So as many people know, my dad passed away in 2013. I found out about it the day before Thanksgiving. At this point I don't think I will ever really come to terms with it properly. I'm not sure I have the closure people believe someone would have when losing a father but so many factors in my relationship with my dad are making it difficult to grieve the way life and society have taught me.
I wasn't raised by my dad. He disappeared from my life when I was 3 years old. I grew up with the shadows of his legacy. There were so many stories told by my mom, my uncle, my grandmother, my own head... curiously nothing from his side of the family. As soon as he was gone, so were they. Never heard from them. I remember mom calling numbers she had for them and getting nothing. Crying on the phone because it frightened her. How not only he was gone but so was everyone else. She was so confused and scared all the time. She had my uncle and grandmother but they lived so far from us she was all alone and felt it. She was taken from her native Puerto Rico to the US mainland by the man she married and now she was stuck in NewYork with two family members who were not the most emotionally supportive people in the world. It was like once he disappeared all record of him existing left with him. After a while, we thought he was dead.
Mom would always tell me stories about how great a dad he was. She made sure he was very glamorized to me. I had visions of this great, dashing, strong man who was perfect. After 10 years of him missing, trying to contact the Navy and them turning her away. She went through the process of declaring him dead. It didnt go through and we never knew why. Mom would get letters from my dad all the time before he disappeared. She kept all of them for a very long time. I remember reading some of them in my teens. Dad would talk about his work in the Navy. Missions and things of that sort. He mentioned Russian ships a lot. I have a very imaginative brain and I get this from both my dad AND my mom. After the last letter she received discussed a mysterious Russian Vessel, mom believed he was kidnapped and/or killed by Russian spies. I'm not even kidding. Being a child, I began to believe that as well. I mean why else would such a great man not be with his daughter and wife that he loved so much?
In perhaps 2002/3 when I was doing sketch comedy, we actually recorded a moment with this psychic called Tristan. I got a reading. I asked if my dad was still alive. He said "No hun, but you knew that." I nodded my head in agreement but I really didnt. I thought to myself "Bitch, I wouldnt have asked if I did!" His entire reading of me pissed me off. "You are not meant to be an entertainer I see you as a nurse."The dad thing though bugged me the most. He would say things like, "hes in the room" and some random woman in the room went "Omg I just felt him!" I felt so sick. It all felt wrong.
Cut to a few months later. I come home to my mom on the phone. She puts the phone to me and I ask who it is. "Its your father". It didnt process. I took the phone like a zombie. I ended up on the phone with my dad for over an hour. I found my dad. Or rather, he found me. Initially it was the happiest moment in my life. My dad was alive. Wait! My DAD is ALIVE?!?!?! WTF?? That Tristan mother fucker is a sham!!! How dare he make me believe he was dead!
People are human and therefore not perfect. At the point he came into my life I still had the legends in my head and (luckily) convinced myself that I shouldn't hold him on a pedestal. To avoid disappointment I tried to banish these unrealistic expectations. I won't go into detail, but basically he was flawed as we all are. I love him and I'm glad he came back into my life but I learned that things happen for a reason. I learned to be happy for the life I had without him otherwise I would have become a different person. I also found out that he loved me still, which was what I always had hoped. Learning this was the best gift ever - Something I had always wished I had growing up. Another pleasant shock was learning that I had a little sister named Erica.
Since reuniting that day on the phone I had my question of why answered. My dad left because he felt like he wasn't wanted. He felt that mom didn't really love him. I suspect that he really didn't know much about my mom - Not ever really understanding why she was the way she was. It didn't help that my grandmother and uncle pushed him away as well. He was never accepted by them while the rest of mom's family loved him. According to my grandfather (on my dad's side) his family was ashamed he left us and that's why they didn't contact us. He said they felt like it wasn't their place to get involved. In retrospect, they felt like they let us down. I am happy that I got to speak to my granddad on the phone a few times before he passed a few years ago.
It was August of this year when I finally was able to go down to Houston to visit him. I knew he had been sick for years and there had been this sense of urgency to see him before its too late. Recently he had become very ill.
It had always been an issue for me to go down because of my broke ass and more recently, my mothers' health. This last August I finally made it.
Most of my stay down in Houston was at Erica's home but I spent one night at his place so we could talk in private. I found out a lot about his leaving and what he did while he was gone. I reassured him about mom. He was relieved to know that she did love him after all. I got to talk about things I haven't even told my mom yet. He still loved me, too. Sure he was a Bush lovin', hunter diggin', Harley drivin' guy but I love that he loved everybody.
My dad supported everyone and thought people should be who they are and be damn proud of themselves. He loved cool music too. He had a black and white painting of Roy Orbison on his wall. "Do you like that?" he asked.
"Yeah thats awesome" I replied.
"Do you know who that is?"
"Yeah its Roy Orbison it's so cool!"
"Well you can't have it!" He laughed.
Now I do.
I left his apartment and felt this sense of "Ok I did it and it was awesome". I felt closure when I was there. I didn't know that it was the last time I would ever see him.
He was sick but he had seemed a lot better than what I was told. I was sure he was putting up a front. He still smoked even with his oxygen tank! He told me "Look, I have been smoking since I was 9 years old. If I quit it would probably kill me and I'm not going anywhere!"
That's why I didn't think it was the last time I would see him. He was talking about seeing his family and traveling. While I knew he was too sick for that, I did believe he would try.
My sister spoke about her (eventual) wedding and I know she envisioned him being there. This wasn't supposed to happen now.
It was a Wednesday night. The night before Thanksgiving. Erica had just posted a Facebook status about baking. Not even 20 minutes later she phoned me crying. The cops had come to the house. They told her dad was gone. She hadn't heard from him in a week. I think the plan was for her to pick him up the next day and spend Thanksgiving with her and Dan at their house. She's a therapist and she's a very busy woman yet she is the one who takes care of him and her mom, Carole. Not to mention she had been planning and cooking and prepping all week so it had been hard for her to contact him. I religiously had problems contacting dad since he rarely heard his phone. I tried calling him the week before and was unable to reach him. It was normal. Im sure she did the same. The medical examiner said he was probably dead for a day-and-a-half to two days. He more than likely died in his sleep.
Erica was crushed. She felt responsible. I knew she would but Dear God NO. She was his savior and did so much for him. I actually think that he timed it. He made sure it happened while Erica was busy and yet early enough in the day that his neighbors would notice when they didn't hear or see from him. That way, they would call the police (sparing Erica having to find him the next day). He wouldn't have wanted her to find him like that; Especially on Thanksgiving. She told me this and all I could think of was her. It's who I still think of. I'm not there. The thing is, I don't feel like I should be. I feel guilty for thinking that but I feel like it's what I need to do.
Once I found out dad was gone I didn't know how to feel. Of course I was heartbroken to find out. I wasn't raised by him but he was my dad! I didn't want him to be go so soon after being found. However, there was always this constant feeling that it was going to happen so while still a shock, it never hit as hard as it should have. From the moment I heard the news, I had this constant voice in my head: his. Asking me to check to see if his name was still there...
Before moving to Long Island we lived in Brooklyn Heights. It wasn't as posh as it is now but back in the day when they were putting cement down on The Promenade, dad etched his name in with a key. First he put our initials in the cement in one portion. "RM + EM + NM". In another portion he just put his name "Bobby". The last time I was there, the initials were gone. Bobby was still there though. I hadn't been there in a long while. The voice kept on telling me "Check to see if my name is still there".
So after work on a freezing-ass day I went to Brooklyn. It just wasn't the same. A lot of the restaurants and places were now just memories. I got to The Promenade. I proceeded to walk from one end all the way to the other with my head down just looking at the ground.
All the cement was replaced with slate rock. It looks "nicer" than cement but it break easy and it's messy. There was no graffiti. Nothing. 98% of the cement was gone. I lifted my head up and looked around. The broken docks down by the expressway were renovated and had games and stuff for tourists. My dad worked at the Navy Yards. He would man the tugboats that would tug the huge ships in the East River and the Hudson. At one point we lived on one of the boats. It's where I learned to walk which fucking explains a lot. (I fall all the time) My view has been altered now. Then I looked to my right along the Promenade. The backs of all the brownstones are all visible. You would see the back patios and it was always so beautiful. There was one that I would always look for. The most beautiful one. It was yellow and black, with beautiful flowers and a female bust in porch portion. A black, iron-looking rocking chair. You could tell a very elegant old woman lived there. I never saw her but that's who I always imagined living there. A woman reminiscent of Miss Havisham in
Great Expectations. I found the home. It was disheveled. No flowers. The bust was gone. The aluminum roof of the porch was damaged. It looked abandoned which I'm sure it isn't but it was clear the damage was storm related. Probably the work of Hurricane Sandy. It broke me. It fucking broke me bad.
I felt like not only my dad was gone but so were my memories of Brooklyn Heights and the Promenade. Even though my Miss Havisham had only existed in my mind, she was dead too and her home was reflective of that. I turned around and just sat on one of the benches and began crying so hard. I cried tears of guilt because I knew those tears belonged to my dad but they were for so much else.
I needed a tissue. I knew people were kinda looking at me. I wasn't wailing or anything but I could tell people had seen me crying. I was trying to get a tissue out of my purse but it was so cold that my hands stiffened up and I was having difficulties. This woman came up to me and gave me a tissue. I was about to politely decline, but I just took it. She sat next to me and asked if I was OK. I tried be brave and pretended to be fine.
"Oh yeah I'm fine I will be fine I'm just..." I couldn't even finish. I had no words I wanted to say as I didn't want to ramble to a total stranger. I didn't think it was any of her business and I didn't want look ridiculous. I guess it was too late.
She was this thin, mousy, middle-aged (I dunno she looked like she was maybe 60, that's not really that old). She wore a strong perfume but it wasn't gross as one would imagine. It smelled nice.
"You don't look that fine, just one of those days? Overwhelmed?"
I proceeded to calmly tell her that my dad died, I was looking for his name, saw everything had changed, blah blah blah. I basically told her everything without going on and on and just stated the facts. I was actually able to compose myself once I got it out.
"Isn't the slate terrible? Ugh I hate it and I know what you mean this area is just changing and they think it looks pretty and it is improving the area but its just so boring and uninteresting! I miss my Brooklyn Heights too. Trust me hun, you have every reason to cry. I guess I don't 'cause I've been seeing it happen daily for over 30 years. I suppose it softened the blow for me."
We talked some more and she said something that hit me. I wish I could remember it word-for-word but she basically said if everything stayed the way you thought it was supposed to be in your head, no one would search for anything to make them happier. We are supposed to make ourselves happy and not expect it to just remain. She then told me she was moving to Egypt when she retired. I was impressed.
I also figured something else out. To me, dad's name being gone. Everything I held onto when it centered around my memories of dad and Brooklyn were gone. This was his way of saying goodbye. Keep him in my heart and no where else. He's not a name in cement. He's not in a town in Brooklyn. He's not in the Navy Yard. Hes with me all the time. Mushy? Yeah, most definitely. It's true as hell though. I can put him wherever I want him to be. In a song. In a picture. In my love for my sister.
I don't need to go to Texas for my closure. That service my sister is having for him is for closure between her and dad. They had more of a relationship than I ever did. My relationship with him and my memories are with me in my heart and with Brooklyn.
Maybe when it gets warmer I will bring a few friends and family members to come with me to the Promenade. We could give him his proper New York send off. Nothing major, just a few words of goodbye and then some good food and joy. I remember my dads laugh, and him being a nice guy. I think he would like that.
I will miss him. I do now. I cried a little while writing this. I'm sure I will again but its a new year. It's now 2014. Dad, if you see this. Hug me all year. Give me strength. Give Erica strength and love. Give her comfort. We all love you and wish you were still here.