Everybody seems to want to talk and reassure me lately but the fact of the matter is? I don't want to talk so I walked around my neighborhood with my hands in my hooded sweatshirt and looked at the moon. When I was little. I do remember a few nights where I'd just sit out with my dad and we'd look at the moon. It dawned on me tonight, my first word was 'daddy'. My second word was 'moon' and my third word was 'airplane.' It's rather uncanny to me how these words have had such a significant impact on my life.
For one, if any of you know me at all... you'll know that my dad has always been my rock. He's my whole foundation and every ounce of goodness that I have in my life, has been a direct attribute of him. I guess moon would be symbolic of my imagination and how easily it is fo me to find those escapisms in my mind... and because I'm well traveled and my ability to just up and go, I'd say that airplane is a perfect third word.
I guess it's kind of leaked that my dad isn't doing too well and it makes me unstable and worries me more than anything that has ever worried me in my life. I remember after my dad had a heart attack, I called my best friend Alex and asked him if it was alright if I stayed with him for two weeks to clear my head. He welcomed the idea most enthusiastically and I had a wonderful time. Yet, regardless of where I am the terrifying thought lingers, How could I possibly function if my dad no longer existed? Every time that thought enters my brain I try to stifle it immediately because I can't breathe, my heart starts racing and everything gets really fuzzy. I remember once, my dad and I talked about the agony one would feel if they lost a child... but the thought of losing my dad has always sat in my belly like boulder. If you look at my post on June 2, let it be known that after I denounced God... after that conversation I had with my father about controlling one's destiny, he went home to Germany and had a heart attack... he told me God was trying to give him signs, that taking my mom back was going to kill him... coincidentally, that happened...
I'm trying to focus, like I'm trying my best to have the most amazing life I can but sometimes I feel like I'm in a dream and can't wake myself up... or I can't manipulate the monsters and make the best of a situation beyond my control. Then I lose myself in a psuedo world and think... I wish dragons were real, because then I'd be an emerald drake and I could make my papa all better. I always want to fix things... and I guess that's why I play a druid. I never really thought of why... I just like to make people better. I guess it makes sense too because my life long dream is to rehabilitate great apes.
I'm the happiest I ever have been in my life... I'm certainly not my healthiest but I've developed a more optimistic attitude about the world. I just can't help but succumb to insignificants every now and then because it's easier to focus on that and ignore the initial problem to begin with. I can let men enrage me and push people away. I can ignore the advice from my doctors and watch my health deplete because they're all perfectly distracting... and not permanent but when my dad is dead? Nothing can be done and I feel like if it were physically possible, I'm sure my heart would blackhole and I'd wander around aimlessly like a ghost.
As if it were any easier, I decided to fight with my dad... I know it doesn't make sense but I figured being angry with him would make me less fearful and morose. I told my dad he was going to die along the same path of Prufrock... hesitant, cowardly and without ever knowing what it is to love anybody because he never loved my mom. I know it made his heart hurt physically and emotionally... and while I said those things I felt myself ripping in half and I'd never cried quite as hard for anything ever. It didn't make things easier at all.
I forgot about father's day this year because I was distracted. Kristen had just left and I was packing for my long trip to Los Angeles. But I remember a few father's days ago. I got my dad a blank father's day car. It had a papa penguin and a little fuzzy baby penguin nestled between his legs. I wrote him a really long letter on how much he's impacted my life for the better and that I found the blank penguin card because it's a known fact that papa penguins are one of the most extreme and loving father's in the animal kingdom. I just recollected on my favorite memories of him, and how I remembered running towards his legs and swinging between them when I was little.
I remember how he used to hang out with me when I was a little girl and we'd talk about the universe and infinity when I was four. My daddy used to make up stories just for me when it was bed time. My favorite was a story he made up about a giraffe named Williger. Williger was the meanest giraffe in Africa. When all the animals tried to drink from water holes, he'd charge at them and hit them with his long neck. So the animals plotted against him and filled the watering hole with jello. We used to go on these long road trips in Europe and I'd always sit behind my mom so we could hold hands. When my dad left the country, and he did this often, I'd stay awake at night by myself and wonder if people were supposed to feel so lonely at night... and I'd wonder where God was. I guess it's because I was always misunderstood as a child, kids didn't get me and before my brother could talk... I always lived in my head and my dad was my best friend.
I have a set plan now, and when I last talked to my dad he was pleased and told me he hopes I start writing again soon. He also says how at peace he is with his death... it never sits right with me.
I guess I just had to write this all down so I could bury it... everything I write I bury lately, it's like taking the weight of guilt and putting it away and sitting on it. It isn't meant to be good writing, it's just better than crying. I don't know what else to say...
so I'll just say... moon.
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