Rough Months
The end of January and the beginning of February are rough times for me. My father’s birthday is 29 January and the anniversary of his death is 4 February. My brother and I typically get together for dinner to celebrate our father’s birthday and to keep his memory alive. With COVID I do not know if we will be going out this year.
Why is this time of the year so hard for me you may ask? My father was locked up from the time I was 7 until he passed away 13 years ago now. When I was younger I would write him letters all the time to tell him what was going on in my life and how school was going. As I got older and got into sports and started to have my own life the letters to him slowed down. Since I was young and not able to drive my visits with him were very few. Prior to me leaving for the Air Force I went to visit him but did not know what to talk about and it felt really awkward to me. Now that he is gone I wish that I could go back and do things over again. I wish that I could have his visits as part of my schedule. I wish that he was here to meet my son. I know that he would have loved to see my son grow up and to be a grandfather.
When I started going to therapy I talked to her about how I felt that my father abandoned me. He made choices that led to him being taken out of my life physically. He made choices that caused him to not be there for the important moments in my life. I felt that his life was more important than being there to raise his children. I had these feelings but at the same time I felt bad that I did not make more of an effort to see him when I was able to drive. I felt bad that my letters to him had slowed so much that they were practically nonexistent. I go through and read the letters that he wrote to me and towards the end he seemed so sad that I was not making an effort to communicate with him. He said things like, “I know you have your own life but I would really like to see you or hear from you.” “Do you know when you will be able to come visit?” “I can get you a ride up here so you do not have to worry about that.” I held on to my anger that he was not there for me when I was growing up so I did not make an effort to go visit him.
When I went to visit him with one of his cousins he told me that he had a cough that had been going on for a while. The doctors just kept giving him cough medicine but he was not getting any better. He went for a biopsy and they found out that he had lung cancer. The cancer had progressed rapidly and was at a stage 4 and there was nothing that they could do for him but to make him comfortable while he lived out the rest of his life. He was moved to the infirmary (the hospital in the jail).
The last time that I saw him in person was 1 January 2008. My mom, brother and I went to visit him because we knew that he did not have much time left. When we got there to see him he was so skinny and did not look like himself at all. This man that I was looking at was not the man that I saw just a few months earlier. He was so skinny that you could see his bones and moving around in the chair to try to get comfortable was painful. He would wince in pain with every movement. We got to visit with him for what seemed like not long enough. The visit was very casual since it was in the infirmary. There was no tables or shackles. We were allowed to touch him and hug him. When we left there that day I could feel the pain that he felt in his heart watching us walk away. I just wanted more time with him.
4 February 2008 I got a text message from my mom while I am at work saying that he was gone. It did not hit me at first and I was prepared to remain at work for the rest of the day. My supervisor made me leave for the day to be with my family. When I got in the car to head home it finally hit me that he was gone and that I would not be able to see him anymore. That I would not get anymore letters from him. That he did not know that I was pregnant and that he was going to be a grandfather. He would never get to meet his grandson and my son would never get to meet his grandfather. All of these realizations broke me down. I started to cry and continued to cry for the entire hour drive home. I felt a little comfort in knowing that my mom wrote him a letter telling him that I was pregnant and he had received it and read it before he passed away.
