Happy Birthday to a Dead Man

I deleted an email once.

I regret it now.

Now that I think about it, there were two emails that I wish I would have saved.

One of them tied me to him, and both of us to family who came before. Funny how that never seemed important to me. I grew up in an abusive home. Love wasn’t something I associated with family. Consequently, family history was NOT something I understood.

An urge to connect with family before my family …. why was that a good idea? Simply leads to more souls born into families who broke and brainwashed them so that they could then go on to do the same to their children, and so on and so on.

But now I find I’m simply curious. I found a photo of his mother. And I wondered… Who was she? What was she like? Was she tough love or sweet, strict or a secret grinner? Did she like to ride horses? To sing? How did she treat him? What did he think of her?

I guess I won’t find out until I too, am dead and gone from this probationary life.

If I had kept that email…

He sent photos of relatives. People who tied him to people. So they tied to me too.

Curious now. I don’t really know exactly what I feel or what I think entirely. Simply curious.

 

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“Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God, do you learn.”

C. S. Lewis

 

The second email tied his compassion for me to my spine. Forever wrapping me in the certainty that what was important to me, was important to him.

It was a list.

One I wish I had now.

Nothing huge. But important to me.

You see, Papa was great at psychology. He sent me a list of all the best to read if I was interested in psychology. I was. But I didn’t have eyes to see or ears to hear. I had no heart to feel with, to live with. I was slowly shutting down. Done with living inside a porcelain suit.

Here I am now, regretting that deletion. I am interested in it again. Want to breathe life into the marrow I carry.

I’m left remembering a list in an email that I can never get back.

 

Grief is funny like that.

The things we remember.

I wanted to make an upside down pineapple cake. It was his favorite. Today is the first birthday of his where he is there and I am here. On two different sides of the veil. I don’t have the money though. Perhaps Christmas then. Or Thanksgiving. Yeah. I think that’s a better idea anyway. I’d prefer to eat it on a happier day. One where we can celebrate.

Not that his life isn’t worth celebrating. But it’s the first birthday where he isn’t here, you know? There’s too much grief still. It seems to creep over the good memories and tint them in something grey and

 

He was a great cook. Was a professional chef for a while.

He would have had the best recipe. Would’ve known to teach me the best way to cook it.

Why didn’t I ask him?

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Happy birthday Papa. 83 years today.

I will see you again. You’re in trouble then. Stuck teaching me all your cooking and psychology tips.

See you then.

 

“I think about her everyday. It does get better, Hotch. Losing someone is never easy… but one day, you’ll remember her and you won’t hurt.”

Jennifer Jareau from Criminal Minds

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3 Comments

Filed under The Odd Bit

3 responses to “Happy Birthday to a Dead Man

  1. Big hug, and much admiration, from a total stranger who wishes you ice cream and love.

  2. Powerful and so true. Still feels like yesterday when he passed. Still feel the gried and regret. Just proud to know that we can make changes and really love our families and learn all we can about them. Thanks for being brave and being honest. Love ya big sis ♥️

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