*crossposted at livejournal. 2003-01-14 1:13 a.m.*

my grandma sent my mom this thing of dad's. well... start over.

my mom visited my dad's mom the day after he died, and she told her to take anything she wanted, and to take some stuff for me. mom took a shirt that she had given him for herself and a model truck, a pocket watch, and some cufflinks for me. the things i got are relatively new. i keep them next to my bed and my cat likes to knock them over.

so when i was home, mom got a thing from grandma. i feel like there was something else in there, but what she gave to me, and i keep in the envelope is an award i gave my dad when i was about 8 years old. it's a rather impersonal thing, really, a lot of the stuff it's for is stuff that applies more to a high schooler than a little kid, but it was an award for world's best dad, which was the important thing to me at the time. i think i gave mom one, as well.

mom and i moved out for the first time when i was 10, and dad and his friend jamie (who fascinated me with stories of being a roadie for milli vanilli, and who sang "redemption song" at the memorial service) drove a truck of stuff up to wisconsin for us, a couple of days after we had left. the house that we had lived in had 3 houses on the property and my family lived in the smallest house, kind of wedged between the other two. the landlady and her family had moved into the big house, but then her son started showing signs of schizophrenia so she started travelling to costa rica to try and set up some sort of place where they could live and he could heal. so the main house was shared between some of the kids, one of the landlady's friends, and her kids. the 3rd house became the place where the landlady lived when she was in the country.

while my dad was in wisconsin helping us move into my grandparents' house, the son escaped from jail, where he was from stealing a car, and came to the house and burned it all down. our house was completely gone except for part of the kitchen and a locked metal box. in the metal box was dad's birth certificate, a picture of me, and the award. it had been in a plastic frame, and the plastic was all melted and the paper is warped and brown. my dad kept that with him everywhere he's been, and i think, outside of some clothes, it's the only thing he had with him when he died that was at all old.

i don't doubt that he loved me. sometimes i wish i'd loved him hard enough to save him. even though... that was impossible, and i've learned to love myself enough to know that i had to step away some or go crazy. but he's gone now. and i'd trade this money to have him back... but i don't know if i'd trade this acceptance and understanding that i have to have him back. because if he was back, he'd still be miserable. and i wouldn't know how to help him.

i wish i could talk to him, though. what i wouldn't give to talk to a happy healthy my dad.

*listening to: *
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