Today was a hard day. My Dad’s 76th birthday. A day full of too many silences. Too many wishes. Too many empty spaces. In truth he’s not 76 at all. He’s forever 75. I’m sure in heaven he’s young again, young and carefree and full of piss and vinegar. Maybe the age he was when he started dating my mom. Maybe the age he was when he went to Vietnam. When he went to Europe for the first time – a young buck in a brand new, sophisticated world. Maybe the age he was when he flew his first helicopter, or maybe he’s in his 30’s – secure and happy with his life and chomping at the bit for whatever is coming next.
Today my Baby Girl and I went to his house. The house he lived in for the final three years of his life. Three years that he was miserable, I know. Three years that I’m sure he wished he could’ve just skipped altogether. He was happy in Winona, he didn’t want to leave. He had to leave, for Mom, but he wasn’t happy about it. So I never really feel his presence here, in Pilot Point. I think I’d have to go to Winona for that. But still, I felt it important to have some sort of closure, some Goodbye, for Baby Girl. The closest I can get to his presence is sitting on the back porch, watching her play. He loved to watch her play. But if I look to the left he’s not there. It’s just an empty space, where he should be.
And as it turns out, as I am getting a High School in my backyard, he would have been getting a Middle School in his. And how amazing it would have been for Fu Fu to be able to go to his house after school each day. We talked about that, her and I. We wished it had been so. We played some on the playscape and then collected rocks to take home for the roses. We went through the house room by room and imagined how it was, and I thought about how it will never be again.
After that we went to see Mom, and we brought her outside to enjoy the weather. Mom watched Baby Girl – her eyes followed her around – but other than that she was very unresponsive. I held her hand and played Willie Nelson songs for her, in honor of Dad. I told her it was Saturday, March 5th. No response. We listened to Seven Spanish Angels, A Good Hearted Woman and Whiskey River with no response. I kept hoping for a spark, but there was nothing today. Pancho and Lefty and the Highwaymen fared no better. She said she was happy I was there but other than that I got no words from her today. She often looks at me now like she’s wondering who I am. It doesn’t sadden me, I know she would know me if she could.
On the way home we stopped at Brookshires – I wanted to buy a piece of chocolate cake to put a candle in. Baby Girl argued for the bright blue frosted cupcakes and finally I gave in and let her make the call. Call me sentimental I guess. I think I was hoping to feel something more akin to peace than to sadness. But it didn’t work. It just made his absence even more painful to bear.
Saying Goodbye isn’t something you can just do. You can call it goodbye, you can call it closure, you can call it whatever the hell you want but in the end it’s just another way to remember the reason you’re sad. Maybe in the long run I’ll be glad I did it this way. It’s hard to lose his house. The last place I saw him alive. The place where he died. The place where he tried so hard to be everything we all needed him to be. Until he just couldn’t anymore. Even though Dad isn’t there in any way, I will miss that house. Not as much as I miss the one in Winona, but I’ll miss knowing he was there. Knowing your Dad was THERE is the hardest thing to lose.
I might’ve said goodbye to your house today, Dad, but you’ll never be gone from me. It’s my mission in life to make sure that Baby Girl remembers you and Mom. That she treasures who you were and how much you loved her. As long as she has me, she’ll also have you.