growing up, i thought i would always remain the same type of person: outgoing, silly, carefree, fun. it's rather interesting how life's events, ups and downs, and growing older molds you into a different version of yourself. sometimes it's really freaky, almost as if i don't even recognize myself anymore.
sometimes i'm on autopilot. my mouth is talking but i have no idea what is coming out. and sometimes i'm so completely uncomfortable around people that i make sarcastic comments that often sound harsh. suddenly i snap out of it and actually hear what i am saying and i get frustrated because that's not who i am or who i want to become.
i used to love meeting people. i had no problem getting to know my coworkers, my classmates, or the person sitting next to me in a coffee shop. but now...it's like i just want to avoid that uncomfortable small talk. because i know it will come up...spewing out like a red hot lava flow from a violent super volcano. it always comes up. bubbling from my stomach, expanding my ribcage, suffocating my heart, tightening my throat. and it sits on my tongue as my eyes dart back and forth, looking for an exit. one slip of the lips and it's out where it doesn't belong. and nobody knows what to do with it. "my dad died."
i've become quieter. only comfortable with a few people, the people who have truly known me for years. and now i face the first anniversary...two days from now will be my first time experiencing it. people tell me "it's not about the date...why would anyone be sad on just that one day? just don't think of it that way" news flash: it's not just that one day. it's every day. but the reason "that one day" is so significant is because the birds are chirping the way they were the day i found out. the air is warm and humid, just like the day i found out. the smell of fresh cut grass is in the air, just like the day i found out. on this one day, i'm taken back in a flash to the very moment i found out. the conditions are exactly the same and i'm still as heartbroken. and then i have to wake up the next day and get older.
i don't think my birthday will ever be the same. not that my birthday was ever a big production. i'm not really one for gifts or parties, they make me feel awkward because that's just not how i grew up. and i know that turning 27 may not seem like a big deal to everyone else...they may even argue that it's still so young. to them i say, it's the oldest i've ever been and i don't know how to do it just yet. and now getting older means getting closer to days like my wedding and (if my mindset of children changes) the day i give birth. i don't get to share any of those days with the man who should be walking me down the aisle and giving me advice on how to change a diaper.
i feel alone. my dad lived hundreds of miles away. we rarely spoke because when i tried to call, he wasn't home. he worked long days, a faithful worker. but the time i lived with him and the times i spoke with him were the best days of my life. i loved his laid back attitude and his goofy sense of humor. he taught me the importance of turning off the lights when i leave a room...something i now practice. he suffered through the most ridiculous wedgies, video taped all of my baseball games (from the long lake diner), refereed my soccer games (and cheered me on right by my side), made sure we had enough pop tarts and cereal (i went through it like crazy), cooked dinner for us. he was even the first person to teach me how to blow dry my hair so it would have volume. i got his nose, i got his toes, and a whole lot more from this man. i was daddy's girl through and through. it got difficult when i lived in south carolina because i wanted nothing more than to talk to him. i wanted to talk to him every day but soon it was only on holidays and birthdays and then it was once a year. i would hope that my phone would ring on christmas, but it didn't. i would hope for the phone to ring on my birthday, but it didn't. i held onto these hopes for years, only to find myself crying at the end of the day. i couldn't live like that.
so i wrote my father a note, explaining that i held on to these expectations for so long but it was unfair. we both had lives that required so much from us, so i released him from my expectations. i didn't want to cry anymore. i told him i loved him but it killed me knowing that he had my phone number and that we had contact on myspace for a short time but that it never lead to anything. so i released him.
one year ago on my birthday, april 27th, i was standing in his living room. the smell of his camel lights was still fresh in the air but he wasn't there. my grandmother sat in his chair and looked at me and asked in the most spiteful tone "are you still mad at your father now?" i wanted to scream at her. she knew nothing of my struggle without my father. i was never mad at him. ever. no matter what choices he made with his life. i loved him more than anyone in the world, that's why it hurt me so much that we never spoke, and that's why i had to write that letter. she knew nothing. and on the one day that i could bear to go to his house to clean anything out, i found the letter i had written to him in his nightstand by his bed, carefully opened with a letter opener.
i didn't realize i never put a return address on the envelope. why didn't i do that? it had been a year or so since i sent him that letter, so i opened it up to see why he kept it. i read these words that i had written and tried to convince myself that those weren't my words...but it was my handwriting. did he think i was mad at him? grandma sure thought so. did i use the wrong words? why didn't i put a return address on the envelope? why did i even send this to him?
i stood in his house, on my birthday, weeping. i really had lost him. every other time i cried on my birthday was nothing compared to this birthday. he was gone. every chance i had to tell him i loved him and that i wasn't mad at him was gone. the past and the future all came rushing to me...how happy i was when i lived with him. how happy i was when we did get a chance to talk on the phone...and how completely lost i would feel on my wedding day without him there. and how lost i would be when my first child would be born and baby wouldn't be held by those arms that once held me. i am thankful, though, that i got his nose. maybe baby will have a little glimpse of what it was like to be tucked into bed at night and get eskimo kisses while performing mine and dad's nightly ritual: "night night, sweet dreams, see you in the morning! work! school! yay!"
when i was growing up, i never knew that i would be changed so much by any one event. and here i am, 2 days before the one year anniversary of his death, talking to the internet instead of seeking solace in the beating heart of a friend. maybe next year.
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