It was an 11-hour drive home today, on which I had plenty of time to think. My father’s body has been cremated by now, and his wife has the ashes. He had a farm in Tennessee to which he’d planned to retire in a few weeks. She’ll see that he gets there.
I should be feeling some kind of closure, but my thoughts can’t collect themselves.
His funeral was modest, and it was attended by only family and a few close friends. They all told me the same things: that he was a good man, that he was happy in his life, that he was loved and admired.
All that keeps running through my head is how selfish and unkind I’d been to him.
There was a gulf between us that existed ever since he and my mother had divorced when I was thirteen. Looking back, he’d done all he could to breach that divide over the course of my adult life.
And all I’d done is reject him.
He made many attempts to reach me over the years, but I always resented him for leaving us. I just wouldn’t let it go, and at the end…well, I wasn’t there, was I?
Sometimes people just don’t belong where they find themselves. He was in the wrong place with us, and it would be years before he found his life. Eventually, he did. He found someone he loved, and who loved him, and he found happiness. He’d taken up painting again. He had a farm in the Virginia mountains, where he raised and cared for a menagerie of animals.
(Along with an unrelenting sense of absurd humor, I inherited a love of animals from him.)
We weren’t that different at all, and we could have reconciled, but I always made excuses. And now it’s too late.
I keep wanting to pick up the phone, call him and tell him I finally understand, and that I can let it all go. I know what he wanted to hear, and I could have said it all years ago. Then I remember.
I’d thought to speak at his funeral, but when I saw his body, the synapses shut down. I know now what it means to have your heart broken, literally. I felt as if I was watching the whole thing from afar. I’ve always prided myself on being able to keep my emotions in check, but this was something I just couldn’t cope with.
Grief isn’t a problem I can fix. It isn’t something I can break down into smaller parts, nor can it be solved by attacking from a different angle. It’s just a rushing blast of static that blots out everything, and I have no idea how to deal with it.
It occurs to me that my feelings are in part selfish, the guilt of things left unsaid and chances lost. I just wish so badly for a chance to make it right.