9 Years to the day…and it hasn’t gotten any easier…
I was wondering, when Monday rolled around, why I was starting to feel odd. Not sick. Headaches, but that is normal for me anymore. It didn’t click, until I looked at the date.
June.
The 22nd.
The headaches always gain momentum leading up to this day. I get into a deep deep funk. I’m normally a ball of boundless energy, but this time every year I tend to get grounded out. It’s like I’m flying circles around the world and an anchor spews forth from the earth and wraps around the recesses of my mind and pulls me into a nosedive. Anywhere from 3 to 5 days leading up to this, I feel useless. Utterly and Totally Useless. A waste.
Today is the day. The 24th. As I write this, Van Halen’s 1984 album washes over me like an auditory baptism. It does wonders not only for my mind, but my body, my soul. A connection to my Dad. One of the few that I have and treasure.
9 years to the day. Just when we started actually getting along like father and son, (Dare I say, even friends?), he was no longer a part of this world I’m in.
9 long years. It never gets easy. I say time and again, time doesn’t heal all wounds, it just makes the scars fade slightly with each passing.
My mind is a jumble of everything.
An enigmatic mess.
I want to run away like I did that night. Screaming no. Crying out to anyone and anything. Not when we were so close. Not when I finally had my goddamn Dad. After all those years in hell with him and his abuse, just when things felt like they should’ve been all along….
Seems like a cruel twist of the knife that Lady Fate wields.
I had to smarten up and grow up really fast. Try to lead by example for my brother. That was 9 years ago.
All the things that Dad missed. All my birthday parties his temper ruined. All the promises he broke. All the beatings I took trying to protect Christopher…
In the end…he did help me decide who I was. He did have an impact of a meteor on the earth of my heart. In his own way. He loved me. I know this. He couldn’t be a father to me just then…but I learned any how.
He taught me who I didn’t want to be like. I still carry the scars of a terrible anger and even sometimes hatred inside me. Every time I look into my reflection….I see the receding hairline, and the thinning spot on my crown.
Every time I listen to a song. Every time I air drum. Every time I pick up the sticks for real. Every time I do something I’m proud of. Every time Chloe does something funny, or smart assed…
I think…
“You old bastard. I wish you were here. Not to see the biggest accomplishments….but the little ones.”
“Every time I place your drumstick bag on the floor tom, I kiss it and mumble something about you.”
“Every time I take your drumkey out and spin it and twirl it. Every time I panic at misplacing it.”
I think how much I miss my Dad. How much he really did for me. All the negative shit is nothing when the light shines on the few and far between good times.
The giggle I let out that got me a nice ass busting from Mom, when you put the practice pad on your head.
Jamming with Christopher with our toy guitars while you played drums.
Having you show me how to tune a drum properly.
How you taught me to be a man in your own way…it may have not been the right way…but it was your way, and ultimately I wouldn’t be who I am without it.
I love you Dad. I miss you more and more each year. Tomorrow I do my Online Radio Show. Technically today. The 24th. 9 years to the day.
This one is for you old man…
Michael Ray
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