Tuesday, April 6, 2010

10 Years

I have talked about my dad Mike recently, and I don't have much to add right now. I hesitate to even write anything, lest I overuse the subject or paint a picture that I am still in constant grief, or that I am unhappy with my family, with my parents, with my life. I feel very comfortable with who I am, with where I am. But I do grieve his loss, and I feel compelled to put something on paper (figuratively), because today is the anniversary of his death.

Ten years.

I wish for an afternoon with him. I want him to know about us, about how we are doing. So much has changed since then, with our family, with our world. We've had two presidents, a terrorist attack, a war. High school, college. We've grown up, moved out. Matt and I graduated, moved to Chicago. Joe's in college. I fell in love. I'd say that we're doing ok- but it's more then that. We're making our way in the world, independently. Together. We're happy.

There is so much about us I wish he knew, and so much about him that I wish I knew.

Did he understand the depths of his struggle? Of ours today?

Ten years.

When I remember him, I can smell the patchouli, see his flannel and jeans, Carhart jacket. I see the camper, his campsite, the Bait & Tackle store. I think of Godfather's Pizza, his giant coffee mug, the gray Dodge Ram.

Despite it all... I loved him. And I still do.

You know? He was my dad. As messed up as he was, as unkind, with as much baggage... I loved him.

Ten years.

I like to think that he is up there, somewhere, looking down on us, Old Style in hand, having one of those big laughs of his, thinking we're doing pretty damn well.

"No one is truly dead, until they are no longer loved"

-Theophile Gautier

Michael Ives Maloney 3/13/48-4/6/00

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