48 years 68 days

On Christmas Day I outlived my father by one day. He died at 48 years plus 68 days. On Christmas Day I was 48 yrs and 69 days. Don’t do the math…its likely wrong.

Its an odd thing to be on this side of life. 

Things I know now :

48 is young as hell. I knew that then because people told me. Now however, yes. Its young. For most of my friends, children are still elementary school or growing up. Careers are settling in. Life is a blur perhaps. 

He likely didn’t know anything anymore than I do. We all fake it sometimes. I can’t imagine he was any different, even if I did and still do think he knew all. I kinda like to think that now as I sit and wonder at my own still waiting on it wisdom. Makes me laugh really.

I'm told i live with ghosts. I prefer to think of it as a cloud of witnesses. Or better yet I'm an overachiever in the parental death category. (That can be funny. Its ok)  Knowing what I know now about childhood trauma and circumstances that change in families with the death of a parent, I have done pretty well. Yes I worry. More about being left than my own health issues. I'm working on that "left behind" part. Its a lifelong issue complicated by lots of things so…. I’ve got more to go. 

By all I know, Dad was a good guy. Likely with a long fuse, which once it blew, it was gone. I relate to that. I remember having an argument but couldn’t tell you what it was about 10 minutes later. A blessing and curse perhaps.

He played jokes.

He enjoyed his family.

He enjoyed his little girl…even as she called him a “male chauvinist pig” once. (I really did! and meant it and knew what it meant). I think I heard it on Maude. He walked out to the dogwood tree at the back of the yard to apologize to me for whatever he said. The dogwood tree was the “thinking tree” for me. It was my safety so he was most assuredly coming to my place for forgiveness. So there is some humility there. Even in the face of an angry 8 yr old. My mother told that story over and over and how hard he laughed at the “chauvinist” comment. 

Until she told him I was right. 

So today, I wonder what he would have been at 86. But not for long. He remains a 48 yr old bespectacled bearded Dad (who had a goatee long before it was hipster). Who laughed and loved and kissed me goodnight. Whose last words were "Khette, its going to be ok."

Perhaps the adventure continues in a different way. He’s here somewhere.