Daughters Will Love Like You Do

You may or may not know that I don't speak to my biological father and that we haven't been in the same room since 2006.

Until today.

I went to my hometown for my Grandmother's funeral. I knew he'd be there, but I don't know if he knew I would be. Judging from his reaction when I said I was sorry for his loss on my way up to see the casket, I'm not entirely sure he knew I was even still living on the same plant he's been living on.

He got old. He's smaller, has glasses and walks with a cane. When he walked in I stared at him trying to decide if that was really him. Gone is the man who could intimidate just by looking at you. Who always smelled like Halston Z-14 and had a blond, well manicured mustache. He's got a goatee situation that looks like Virgil Earp. He.Got.Old. And he's not even sixty. I began to wonder if he was ill.

But maybe in his eyes, I got old too. I don't think I've actually seen him since before I graduated from college. So I was probably about 21 the last time he laid his eyes on me. I've had two kids and experienced time marching across my face since then. It's possible that young girl he used to know is who he holds in his mind, instead of this older, wiser, mother and wife.

I don't know if he's given me much thought over the last several years. He was a private investigator for years - I kind of think that if he wanted to know me or see me, he would. I don't even know how much thought I've really given him over the years either, though. It ebbs and flows. But when I had children I really began to wonder how a person could have a child floating around in the universe that they know nothing about. I've felt sad, hurt, angry, and rejected by him for the better part of my life. And then at some point I began feeling indifferent.

Until today.

Today, the big man I so desperately wanted approval and love from for so long was a small, sad man with red eyes at a funeral. And I was the strong, tall woman with his grand child strapped to in the Ergo, and (right or wrong) all the power. Our brief conversation (if you can call it that) left me wanting more, but when I turned around he was gone.

I have a sudden, overwhelming fear that the next time I turn around, he'll be gone again - forever - and I won't have tried. I have decided, after nearly a decade of estrangement, that I'm going to try to get in touch with him. I don't want him as a father figure, I have one of those, I just want to know him. Maybe for the first time. So I'm going to give him the choice.

I'm going to give my uncle some time before I reach out to him (I haven't been touch with anyone from his side of the family until today and obviously today has been rough for all of them) and then I'm going to write my dad a letter. We'll never be living an hour apart again, so now is the time. And when we move in a few months, I never have to see him again unless I want to. If he doesn't want to see me, I really believe I'll be okay with that. And today is the first day I have really been able to say that.

And I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you about my Grandma P. She raised 5 boys on a farm. She was freaking tough. She had a filthy mouth and a tendency to hoard food (a Depression Era upbringing will do that). Her boys were serious Mama's Boys - my mom told me that for YEARS each one called home every day, but the family wasn't without it's faults. There was always someone who wasn't speaking to the rest of the group and that was painfully clear when two of her sons didn't sit with the family at the funeral. But when the song Bridge Over Troubled Water began to play, I remembered it was her favorite, and I could hear that I wasn't the only one whisper-singing along. I remembered that even though she'd been my sort-of nuts grandma, she had been a mama too, and suddenly I realized she probably would have had more to offer me as an adult than I had ever realized, and I'm sorry I missed it. How did she raise FIVE hell-raising boys?! Was Bridge Over Troubled Water a mantra for her as a parent? What was? 

Though I don't necessarily regret walking away from a family that at one point would have sooner spit on me than look at me, I do realize that my relationships with those people probably would have changed a lot over the last ten years and I think I might be a little sorry to have missed that. I guess we'll see if my dad feels the same way.