Maudlin me

There are many things that I will never be able to understand. Dumb things, complicated things (see: physics. Also how wireless internet works) all sorts of things. Just, you know, stuff.

And then there's my dad.

I was thinking of this tonight on my way home. I just don't understand that he died. Specifically, that he died fifteen years ago next week.

Fifteen years. That's almost half my life which means it's more than half of my sister's life and *much* more than half of my brother's life.

I don't understand how I've lived for this long without him. I mean, I understand the basics of it: if I didn't live I'd die. Black and white, sure, but for a long time the only reason I lived was because the option was too horrible and I would never, EVER do that to my family. There is a whole thing that happened in college that I still can't talk about because it makes me so mad but the outcome is that even though I met some of my favorite people in the world there and even though I did go for four years (in part to show them) that school will not see one dime while a the President is still President and I don't care that he's a Jesuit and what all, he can rot for all I care.

But I digress.

And, well, I don't want anyone to rot but he is about as close as I come.

Asshole.

ANYWAY.

Sixteen years ago I was a sophomore in high school and I lived with a girl, E, from Mississippi. E was troubled in several ways and she ended up leaving half way through the year which was for the best, certainly, but also kind of sucked because she was my friend and she basically said goodbye to GFS and was done with it, blamo.

Well, one of the reasons she was a mess, I firmly believe, was because he father was very sick. So sick that he needed a heart transplant. Fifteen years old, a child, really, and she is hearing that her daddy's heart doesn't work, isn't keeping him alive, and he's going to need a new one, which, by the way, might not keep him alive either. The whole time we lived together it was always there. Fifteen and she is going through this thing the HUGE thing in which her Dad was sick, so sick, and possibly dying and the only hope was that he wouldn't reject the new heart and live on for years healthy and new-heart happy.

I know he had the surgery and I feel like I remember him being okay. But that isn't the point.

The point is, there I was. Living with this girl and thinking to myself "what would I do? How could I live knowing that this was happening? How could I function if my dad was that sick?"

And I *had* been through it, to a lesser extent. My father *had* cancer. He had his thyroid removed and taken the radiation medication and been to the Mayo Clinic and the whole thing and gotten through it.

How lucky was my family.

And then, a year later, he died.

All this time everyone was terrified and checking on and worried about and caring for E and really, really they should have been. It was completely correct.

But in the end, she wasn't the roommate who lost her daddy. At least not that year.

And I can't even type it. I don't know how to put it in to words, these two girls. One quiet and trying to keep the peace while silently thanking whomever that it wasn't her. The other sleeping around and playing the wild child and disregarding anything "safe" because what's safe when your dad needs a new fucking heart?

And, god. It's been almost fifteen years. A long fucking time. And I have lived. And I've been good and I've been obedient and I've been safe and I'm terrified to fly and terrified of being fired and always expecting the worst because then at least I won't be disappointed. I have panic attacks and I am stressed more often than not and I'm thirty pounds overweight and I'm only not when I am clinically depressed and I am tired and I can't be responsible about money and I'm scared of the number thirteen and I can't date and don't know how to be loved or how I am loved and care desperately about my family and friends and I can so easily slip into myself and there is so much that is so inherently me and so much that is a direct result of my dad dying and I don't know what is what and who is who and where they mix or even how, it's so tied together.

But I've lived. I have had a life, these past fifteen years. Because I didn't have a choice, the alternative was unthinkable, but also because if my dad were up there in heaven thinking that his death ruined my life he wouldn't be able to bear it. And I can't let that happen. I can't.

So I get on planes and move to New York and go to Ireland and act as a seat filler for the CMAs and go to happy hour and learn to grade diamonds and make friends and just try to fucking live because life is so, so short and I want to enjoy it all. I am sick of being scared and I know that just saying that won't change me, I know that I'll still be scared. But I need to take control.

Or I need to give up control.

I need to realize that there are things I CAN NOT control and that is okay. Just because I am not behind the wheel doesn't mean there is going to be an accident. Just because I am in debt doesn't mean I don't deserve to do fun things. And if I want the damn Cole Haan shoes or the iPod or WHATEVER, I am 31 years old and if I don't start actively living and enjoying my life now then when?

My father never put off being a parent. Never wanted to wait until the children were older. Well, I don't want to put off being his happy child.

And this might go nowhere.

But maybe it won't.

Maybe it will take time, but so what? I am trying, trying so hard, to make the effort to live and maybe, someday, it won't even be an effort. Who knows?

There is more. I was thinking about other things, like customers and anniversaries and feeling slighted and cheated and missing out on things – last night I got to joke that my sister's wedding was awesome because I didn't have to duck out of the room for the Father/Daughter dance. Sweet!

But I don't have the energy for that right now.

I just need to keep being the best me I can be.

My dad loved me just because I was me. The rest of my family loves me just because I'm me. Maybe I should work on that, too.

*nods*