I don't really miss my dad. I mean, missing someone is an odd concept I don't believe in.
What I do miss is Him, though. Everything he was and stood for. Beyond a physical him, but an all encompassing Him.
It kills me at times that I'll never be able to talk to him again. Ever. A thought that still lingers from time to time. And there are moments where I really think about it, especially when I'm meditating and I begin to cry. But then, as if he's there to stop me, a huge smile usually overcomes me. He wouldn't want that for me, he would want me to be happy.
I imagine him up there, still watching over me but being just out of reach of conversation. My dad was a wise man, although he concealed it well. He liked his life simple but you could tell something about him dreamed of something more, the more I hope to achieve one day and be able to show him.
Though, I can't. He's gone, and will never be here to revel in anything I achieve and that's what stings the most. He won't be able to call his grandkids "little skunks" as he would me whenever I outsmarted him. He can't be there to tell me it's all okay, and he's proud of me even though I had dropped out of school and hid it from him for months, for fear of embarrassment. He just won't be there.
Period.
Ever again.
And that's something I still struggle with, now more than ever. Being so far from family again, and knowing this time despite a short visit here or there, I will never see most of them for a sustained period of time again. Being all on your own, in a foreign place, and constantly considering what you're doing and if it's right. And not having that sage advice, that all so important fatherly opinion (which was usually fuck it, do what you want) to help you get through things.
And that's what bums me out most. After my 6 months abroad, I couldn't share anything with a man who relished in his time spent in Alaska golfing under the midnight sun, amongst his other wanderlust achievements he shared with me. But does it matter? He knows. He really does, he watched it all, and maybe as part of his passing, he got to be there with me. He was there in spirit, where as if he was still alive he wouldn't have been. Maybe, I should be considering myself lucky to be here. And I do, at times. It's not easy.
But it's okay. It's all okay. It'll all be okay.
What I do miss is Him, though. Everything he was and stood for. Beyond a physical him, but an all encompassing Him.
It kills me at times that I'll never be able to talk to him again. Ever. A thought that still lingers from time to time. And there are moments where I really think about it, especially when I'm meditating and I begin to cry. But then, as if he's there to stop me, a huge smile usually overcomes me. He wouldn't want that for me, he would want me to be happy.
I imagine him up there, still watching over me but being just out of reach of conversation. My dad was a wise man, although he concealed it well. He liked his life simple but you could tell something about him dreamed of something more, the more I hope to achieve one day and be able to show him.
Though, I can't. He's gone, and will never be here to revel in anything I achieve and that's what stings the most. He won't be able to call his grandkids "little skunks" as he would me whenever I outsmarted him. He can't be there to tell me it's all okay, and he's proud of me even though I had dropped out of school and hid it from him for months, for fear of embarrassment. He just won't be there.
Period.
Ever again.
And that's something I still struggle with, now more than ever. Being so far from family again, and knowing this time despite a short visit here or there, I will never see most of them for a sustained period of time again. Being all on your own, in a foreign place, and constantly considering what you're doing and if it's right. And not having that sage advice, that all so important fatherly opinion (which was usually fuck it, do what you want) to help you get through things.
And that's what bums me out most. After my 6 months abroad, I couldn't share anything with a man who relished in his time spent in Alaska golfing under the midnight sun, amongst his other wanderlust achievements he shared with me. But does it matter? He knows. He really does, he watched it all, and maybe as part of his passing, he got to be there with me. He was there in spirit, where as if he was still alive he wouldn't have been. Maybe, I should be considering myself lucky to be here. And I do, at times. It's not easy.
But it's okay. It's all okay. It'll all be okay.