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Death’s Anniversary
He’s gone and I can’t bring him back
It is the 10th anniversary of my father’s death. He passed away on February 13, 2015. I remain guilt-stricken and numb, even after all these years. Last year, the anniversary of his death flew by silently — I forgot. How could I forget? I wondered if that’s what happens. Days begin to melt into one another like watercolor paints with water.
Like the tides, my relationship with Dad had its highs and lows.
Despite periods of semi-estrangement, one thing remained true. I loved him with all my heart. I was a Daddy’s girl through and through. As a young girl, I wanted nothing more than to make him proud and to spend time with him.
I knew nothing of this alcoholism that was the devil in disguise when it came to the marriage of my parents. Or that affected my much younger siblings when I was off living life in my early 20s. I wasn’t familiar with the monster. The Dad I knew was fun when he drank. Sociable, charming, the life of the party. Little did I know that the beast loomed in the dark — in shadows that I could not see, and chose not to look at when I was a bit older.
The Dad I knew was loving and warm. He made me laugh. But with love also came heartbreak. I was shattered when my parents divorced and he moved away. I spent so much time crying in my…
