If I call home
Her: I took Monday off.
Me: Thank you – you’re the best.
Mouse came by over the weekend to keep me company, like always. My dad died three years ago, you see…
It’s hard to believe it’s been three years.
We had a really nice weekend, which I suppose I’ll tell you about later.
Every year it gets a bit easier, which makes me feel guilty that it gets easier. I was angry at my father in the years before he died. Angry about things I suppose sons get angry with their fathers for.
He loved me, though, so I’m sure he forgave me and my petty nonsense. I’m not sure if I forgive myself, though.
I wasn’t with my dad all that much in the years before he died – cause I spent so much time with Alison trying to save her – sometimes, I feel that if I call home, he’ll pick up.
Even though I know he won’t.
Home. It’s a odd word.
Chad and a buddy Chuck just walked out the door. They came by because Chuck’s heading home after a decade-and-a-half of NYC living. That’s his story, not mine, so I’ll end it there.
I envy him, though, in a way. He has a home to go back to.
The thing with me’s that I am home. I have no place to return to because I’m already here. The only home I’ve know for the past quarter of a century is this one.
My mom and sis still live in my childhood home but it’s not home to me. It doesn’t feel like home anymore.
Then again, in a lotta ways, this place doesn’t either, I guess. Alison isn’t here. My son isn’t here.
Harold’s still here but that’s besides the point.
In any case, this singer named Lauv has a song called, Modern Loneliness that opens with the lines:
I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout my father lately
The person that he made me
The person I’ve become
And it ends:
Modern loneliness, we’re never alone
But always depressed, yeah
For some reason I found it very apropos
this past weekend the past three years.
Man, dad, I miss you. You woulda loved the kid. He’s so great. I’m sorry he didn’t get to know you and you didn’t get to know him.
He’s so great.