it. It hurts so much I can't catch my breath and I have to fight the tears while I'm typing this at work during my lunch hour.
People tell me that it might help to write about it, to get it out. I just haven't been up to the task, beyond a few fleeting mentions in pieces for my writing group and a poem. It's been too big for me. It's too big for any child to have to think about, even an adult child. But I think I'm finally getting to the point where I can write about it. I think I can put down every remembered detail in a private paper journal. I even have the opening line. Who knows, maybe in the future I can turn it into a book or a film. I've always thought it would make a great Lifetime TV movie.
Maybe it's just as well that I won't be seeing CuteNerdBoy again for at least a week. I suspect I'm going to be a weepy mess for a little while and I don't know if I'm ready for him to see that. Oh, he knows I get emotional over music. I've told him how so many songs make me cry. He knows a little bit about what's happened over the last year with my family, but none of the details.
Sometimes I feel like I'm so out of control emotionally, that tears fall at the drop of hat, and I'm afraid that he'll think I'm just a too much of a mess to deal with. Then I remember that he's gone through tough times too, and maybe he'll be more sympathetic because he knows what pain can be like. Since his family is very important to him, maybe he'll understand why I'm so off-kilter right now.
And maybe, just maybe, I need to listen to a little less Coldplay when I'm feeling like this.
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