I found out yesterday that my father is dying. I'm not really sure how I feel about it. I guess I'll try to get some of it out, but I'm not really sure if I want to get into it. I hear that's a lot like him. I hear he's pretty charming and outgoing, but closed about those serious things.
I spent 10 years convincing myself I was not him. I know he was in a great deal of pain that he made for himself-like me. I haven't thought about these issues in a long time. I think of him, but mostly in anecdotes or parables. I don't really know the guy.
It's been a long time since we spoke and I don't really regret that. All of this sounds formal. I guess I don't have another approach but the insulation of polite.
I'm not equipted for this. I think I'd rather keep on creating small dramas and easily resolved issues than this. These more palpable aches, these unimagined parts of life upset me. I have to face this and I'd rather make up some stories and songs.
I don't know how to feel about any of this. I guess I understand the guy better than I want to. It took a long time to put space between that knowledge and actual being. I, like him, drink heavily. We share a very self absorbed world view, tempers, ego, eye color, poor relationship track records, methods of coping.
Is that the bridge to the innate moat between fathers and sons? Repetition?
Are any of us who we want to be? Is this just a big part of being a grown up, facing all the ugly things we are? That final reckoning, facing things like who we are? Turning into exactly who we wanted to not be.
But I seperated, didn't I? I own my mistakes, right? I didn't inherit every thing. These failings are my own. My mother tells me that we never got along, my father and I. When he would come home I would leave the room.
I just don't know how to feel.
I guess I better say goodbye-if I can look into that abyss; that mirror.