I have a picture I keep on my computer here at work. Gran sent it to me,
about a year ago, it's a picture of her, her nephew, and her son. It was
one of the last pictures to be taken of my father before he died, and in it he
looked happy. Genuinely, positively, happy.

For a short while after his passing she sent me quite a few pictures. It's funny in a way, because before he died, I couldn't pry anything out of her about him...not a word, not a single photograph, not a peep. She was silent as a stone where he was concerned. I think in her grief, reaching out to me was a way to somehow connect with her lost son...I don't know. But if she only knew just how much of her boy was in his long lost daughter, she'd be amazed. It amazes me every time I find out more about him.

Your words to me just a whisper; your face is so unclear

I try to pay attention; your words just disappear

I don't really remember much about my father. The day we met, it's mostly all a blur to me now. I don't even remember the name of the place we were at. I remember the look on his face when we first walked in, I remember somehow ending up at a booth, I remember our hands being palm-to-palm and him remarking how much I look like my brother.

The rest? Like a videotape that has been erased, recorded over. I know he was unhappy. He was a man who's life held no joy; he had nothing and nobody. He was angry at my mother too. That was painfully obvious. Old resentments, old hurts, he still had plenty.

Cause it's always raining in my head;

forget all the things I should have
said

But it wasn't until after he passed away that winter that I really, truly got to know the man. As my Aunt stood up there and gave a truly wonderful memorial speech, I was amazed at just how much I am my father's daughter. From the little things he liked, to his dramatic personality, to his very snarky and blunt way of speaking, to his intolerance of stupid people and his hating being the center of attention and being around crowds of people. We both are cat lovers, he thought dogs are for idiots, I think my dog IS an idiot.

He was a very straight forward and no-b.s. individual. I am too...most of the time. Although I did inherit a very emotional streak from my mother, and a tendency to hide from my emotions, I will give her that. When it comes to my problems, I avoid, avoid, avoid.

Cause I can't take any more of this; I wanna come
apart

And dig myself a little hole inside your precious
heart

The whole point of this post?

I miss my father. I miss a man I never knew, never had a chance to know. I am mad at adoption, mad at death, mad at myself for never trying hard enough, never doing or saying the right things, just, never being GOOD enough.

My father drank himself to death. He was depressed, angry, and felt he had nothing left to live for. Could I have changed that? Could I have given him a reason to want to go on living? Possibly, I don't know, but could I have at least tried a little harder to be in his life?

Cause I talk to you like children, though I don't know how I
feel

But I know I'll do the right thing, if the right thing is
revealed

I could have. I SHOULD have. But I am a chicken, I am always afraid. I was afraid of him and afraid of my family. Afraid of looking like a fool, of being too pushy, of being to 'needy' or emotional or whatever. I doubted myself to the nth degree. And still I do, even with my mother. I am the biggest wuss you'll ever meet.

I'm so sorry, father, for not being there for you. I wish so much that I could have done something, anything, to let you know what you mean to me. Maybe you didn't know it but you were loved, you still are.

Just too bad it has to be by your inadequate daughter.