I wish you could’ve met my dad.
I find myself saying this phrase over and over throughout my life. As I grow older, meet new people, and experience new things, I wish my dad was here to experience them with me.
I wonder what it would be like to take him to the Hamilton for a hotchee dog, or show him around my theatre.
I wish that he could be here to give me advice about the future.
I will always wonder what my experiences would’ve been like if I could spend them with him. There are so many things that I wish he was here to see and experience and talk about.
I wonder what he’d think of me. Of who I’ve become.
When he died, I was still in The Salvation Army. I was still an officer. Still a Christian. Still…in the closet.
I wonder what he’d think of me. Of who I’ve become. Of my girlfriend. Of my beliefs.
I think of him often. And sometimes I feel slightly silly, having conversations in my head with someone whose opinion I can no longer ask, whose reactions I’ll never really know….questioning my choices because of words I only hear in my head.
I can’t remember what his voice sounds like any more. I used to be able to hear it in my dreams, but it’s been too long now.
I wonder where he is now. I don’t know what happens to us when we die…I wonder if he knows what I’m up to, or if he just….ceased to exist.
I wonder if he watches me…shakes his head when I do something senseless, laugh when I make trouble…smiles at the fact that I’m standing on my own two feet. I wonder, if there’s a heaven and if he’s in it…….if he tells the other angels about me, if he shares the stories of the girl I used to be, and the woman I’ve become.
I wonder if he is proud of me…if he would be proud of me, if he was still alive.
He’s been gone a long time, but there are days when it feels like he might just drive up in his truck and ask me to go for a ride with him. I wonder what he’d say to me, if he had the chance. What I’d say to him….
I wonder if he would tell me to keep writing, to never let my words die, even if my hopes sometimes do. I wonder if he would tell me that I made the right decision to leave the army. I wonder if he would say that he always knew I liked girls, or if I’d even have the guts to tell him….
I think about him when it’s stormy. When the sky is gearing up for a thunderstorm, I think about him out on the porch waiting for the wind. I think about how stormy our relationship was at times…and how, just like at the end of the storms we used to watch in Ohio, our relationship ended up refreshed and peaceful.
I really wonder what he’d think of me today. Of my one-bedroom apartment above a bar. Of my blankets sprawled across my bed and the cat I share my life with. Of the woman I love and the relationships I’ve built, of the words I write that sometimes seem so close to me it’s like my heart is leaking out across the page.
I wonder if he’d read my blog if he were still alive. If he would still tell me to shut my mouth when I’m being sassy. If he would approve of the music I listen to or the company I keep…..
I wonder if he’d still love the me I’ve become.
I hope he would see how happy I am now.
Days like today, I listen to the cars rushing by on the busy streets. I stare out my office window at the storm clouds, thinking about him. Thinking about us. Thinking about what might have been.
I wrack my brain, attempting to string together moments and memories, trying to discern what he’d think of me, if he’d accept me….
Who he was as a person….
And what our story might look like if he drove up and asked me to go for a drive tonight…..