Heavy box of Dad’s cremains, cloaked in a burgundy velvet bag, on my lap. Reassuringly heavy. Look up in corner of room at a still spider. Is that you, Dad? How do you see us? Can you see all of us, all the time? Can you zone out? Why would you care about our minutiae anymore? Or do you just know it all, all the time?
Reed said his dad died on December 27th. Is it contagious?
Parity is the word we use in our family when the evening outdoor temperature finally reaches the indoor one, and we can turn off the air conditioner and open the doors and windows.
This week parity was the word I thought of when my father and stepmother had their final divorce reconciling in court. My father “won” and my stepmother “lost” and there was a bit of gloating and bit of resignation and relief. But I’m wrong, there is no parity. How do we place a value on the lifetime of hurt he’s given us? Will he ever know? Is this just a slap in the face reminder of the need for forgiveness and moving on?
Waited too late yesterday, and today he was already incognito when I rang at 8:30 pm. What kind of father is unavailable to talk to his daughter at 8:30 pm? A passed out one…
Time to call dad. Week before last he’d taken off from his house on Thanksgiving morning to check out NYC apartments. No need to tell anyone where he’s going, right? He works best alone. Best not to call after 8pm east coast time. Sobriety uncertain.
Break or Knot 