My father XI

I drove him through all of our old neighbourhoods. He pointed everything out as if I had never been there, and I let him because it's what makes him happy. My father will give me directions to places I know quite well and before I used to tune him out or shut it down but then stopped, he was a truck driver most of his existence and always knew the roads...if this gives him some sort of happiness then what do I care? This had become the main push in getting me to come home over the last few years. It holds my youth and all of it's secrets...good or bad. I can walk the halls of my school and still see a project I had done decades ago; my parents helped me for three days and I can still see us sitting at the table while they try their best not to overtake my work. We laughed at the old days and only spoke of the good times, there is no longer a place for the bad...his time is limited and he has suffered enough. I could hear him sobbing beside me...and I have to wonder if he is happy how he spent his years...

My Father X

His apartment was filled with smoke at 915am and I cracked the windows and decided to throw on a different attitude. I have this amazing defence mechanism where I prefer to fix his place and clean it to avoid visiting with him but today I dropped that. I called cousins, aunts and uncles and arranged a bbq. I wanted to get him out of his place and back into the world, maybe being around family and in the fresh air reminiscing about the years he was happy and on top of the world would give him motivation to be less of a hermit.

He gave him his grumpiest look and tried to push off the night but I wasn't having it. I didn't drive across the damn country to sit in a smoke filled cell and watch Judge Judy while slowly dying of smoke inhalation. He doesn't feel good...he never feels good. That's what slow death does, it takes everything away from you and replaces it with fear, anger, depression and pain. I'm not trying to save his life...I'm trying to save his years. I walked over and grabbed his shoes...I swear to christ he is getting in the car...

My Father IX

I laid in bed wide awake most of the night reminiscing about my relationship with my father. I missed my dad, the dad I had growing up. I try not to share my memories with anyone else, I don't want their counter memories balancing it out with everything he did wrong. The criticizing can stop, we can put to rest his flaws and mistakes whether intentional or otherwise. He's dying and I refuse to let the dark overshadow the good...there was good. He was a long haul truck driver ever since he was able to drive and I can remember him taking me for rides and pulling the float in the Christmas parades and doing everything he could to make sure I had fun and new experiences. In my memories he was always closer to my sister but only now am I able to see that he treated us the same although I was never able to recognize that while growing up. I hated their relationship and that I never had what they did but the reality is that my mother provided me with everything he couldn't...not that he didn't try, we all try as parents.


Tears started streaming down side of my face; I rolled over and snuggled in close to my daughter hoping my sobbing wouldn't wake her. My father loved me...he did the best he could. Letting go feels so good...but my children will never question my love and devotion...

My Father VIII

He can't get into the car on his own anymore and can barely climb stairs. He's fragile and he can't hide it from me. I'm not sure he should be living alone but I think he would die if he went into a care home, he would lose his will to fight back...he has so little fight left in him now. He once asked me to let him die at home because he didn't want to ever become so incapable of taking care of himself that he would need assistance. It was a sign of weakness, the beginning of the end as if the only thing that was keeping him from acknowledging his slow death was the fact that he could still live alone. Now, I don't necessarily let him get by day to day on his own because he can't drive or move around; I set him up with a guy that does his grocery shopping and my cousin goes by twice a week to take him to any appointments and out for lunch. I have a sister close by but she can't be bothered anymore so I do what I can from across the country.

I watched his hands shaking as he slurped his soup and then tears roll down his cheeks when he caught me looking...he used to be the strongest man in the world to me. I choked back my own tears thinking back to when he would pick me up with one hand and swing me around and how it felt when the times were good...

My Father VII

I lasted just over two hours. I was relieved that our visit made him tired and offered me a break for a few hours before I would take him to dinner. I flopped into the car after I secured my daughter in her seat and closed my eyes for a brief moment...no matter how angry I was at that man it breaks my heart to watch him in this condition. It's not the fact that he is dying that I find so heart breaking, it's the suffering and drawn out health concerns that makes this painful to watch...imagine how he feels. CJ barely said a word on the drive back to our place, he knows this is awful for me whether because of my relationship with my father or his condition...there isn't much left to be said anyway. At this point I want him comfortable and to know that I have moved on from the anger. It's not the exact truth but I'd rather him go with a clean heart and soul...besides I would be the only one left with regret if I didn't offer him that. I love my father...I just never much cared for him...

My Father VI

I was overcome with sadness and anger when we finally found his apartment building. The last time I saw him he was in the hospital and couldn't recognize me. He could by the time I left but initially he thought I was the nurse. He's struggled with his heart for years and recently has had two major strokes, he looks so incredible fragile. I can barely stand the look of this man anymore, he used to represent so much strength, stubbornness and safety for me...and now he struggles to walk without assistance. His stubbornness is still in tact though and it showed perfectly when I walked through the door and into a thick cloud of smoke.

He cried when he saw me, he always does. He no longer has control over his emotions and now he can't hide them, the last stroke he had took his poker face away and cursed him with always wearing his emotions up front. I hugged him and kissed the top of his head, he used to do that to me when I was just his little girl. I can remember many times that I believed my father was the greatest man on earth and now I just try to give him that one more time before his final exit. I cracked open all of his windows and went to get my daughter...she will never know him like I did but she will have all of the stories the way I remember them.

My Father V

Three days on the road should have been enough to make me want to fly out of the car and kiss the ground...but not this ground. We were staying with family friends on my mother's side because I knew my father's place was tiny and full of cigarette smoke. This man has been dying of congestive heart failure for longer than my daughter has been alive, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. He's old school, and not really the kind that believes chivalry more of the kind that thinks racism is acceptable if it's not mean...that is not an actual thing, he just likes to believe it. He's getting better though and his racist tendencies are almost all gone, I was hoping it would start after the birth of my son who is half Chinese but alas, it started when the good lord started tapping him on the shoulder. My dad isn't all bad, not all of my memories are awful or traumatizing...there was good times and happiness. But that ended the year I turned 16 years old and he left my mother after 20 years to go back to his ex wife. Maybe I took on a lot of the resentment I believed my mother held, or maybe I just knew that he was never a good husband to her...although none of you would ever be able to witness it. I try to keep that out of my mind and act accordingly because what happened was none of my business although it affected me the same.

We had the two spare rooms set up and my brother was getting the kids in the car to take us to my father's. I stood on the front step and looked over the city I had come to hate, wishing I could leave and digging to find some strength I'm not sure I even have.

My Father IV

I laid awake most of the night, partly wondering if I could just not go and partly getting ready to be there. We crossed into the United States before noon and I was ready to nap the day away. I can drive the whole way and never say a word, afraid that I'll cry and worried how I'll keep it together. I watched the road race by and listened to the kids laughing in the back while CJ sang to the radio; I laid my head on the seat and drifted in and out of my childhood...

My father III

I unloaded the car when we arrived at CJ's so it could all be repacked in the morning before we begin the road trip. I have two amazing brothers that really go out of their way to support me emotionally through my relationship with my father. It's not that I want to feel this way towards my father or going home it's that I cannot just wipe away the past and suck it up to move on...and maybe I don't want to.

I hugged my nephew as soon as he walked out of his bedroom, this kid is one of my favourite people in the universe. This is a young boy who collects bottles to exchange for money then buys food for the animal shelter...his heart is as pure as they come. I ruffled his hair and heard all about his school year and what he was looking forward to most on our trip then kissed his cheeks and let him get back to his game and playing with my daughter. I joined CJ at the table for a glass of wine and a cram session of the best way to get to my dad. I refilled my glass...12 hours to go...

My Father II

I grew up in a small city in Ontario about five hours from Toronto and even now I can barely think of it without feeling sick or depressed. I met my darkness in my home town and no matter the amount of years that pass me by, I just can't forget that one detail. It's not just my darkness that makes me leery, it's the other bad memories that pile up to make the entire trip feel like an exercise in emotional torture. I never fail to drive by the houses I used to live in and through my old neighbourhoods. I do still have some sense of fondness when I see the house I lived in when I learned to ride by bike, or the park I used to go to at least twice a day. I remember thinking it was a long walk to the park and now I can see my old house from he top of the slide and it wasn't far at all...now those places feel lost to time. The grass has overtaken the park and it appears to be the perfect metaphor for my feelings towards going home.

I stopped in Saskatchewan to pick up my brother and nephew...there is no way I could do this trip alone and luckily I don't have to....

My Father I

New York drained me this time around and I was happy to be done with the bad dates. I felt exhausted mentally and physically, which felt more like sadness than tiredness. I decided to take a month off from the Big Apple and let the love affair build again throughout longing and anticipation.

I had barely been home ten days before I was packing again anyway; it had been almost two full years since I had visited my father and he had yet to meet my daughter. I don't like going home, it's not a beautiful place...or even a kind one. I put off going back as much as I can but he's dying and I can stand the discomfort of being there over the regret of not letting him see me and my daughter. I hated him for so many years, which only made it easier to make excuses for my absence. Sometimes you just have to let go and offer silent forgiveness because life doesn't always make sense and sometimes we make the wrong decisions and forget who is affected.

I threw my things in the car and lifted my daughter into her seat...now seems like a good time to start over...

Harlem By Day...or Night XXXIV

We strolled around Harlem for a few hours in the morning and ate some amazing soul food before we were on our way back to LaGuardia. I never told Kaila about last night, she was sleeping by the time I got back to the room and when I woke I didn't even want to think about it.

I put my feet on my luggage and rested my head on the back of the chair once we made it to our gate. The week took forever and I don't think I ever did so much during one of my visits. I wasn't sad that I was leaving, I could use a dose of reality and NY hardly ever provides that. I closed my eyes and giggled uncontrollably looking back over my dates wondering if I'll ever meet a serious option while partly hoping it is always an adventure.

Harlem By Day...or Night XXXIII

I walked until it was raining too hard then I stood on the corner of 2nd and 35th hailing a cab and hoping the rain could wash away my complete embarrassment. I never understood how people could lie so much on a dating profile with the intent of actually showing up. I mean he must have been fucking eighty years old and from what I could tell needs medical assistance to perform. I felt tired of having the same shit every month in the dating world, just a different age or name or area of town but basically the same let down. The limits of my own circumstances just add roadblocks but that's okay because I'm here for experiences and nothing more.

A cab finally stopped for me...last night to watch the lights fade...