Looking Back

I am sitting here listening to the song “unsent” which came up at a conversation this evening over dinner. I realized that I have very successfully shut out the past of my life. I can see into the great beyond and what happened but I have no clear sight lines and I feel disconnected from it all. In the muddle of memories I do recall the back porch of my house on Broadway. I loved the back porch. It was the place I sat with my Father and watched thunderstorms. It was the place my sister and I escaped to when being inside the house was more than we could handle. It was the same place my other sister joined us when she got home.

I remember raccoons joining us as well. And my Father so brave and unflinching as the raccoon and her family explored the porch and the possibility of breaking into the cage that housed my guinea pigs. I knew my little guinea pigs were safe; my Father was out there. I also remember watching TV out there and jumping the rocks in the rock garden instead of taking the stairs. My Mother frowned on that and one day I torn open my shin and understood her frown a little better. I also remember the glow of my Father’s cigarette and how thin he was and how strong he was.

I recalled him very clearly this evening while I was lying in bed. I was reading and for some reason, I think a cemetery scene in the book, I was taken to his place in the cemetery. I imagined going there and standing over his grave, silently willing him to answer my questions and tell me what to do. Then I would look over my shoulder and there he would be. In those pants that did not fit him, pulled tight with an old worn belt. He would be wearing the T-shirt with the picture of my niece on it; it was so worn out but he kept it and wore it. I had to stop myself, control the image because he was coming in so clear I thought just maybe I would get to see him again. I can hold that imagine in my mind but I am not ready to see him standing in front of me again. I would be swept away.

It takes some form of energy inside me to stand at the edge of this image and not let go. Like pushing down a scream you really want to release. Sometimes, when people leave you there is a space left there that time cannot fill. There are moments when you are unaware of it, you move along doing your thing and then suddenly there it is again, a gap where that person used to be. The phones calls you no longer receive, the jokes that go untold and the advice and support you want so much but cannot hear unless you stop, hold your hand up and listen real close.

I am only sure of this void, the void created by my Father’s death. I recall how the world was suddenly bigger and more dangerous and how I could not figure out why everyone was just going about their business. I remember wanting a day to pretend that it did not happen and having that taken suddenly when my cell phone rang. We had to bury my Father by sundown Monday so I had to meet my family at the funeral home. I do not recall a time, other than the evening before my Father died, that I ever publicly displayed with total abandon my raw emotions. I made a call to Mother and spoke to her threw a torrent of tears and anguish as I walked myself home. I feel that torrent now but it stays in its place inside.

I have no idea what this all means. Remembering. Being blocked from remembering. But I am thinking now of my Mother who, I am sure, would give anything to remember. Age is a cruel partner that walks within us all. It is almost 3am and I am awake. I am tired now and probably could drift off to sleep. I am not sure I will just yet. I need time to settle and perhaps a third bowl of Cap’n Crunch, comfort food to get me through to the morning. The AC is back on and working its magic inside my apartment. I am deeply grateful. Tonight, I will sleep under my comforter in the warmth of my dreams.