Yesterday I was surprised to realize that, for the first time since my father passed away at the end of December, I actually felt more like myself. Like I cared a bit about the "reality" everyone else seems obsessed with. Like it mattered if I "showed up" when I showed up. Maybe, finally, I can move on.
I will always miss my father, even though we weren't extremely close. I got along fine with him, no fighting or disagreements. Where we weren't close was where I fell short on the chromosome scale. We both knew I couldn't help being a girl, just as we both knew that it was a bit unfair that he had a prejudice against females that had nothing whatsoever to do with me. But I couldn't be what my brother was to him, and I was okay with that (as I got old enough to process all of this).
Without Dad, the world seems a bit less secure. He was so sure about everything. Whenever I had a problem, I knew that Dad would have a solution, even if it was one I would never, ever have the cojones to act on. "Fire his rear-end!" "You don't have to take that crap! Tell him to get out!" "You're smarter than the whole pack of them put together!" So. Sure. About. Everything.
What would I give to be that sure, even 10% of the time? How did he get to the place where white was never, ever anything but white? How did he learn to over look all the gray I saw, all the time?
I really, really miss him. But now I have to live my life and honor him in doing that.
