Walk it off.

Dad, I’m walking it off for you.

Suck it up.

Dad, I’m sucking it up for you.

Be a man.

Dad, I’ll be a man for you.

Help your mother, she’ll need you.

Dad, I’m trying. I really am. But I am frost instead of ice. And I crumble at the merest touch, the lightest breath. I know that mom will need to lean on me. But right now, my shoulder feels much more like a morning dew than the Gibraltar that it lays upon.

Forgive me son, because I don’t believe Jesus can. I don’t believe he will.

Dad, I told you, the only man Jesus can’t forgive, is the man who won’t let him. You taught me that dad. You.

I’m scared son. I’m scared to die. I’m scared shitless.

I know you are dad. And I am too. You were always so huge. So much bigger than life. So – well – immortal. I think you almost believed it too. And now you’re dying, and now you’re gone. And now I’m alone. But not. I have mine. Mine, that grew out of you. You’re gone, but we carry on. You’re gone, but “You” will always be with us. You live on, in us.

I’m scared son. Your mother and I argue all the time. I’m scared. I’m afraid.

It’s OK dad. I’m afraid too. I’m afraid that J.C. will offer you a brotherly hug, and you’ll instead turn in disgrace. I’m afraid that, through your thrashing fear, you’ll first destroy the memory of 47 years with mom before you go. I’m afraid that you’ll pass, and I’ll be left here sitting mute – like so many in our family have done before – too fucking scared to ever really tell you how much I love you. Too frightened to expose myself like that. Too scared to hold you, knowing that I will then have to let you go.

I love you, dad. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re saved. And most definitely not because you’re right. No, I love you simply because you are you. And because years before I knew how to, you loved me first.

I never did enough.

No, you did. You gave what you could, when you could. And in the final analysis, you did so freely. Even if you might have felt otherwise at the time. And that’s why I love you.

I don’t think I’ll make it to see June.

I love you dad, and I don’t think you will either. But I will. And I will see June for you. And when we meet again someday, I will tell you all about it. OK?

Just rest till then. Please, find peace. And when we meet again someday, I will catch you up on all the Junes that followed after you. On all the June’s to follow…

37 thoughts on “…daD

  1. This one made me cry t. The conversation between the two, the moments of a life revealed, the lack of time, and the journey forward… all so damned well done.

      • Don’t be sorry t. Crying is a way of cleansing the spirit. The fact that you relayed your thoughts and feelings with such impact only means that your writing will be felt, and heard by others along the way that need the tears. I’m glad you wrote it, and I am glad I read it. hugZ

  2. t have you ever seen this version of the song “Long as I’m Singing?” I really like it… but I love to watch the boys dance :-)

    While I am in here, I want to present you with another blogging award. This is the <a href="Kreativ Blogger Award" (which you most certainly are). :-) I love reading your words.

    • Seen it? I own it! And in fact, I feel it’s high time for me and my youngest (the biggest 11 year old Darin fan I know) to hunker down and watch it again.

      And thank you so much for the award. I really appreciate a writer of your caliber enjoying my stuff.

      For realz. =}

      • :-) my Z’s are catching up with you ;-) I love that your 11 year old is a Bobby Darin fan, that’s pretty danged kewl!

        I enjoy it a great deal t, you write well, and have a wonderful imagination and heart. I am glad that the blogosphere spun me around in your direction.

        • And I, likewise, am thrilled that the mighty winds of Bloggonia dropped you off at my doorstep as well!

          It’s reading folks such as yourself that help me to push beyond my own comfort zone, and hopefully write on a level that is similar to yours. You know, sans the occasional need for “Z,” that is =)

    • I think your word fits the picture perfectly. Thanks, and yes, the writing does help. I wish he had something similar.

  3. This is beautiful, moving, and hopeful. “I will see June for you.” Wonderful. “The peace that passeth all understanding,” will be his as he makes the transition. Remember what Steve Jobs last words were? “Oh wow, Oh wow, Oh wow.” My own father’s response to that moment was similar. Be completely at peace, t, and he will be, too.

  4. I like this post soooooo much but I don’t like your sending me to tears…especially since I have just woken up. This is so moving. I can clearly picture out the scenario in my mind, your dad so delicate and all.

    Have you ever heard Holly Dunn’s Daddy’s Hands? I always sing it to remind me of the great memories me and old Papa had.

    Here listen:

    • I’m sorry if I made you cry (k~ said it was OK…), and thank you for sharing the song – nice way to return the tear favor =)

  5. Oh, my dear heart, what a power house you are! You feel weak, but are immensely powerful. I am broken with you because your words transport me to your side, inside you.

    When you wrote “Too scared to hold you, knowing that I will then have to let you go,” I trembled with you because I could feel those pent up feelings, too.

    What I wanted to say in your ear is “Hold him. Hold him for dear life because that will be one of the moments you will cherish forever. Hold him.”

  6. “my shoulder feels much more like a morning dew than the Gibraltar that it lays upon.”
    I love you. <3 Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re saved. And most definitely not because you’re right. No, I love you simply because you are you!!!! .< ^.^

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