To My Dad on His 54th Birthday
I’m here. Barely, sometimes. One day I’ll tell you all the things you want to know. But that day is not today.
Sometimes I go walk at Lake Ella, like you used to do with me when I was a baby and my mom had just left us. I feel so close to you then, knowing my footfalls cover the same tread yours did. Our hearts both heavy, weighing us down.
I want you to know I am okay. I’m going to be okay.
You can’t blame yourself any longer for me not having a mother in my life. MawMaw has been more Mother than anyone really needs in her life - she’s been wonderful. Over the years, I found myself bonding so quickly with older women in my life: my aunts, my partners’ mothers, women at work. I looked for in them what I perceived I was always missing by not having mother.
But then I realized that what I was looking for inside of these women all of these years was inside of me all along. And I’m strong, Dad, I am. And that’s because of you. Thanks for being my dad.
I’ll tell you what’s going on one day. But not right now. Because now I need to call you and tell you happy birthday.
Happy Birthday, Dad.