ephiphany of love

I do not believe that my father ever really loved me.

An epiphany (from the ancient Greek ἐπιφάνεια, epiphaneia, "manifestation, striking appearance") is the sudden realization or comprehension of the (larger) essence or meaning of something. The term is used in either a philosophical or literal sense to signify that the claimant has "found the last piece of the puzzle and now sees the whole picture," or has new information or experience, often insignificant by itself, that illuminates a deeper or numinous foundational frame of reference.

Sudden tears, a little while ago. It just hit me. I am a very passionate person, and sometimes I don't know when to let go of that passion, and talking with my little girl (and boy, when he wasn't busying wasting some poor avatar in the video game he was playing), and seeing just how much she, in particularly, fervently loves her Daddy... typing me little messages of love and endearment in the chat box while looking in the camera with such intensity and jabbering away in the manner of 9 year old girls.

It blows me away. She's not manipulating me for anything, she simply wants to be loved.

Up until the day my Dad had his final stroke that took away his power of speech and dying a week later, I spoke with him on the phone, every day, trying to make a connection with him, and feeling like I was always failing. He was listening, but I always felt like the "message" I was trying to make never really got through. Sometimes over the years, my mother would mention she was never really entirely sure that my Dad wanted a child, as they had difficulties having me (she lost a set of twins before I was born) and her pregnancy with me was difficult.

Anyway, the inability of me to establish a deep connection with my father, and my mother allowing him to run her life to such a great extent for their entire life together has made it difficult for me to form lasting long-term relationships. I always feel like I need to be "on the run" as I remember my Dad stuck in that recliner on 44th Street, never going anywhere and seeming to be angry at the entire world... I am agitated all the time, probably because I never got that warm security of knowing that somewhere, my parents loved me (and I do believe my Mom did, but she was always apologizing for Dad's distance but would say "he loves you". I think what she was really saying is "I love you and I think your father does but he isn't really able to show it.")

But if you truly love someone, sportsfans, you show it.

I know that my Mom, wherever she is, still loves me. And she's around; because I'll suddenly smell the strong perfumes she favored, or sometimes - as she knew how much I hated that she smoked - the distinctive smell of a person that's just come in from a cold side porch with unfiltered Pall Malls on their clothing. 

Dad... is just gone. It is his loss. I dearly miss him, but damn you for not loving me enough. The greatest gift any parent can give their child(ren) is for you to know that you are loved, in that warm snuggly blanket way, long after they are dust.