my dad.

i think about my dad's last moments in the hospital. the end of life.
when we die, we no longer exist. and it makes me question, what existence even means. do we ever even exist at all?
when i think about the size of us as individuals, compared to this space rock we sustain life on,
i think about this world big enough for sooo many of us to live our lives, and how small this planet really is in relation to the universe. our planet is just a speck in these vast cosmos. so what are we?
my father was the black sheep of his family.
as i understand, me, being a mixed ethnicity love child, product of an interracial relationship,  i am partially the justification for that.
my dad loved my mother, then me, and then my little sister. in that order.
he didn't care about his family and their prejudice, judgement and hatred.
although it caused me pain for years to not be loved or acknowledged by my dad's entire family i eventually came to realize that the love my dad gave me was more than enough to cover what i thought i was missing from them. and that the loss is theirs.
when i say eventually i mean a at the age of 20 while i was "away" at kean university i had to drive (just over a half hour away) to my father to get his signature on a document for financial aid. when he told me i would have to stop by his parents home instead of him meeting me somewhere nearby the thought of having to be in their presence after all those years just broke me down. i seriously cried my eyes out my dorm room shower. at some point during my emotional breakdown my suitemate, one of my dear friends, returned to the room and when i say she was there for me, that is an understatement. she rolled up and took the ride with me, after she helped me get myself together.
as a young child, i remember asking my dad questions. as we sat on the perimeter of the pool, our legs in the water at the sea shell motel during one of our annual summer wildwood trips, i asked my dad why his parents didn't love me and my sister. i remember my dad telling me something along the lines of them not even loving him and that as long as we loved each other, it was all good. it took me many years to really understand that he was right.
when we arrived to his parents house, my suitemate stayed in the car. i went to the door to get my dad to come outside. for all of five minutes i was in the presence of my grandparents, and i realized: of course they didn't love me, they didn't even know me. but they were missing the love of a grandchild i was not missing the love of a grandparent AT ALL. my maternal grandmother, my nani, gave me more love than anyone could ever need in this lifetime. and when my mom got married, i got more loving grandparents, especially my beloved gpa. as i stood in the foyer, just inside the closed door, away from the evening chill, i looked at these people. these "grandparents" of mine. a grandfather who always seemed more cool than the grandmother, whose name i do not even know. all the anxiety i felt prior to leaving campus, disappeared. i saw two people who would never know the love of the grandchildren they didn't want to acknowledge. twenty years old & it all made sense. my dad had put on his jacket and we went outside where he spent a few moments talking to me and my friend presley until the jersey night air became too much for all of us and our hoodies. it was almost hoodie weather, but after a half hour passed it was just too cold.
i wish i understood earlier in life, that we (my mother, my sister and i) were all my father had. i wish i understood earlier that even though he had a couple girlfriends over the years, essentially my sister and i were his family, we were his life and everything he did- he did with us in mind. i wish i understood all that earlier in life so that i would have been more understanding. at times i thought my dad was just calling to bug me or i would not speak to him after a little disagreement or argument. however, i am glad i came to understand at all.
of course now, as i sit here, i wish my dad was sitting next to me playing his guitar. i can hear him in my memories playing "sitting on the dock of the bay" by otis redding on a wildwood boardwalk bench. i can even remember the waves crashing in the back, beyond the sounds of the morey's piers attractions. in my memories i am sitting next to my blue eyed old man, me deeply tanned skin with the faintest freckles and wild curls. me and my daddy at the beach.
if we even exist at all: my dad, albeit recently deceased from this earth, will exist as long as i exist.
because, as much as i would have hated to admit all these years, i am very much like my father.
part of who i am as a person is due to my father, and he and i are each other.
people always say to the grieving, as a comfort with condolences, that the person you love will always be with you, even though they are deceased. i can say, i know this to be true.
my daddy passed away on january 3rd of this year, to cancer.
after leaving voicemails on his cell phone, every other day for over two months i learned of his passing on march 15th. in retrospect, i admit i knew every time that i left a voicemail that my daddy would not receive it. my soul knew. i willed myself to believe that he lost his cell phone or lost the charger. when i came to learn the circumstances and reality, it was a confirmation of what i already knew but didn't want to accept.
on this little speck of planet, in these vast cosmos, i experienced something that unfortunately not everyone gets to experience: the love and the bond that a daughter can share with her father. our relationship, much like our lives, was no where near perfect. i remember many times we hung up on each other while arguing over the phone, but i remember more hugs and kisses than i remember arguments. and all the love we shared was perfect enough.
my daddy will remain a part of me, even when i myself am gone from life on this earth. our souls are connected. our bond infinite love.