Fresh Air

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

When your father dies

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.
A half-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.

* * * * *

Stories about my less-than-perfect dad:

Father's Day Musings About A Bad Dad

My Mother And Me

Spinning God Out Of Straw

Fresh Air

Hockey Night In Canada