I dont often use “Language” on here, but today I am letting a word slip. Just your warning.
I never expect it. Ok I do. I always think that the day will go down without a hitch. That things are ok, because honestly, 99% of the time – things really are ok. But then the day comes, and slaps me off my feet and the only thing I can think is “Its been too long, get the fuck over yourself.”
I wanted to spend the day – with the one who made the day possible. But I couldn’t. And so I decided a long time ago, that I would go without the day. Because to me it was simply – pointless.
But she decided that she would invite the man who reserves the place as splitting part of the blame for my existence. And she decided that I would give him a dinner. A lunch. A meal. That I would give him something. And while I wanted to run, and get upset, saying there were so many other ways to spend the day – I didn’t. Because I thought of all the people who miss their own dads. And I figured that just because I don’t care for my own, I can atleast pay some respect to those who have lost theirs.
They fought. They yelled. She told him he could have done something to help me turn out better than I did. I said a few things but the words were drowned under the yelling. Then he left.
I spent some time with the family of my friend who died almost a year ago. The pain. Is just so real, that I wished for a moment I could take it away from them. I wondered why my own “Dad” was still living, and not theirs. Why I was still living, and not him.
They put up the smiles, said they were ok – and even though I knew they weren’t – I went with it because sometimes “Being ok” is not being ok around people who know your not.
And when you burst into unexpected tears and the most unexpected moments – you don’t have to do anything. Except wonder how you can just take it all away and replace it…
Because those kids, deserve their dad.
They deserve the man that he was.
He earned the title, the name and the status.
And then I come home, and look at pictures that daily seem to age and no matter how hard I try I just cannot get them to keep up with time, and every time I look at them…they look more and more like something from a grandparents photo album, and not pictures of my little girl.
I think Im prepared, but every year, it gets me off guard. And maybe that’s why – because Im off guard. Or maybe its because I see things differently each year, and this year I see this family, those kids, growing up with the man who meant the world to them, and I wish, so bad, that I could take his place.
People ask if the kids and I did anything. No. We did not. Because I am not their dad. I am no more their dad, than I am their mom. I do not celebrate mothers day – for myself. And I do not celebrate fathers day – for myself. I am not a father. I am not a daddy.
I am simply a person, with very little status, and a whole lot of aging photos.