Daddy, there have been so many times I’ve wanted to post on
this blog, but there’s always a reason why I don’t. None of them are
legitimate. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. It’s been awhile now, and it’s
really hard to remember the sound of your voice sometimes.
Time passes. Leaves of paper and of autumn turn, but only
the first can be revisited with the same vividness of experience at a later
time. If only all things could be like books: reread over and over and over.
I feel so alone now, but luckily I’ve never been disposed to
feeling lonely. On second thought, I think “alone” is not as fitting a
description as “tribeless”; although surrounded by wonderful people, I seem to
belong to none. Joejoe died within months of you, and now Jim is waning, too. Before
long, three of you men—all very dear to me although you are and always will be
first—who will have breathed your last in mom’s de facto hospice house, and under
her gentle care. I am the last of our Hartigs, and soon only mom and I will
remain of my family.
I bet she really surprised you with how loving she was, caring
for you after 20 years had passed since your divorce. You used to love/hate her
so much. I understand, of course. Her intensity will drive anyone mad, but not
mad enough to truly hate her. She is one of the most caring and loving
creatures God ever planted on this festering planet.
I feel like you never felt enough love from me. That’s why I
hate this human condition so much sometimes. Nothing I could have done would
have made it so that you didn’t feel that way. Mom feels it more acutely. All
humans do in life’s winter, while the generation they beget enjoys the beauty
of spring and then the fruits of summer. I don’t have kids, of course, so I don’t
really know what I’ll pine for.
Daddy, this blog is still here for both of us. I wish you
were here instead. I miss you so much.
