Tuesday, September 29, 2009

What did you learn from your father?~ Another writing topic


My Daddy Bill taught me how to turn the lights on and off. I remember feeling small in his arms as he carried me around the house from light switch to light switch. I remember the scratchy, tickle of his mustache on my temple as I'd lean over and flick the switch up and then down, off-on, off-on. It took all of my concentration to get my fingers just right to make the switch work, then we were off speeding, whirling through the kitchen, the den, the garage, he let me practice with the lights in every room. I can remember the low echos of his laughter, feel the vibration of his words against my body, but his voice has become muddled as if it's under six feet of water in my mind. I doubt I'd be able to recognize his voice if I heard it now. If I look up in my memory, at the place where his face should be all I can see is a giant black smear, almost like a thumb print. I think it's a good visual for the smudge he left on so many hearts when he chose to end his life.
My Daddy Bill never got to graduate to the title of just dad. He missed all of my life, he didn't protect me, he didn't hug me and he certainly wasn't there to tell me he loved me. The lessons he taught me came from the pain he caused to everyone that ever cared about him when he commited suicide. Even those that didn't care all that much for him were left with a burden of guilt, the agonizing question,"I wonder if things would have been different if I'd talked to him?"
My older brother struggles with meth addiction and I haven't seen him in three years. During the times I've spent with him in the past he goes on and on about our father's suicide. Do I think it was a conspiracy? What do I remember seeing? Would I let him talk to my uncle who was also there? My father died twenty-five years ago, but my brother can talk as if it happened yesterday. He has all this rage and pain brewing inside of him that I don't think he'll ever be able to come to grips with. It's not all my father's fault, but I'd hate to even be partly responsible for the wounds my brother carries.

Ending my life, destroying other people's lives in the process has never been an option I'd think about. I don't care how bad things have been or get. I've had oppurtunities to try things like Meth and Coke, but I've never considered it. My Daddy Bill's life went down the tubes with that crap and I have learned from his mistakes. Those are the only things he left behind for me to learn.

3 comments:

  1. I love your blog...keep writing you have a wonderful way with words and have the gift of honesty in your writing...I love your candor...I have found so much healing through writing...now I can't NOT write...hugs and love and support to you, your partner, and your precious children...love kate..

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  2. What beautiful tributes you have here -- obviously straight from the heart, the source of the most powerful writing.

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  3. your blog is beautiful, girl. so proud of you for getting these moving words out there, they need to be heard. and your photos *sigh* they're getting amazing.

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