My Father Was an Enigma

June 2014, Jamaica

After going back and forth for several weeks and weighing the options, the decision was made on whether or not I would attend my Dad's funeral...

At the time, it felt like such a huge decision, and it weighed heavily on me. There were many reasons not to go, but so many more reasons why I should go. I talked to The Hubs, my mom, my sister, my cousin and close friends. Many gave their opinions freely, and some felt the decision was mine to make. The Hubs told me I had to go. I love that about him! No matter what, he always wants me to do the right thing.

Honestly, the decision wasn't made until days before the funeral. That's how much I struggled with it. And to some people, this may seem crazy. How could I not attend my father's funeral??? Had our situation been any different, had my Dad been there and been present, this wouldn't even be a question. But. That wasn't our story.

So, in the end.  I went. With my sister. It was the right thing to do, and I don't regret going. It was a small service, at a little church in Kingston, Jamaica. Most of the people who attended were his co-workers. He had worked at his job for 22 years. They shared stories of a dependable employee who always went the extra mile. They said he was dedicated, trustworthy, loyal, always early and always willing to go the extra mile.  It was great hearing all these wonderful attributes about my father. I'm glad he gave his best at his job. During the service I wondered, who is this man they're talking about? I remember my father being absent at some of my most important milestones. I begged him to come to my high school graduation, but he was a no-show. And after he moved back to Jamaica, we didn't speak for many many years.  He would miss many more important parts of my life, including my college graduation, wedding, birth of my son and so many many other big little moments.

I felt his void countless times.  Every time I saw a father-daughter pair, or a grandfather with his grandson.  I was wistful for what should have been. 

I can't remember when this picture was taken. I don't even remember this moment. It looks like we were at my Aunt Bev's house in Miami. We use to visit in the summer when we lived in Jamaica.  I'm guessing I was maybe seven or eight years old. And that would make my sister, nine or ten. I'm not even quite sure what we're doing...dancing maybe? But one...okay two...things are for sure. My childhood, with my dad, did have some moments of laugh out loud joy. And two. Dang! I was such skinny kid!

There are so many unanswered questions I have about my Dad. Why was he such a mystery? Why was he so absent when I was growing up? Why wasn't he a better husband and father? Why didn't he call me more? Why was he such a lousy dad? I suspect I may never get the answers to these questions. And it's questions like these that make his passing so complicated and so difficult.

I thought going to his funeral would give me some much needed closure, but I'm finding that's not the case at all. I feel the grieving process for me is quite different from the grieving process of someone who was a lot closer to their dad. I still have my moments of sadness, and I'm sure I will continue to for some time to come. 

I hate that a lot of my memories of my dad are not good ones. It's funny how the brain holds on to memories and tucks them away for safe-keeping. I wish I could remember the happier moments because I have to believe there were many more. That's why I love this picture of my Dad, my sister and me. It's one of a happier time. And that's what I want to remember most. 

Rest in peace, Daddy.