#fatherstuff

exactly sixteen years ago today, my father died. there isn't much to say, because there isn't anything that i remember.

i don't remember the last words he said, or how he sounded when he spoke, or the way that he laughed. i don't remember how he held me or threw me, smiling, up in the air to catch me. i don't remember if i ever said his name, or told him that i loved him. it was two weeks after my second birthday, and i was too young for those moments to stick.

and so i can't really say that i miss him. because you can't miss something you don't remember. but i can be sad for the father that i'll never have. that i've never known. and for the friend that he could have been, and the things he could have taught me.

and it bothers me that i'll never know if his death was accidental, as i've been told, or if he knew what he was doing, and that by dying, he'd leave us with VA benefits and checks that put my sister and i through college, and took care of us when he couldn't.

and it bothers me to know that if i hadn't been born, as i wasn't indended to be, he wouldn't have gotten sicker. and things might have been different.

and it's been sixteen years, and these things will never go away. but it's on february first that they bother me most. and i get in this weird mood that's hard to shake off. and i guess it makes sense. i just wish i didn't have to feel this way.