i thank you god for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
- e e cummings
And he was a bad dad
You reflect, one more time, upon your hopes and dreams about what a father should be to his daughter, and you admit to yourself, with trembling finality, just how far he fell short.
And yes, you find a way to make your peace with that storm.
He did the best he could.
And now with his life finally over, you shudder one last sigh and acknowledge, for once and for all, what a futile, pathetic waste it all was.
No way to go back,
No way to dodge the damage.
No way to create a happy ending.
But at long last, the storm is over. The last waves of sadness and loss ripple away to the edge of the pond and the water settles. You have made your peace.
But then, most unexpectedly, a new breeze begins to blow across still waters.
There is a brother.
A new brother.
A secret brother.
Who has borne his own losses in the sad wreckage of his father's life.
My father's life. Our father's life.
While nothing will take away from the gusts and gales of our pasts, there is hope that good might come in our future.
And that thought is a glimpse of clear blue sky and a beautiful breath of fresh air.
* * * * *
For more stormy stories about my parents and me, read: