Today is my father's death anniversary, and the full moon just passed so, I'm just thinking. Every full moon makes me feel like my head is under water and I can't breathe from the pressure, but this one feels a bit heavier. For many reasons, but long story short, I'm just thinking. Of the past, of the present, of what was lost, and what's coming back around.
It happened right after I graduated high school, when I was 18. Three months after my exams were done, it just happened: one second it was blazing summer sun, the next it was rigid hospital corridors in the autumn. And then a phone call that turned out to be the last one with that voice, and a few days later it was the end of an existence. I could say a lot about it, but what's the point, we all know what grief feels like. But now, 18 years later, I feel like a child grown up the second time, and it feels different. My inner child is feeling the loss, but adult-me is seeing memories and moments that never happened. My inner child knows she was loved, but grown-me is recognising, maybe not the right way. Present me is looking back and seeing what wasn't there, or not much of. What wasn't shown the way it was supposed to be shown, and told, and so I grew up wanting to earn love, up until now. I've been working for love, my whole adult life, because that's all I've known. How ridiculous it sounds, but it's true. That's what happens when your father is there, but not fully, when he cares, but in his own topsy-turvy way. But the important thing is: I know now, and I can work on it...
What a privilege.
Continue where he left off, because I grew up a second time, and I don't want to yearn for love that needs to be earned anymore. The past years I spent with men who were just like my father, and tried to earn their love too, and it led me to being more alone than I've ever been. But in that quiet grief some flame has awakened in me, and I rebuilt myself and now, I know something 9-year-old me, or 18-year-old me couldn't have known back then. That's my weapon: this knowing, this flame, that will keep me warm the next time I recognise my father in someone. I don’t even mind to be burned by it, as long as it reminds me of what not to do. Let the sparks burn out as I walk away, if I need to, over and over again.
I'll come home to myself now.
And there's no resentment or venom in me, just a quiet appreciation towards him, for the 18 years he allowed me to spend with him. For the lessons he taught me while he was still beside me, and all that I've been learning by myself ever since he's been gone, because it seems like it might never end. The imprint he left on me, the father-daughter bond that will affect me all throughout my life, the wound in my chest he left behind. The love I feel for him and for myself; and for the person who will take his place. The theory suggests that I don't have to work for love, don't have to earn it, and now I just want to put this theory into practice.
So I'm thinking now, full moon still in full effect, what will come back around now. I know what passed, I know the grief and what was lost, so, what now? 18 years later, I might have matured enough to be my own father. Wound less painful by now, almost fully healed, memories nostalgic and syrupy, not bitter like the drinks he used to love. I can handle the bitterness by now, too, I'll take over. Maybe the replacement I have been looking for ever since has been me the whole time... But I'm just thinking. The answer is always within us. And everything always comes back around.
