While this blog is intended mostly for my books and writing, I’d like to take a step back and express the emotional hardship that I am enduring.
My father unexpectedly passed away May 19th, 2014. He was 56 years young.
I find myself still struggling and I don’t expect to get any better any time soon. One of the last things I told him about was my completion of BTC and how excited I was to move along with editing it. My parents always knew that I “should have been a writer” and it’s never a surprise anymore when I tell them I’ve completed some kind of work. In my early years, I would always conjure up some poem or short story and force them to listen as I read. I sought/craved their recognition that I had a talent and that I was actually good for something.
This was something new, though. I am going to publish it and I wanted to make him proud. I want to make him proud. Even if this book is complete crap, I will have accomplished the act of putting it out there and exposing my heart and soul while I’m wincing behind my tired knuckles.
Once my dad passed, motivation for a lot of things were lacking. I didn’t want to go through with it without him here and a part of me still doesn’t. A part of my heart is gone. How am I supposed to do this without one of my biggest supporters? Why did I wait so long to make meaning of any of it? Why couldn’t I have just accomplished one fantastic goal just so I could see that priceless, loving expression on his face?
I feel like he left this realm before I could do so. I also feel like my free spirit slowed me down. I haven’t graduated college, I haven’t married and bought a house, I haven’t even given him my version of a grandchild. Yet, here I am, (somewhat) starving artist, pouring all my passion through the written word because it’s what I’m good at. That’s what I do. That’s the fantastic thing, though. I have, so far, lived my life exactly how my parents taught me; to not live within anyone’s expectations but your own. To make the most of your life the way you want to.
But Daddy. Is not here. To see any of it.
I come to you, ladies and gentlemen, in the wee hours of the morning because I cannot shut out these thoughts. I cannot stop these silly tears because I utterly and wholeheartedly miss my daddy.