Asshole. Asshole! Asshole! Asshole! That's the only word coming to mind after seeing that photo. You went to Brandon's wedding. Of course you did. Wouldn't have missed that for the world, eh? You bastard. I take that back, you spineless, apathetic, pathetic man. You can't even answer one of my stinkin' emails or call me on my birthday. Oh wait, you don't even know that I live a thousand miles away! You have made zero effort, zero, to find me or contact me. I've found you. I've even tried looking you up anywhere I can hoping that I can find a current, or at least somewhat current, picture of you. Or find out something.
Like I've said before it's like you've died. Like you no longer exist. I wonder if that's how you feel about me. Like Josh and Cass were just beamed off the face of the Earth never to be seen again. Now we're on some planet for kids whose fathers can't freaking stand up for themselves. It's a damn lonely planet, Dad. Damn lonely. You don't even deserve to be called Dad. Chris. Christopher. Dammit I wanted to name my son after you! Can't do that now. I couldn't answer his question of, "where did my name come from?" Because then I would have to dive into the deep pit of blackness that once was my love for you. What was a field full of beautiful flowers, music, artistic conversations, recipe exchanges, and admiration is now an dark, bottomless pit of hurt, resentment, tears, and longing. You, sir, are a fuck. A complete and utter fuck.
In my last letter to you I said that despite the fact you've written me off as a daughter I would still take you back. Now I'm not so sure I would. I think I'm starting to accept the fact that you aren't "going out for a pack of smokes." You don't deserve to share in my happiness. I can't believe you're a father.. my father. We used to have such good times. Reading us Dave Barry. Learning your "cheese folding formula" so we could "use the least amount of cheese, but still getting the coverage you need on that burger." Standing with you at the grill, asking questions about what this was and why you have a bucket of soaked wood. Going to Grandma's, you sitting in her chair. Watching Baby Animals for the umpteenth time or the first level of Mario Bros.. No more of that now. No more birthday cards. ("Welcome to the double digits." 10th birthday) No more new restaurants to try. No more you. No more father. No more. You will never know this, but when you left a piece of me did too.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
My Favorite Christi(mas) Carol
I remember asking every year, "Mom, when can we put the Christmas tree up? All my friends at school put theirs up the day after Thanksgiving. Something is clearly wrong with them." After a bit of laughter and a nod in agreement she answers, "Well that's how we've done it since I was little. Your Aunt Christi was born on the seventh of December and we never wanted to overshadow her birthday. Thus, we never put up our tree any earlier than the eighth."
I remember the Christmas when I was given my first knitting... equipment? I sat on great-grandma's blue and green swirled couch attemping to make a pot holder. I kept saying, "Look! I made pants!" And would make the knitting needles dance with the "pants" inbetween. I also remember having great visions of making afghans, sweaters, socks and the like only to follow in my mother's footsteps and realize that I would leave the knitting/crocheting to "the experts."
My fondest memory was on our way to Michigan for Andrea's wedding. I remember sitting next to you, feeling so special because I didn't have to sit next to my mother. I was now a big girl. You reached into your carry-on and pulled out, to my surprise, a jewelry box. I remember the outside was ivory-colored with gold scrolling on the lid, the red velvet interior had a small, diamond shaped mirror. Inside was a silver locket. My stomach started to fill with butterflies as you carefully lifted it out of the box and placed it in your hand. "This, your grandparents gave me when I was a girl." My eyes darted over the delicate floral detail. Wow, I thought to myself. "Since I'm not able to have anymore children, I thought you should have this." My eyes grew wide. Really, for me? Our relationship was never the same after that. I felt like a little less like a niece and a little more like a daughter. I don't think I took that necklace off all weekend.
I will never forget that infamous Thursday morning. I kept that locket in my pocket all day. Rubbing it between my fingers, remembering the day you placed it in my hands. Then you ascended into the heavens. I looked skyward, tears streaming down my cheek, yelling, "You can't take her away! She's not ready yet!" But in truth, I was wasn't ready. Through the tears and shouts, I remembered something my mother had told me. I kept having these dreams about my Grandma visiting me after she had passed away. "She visits you in your dreams now. That's where she knows she can find you." Realizing that, I know that any time I miss you or need to see you, I can close my eyes and you'll appear. Always smiling, always laughing, always loving. I will always have those wonderful memories that I can visit any time I want. Any time I want.
I remember the Christmas when I was given my first knitting... equipment? I sat on great-grandma's blue and green swirled couch attemping to make a pot holder. I kept saying, "Look! I made pants!" And would make the knitting needles dance with the "pants" inbetween. I also remember having great visions of making afghans, sweaters, socks and the like only to follow in my mother's footsteps and realize that I would leave the knitting/crocheting to "the experts."
My fondest memory was on our way to Michigan for Andrea's wedding. I remember sitting next to you, feeling so special because I didn't have to sit next to my mother. I was now a big girl. You reached into your carry-on and pulled out, to my surprise, a jewelry box. I remember the outside was ivory-colored with gold scrolling on the lid, the red velvet interior had a small, diamond shaped mirror. Inside was a silver locket. My stomach started to fill with butterflies as you carefully lifted it out of the box and placed it in your hand. "This, your grandparents gave me when I was a girl." My eyes darted over the delicate floral detail. Wow, I thought to myself. "Since I'm not able to have anymore children, I thought you should have this." My eyes grew wide. Really, for me? Our relationship was never the same after that. I felt like a little less like a niece and a little more like a daughter. I don't think I took that necklace off all weekend.
I will never forget that infamous Thursday morning. I kept that locket in my pocket all day. Rubbing it between my fingers, remembering the day you placed it in my hands. Then you ascended into the heavens. I looked skyward, tears streaming down my cheek, yelling, "You can't take her away! She's not ready yet!" But in truth, I was wasn't ready. Through the tears and shouts, I remembered something my mother had told me. I kept having these dreams about my Grandma visiting me after she had passed away. "She visits you in your dreams now. That's where she knows she can find you." Realizing that, I know that any time I miss you or need to see you, I can close my eyes and you'll appear. Always smiling, always laughing, always loving. I will always have those wonderful memories that I can visit any time I want. Any time I want.
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