Sixteen Years Later
Sixteen years to the day after my dad died from injuries sustained at home, things don't get easier, but they don't get harder either. It's a weird stasis. When he first passed away I shrugged it off, throwing myself into school work and bettering myself, knowing that self-improvement would have been exactly what he would have wanted to see me do in his absence. But as the years roll on, it has gotten harder. The father that I remember was somewhat eccentric, even if he did not come off as such. He was a deeply religious man, despite the long hair. He had no piercings or tattoos. For a man so open to new ideas and cultures, he was politically conservative and considered himself a gun owner (even though I don't remember us owning firearms as a child). The fact that his friends and family at times were mystified by him speaks volumes about him. My dad was a complex person, and even those closest to him were mystified.
I touched on my dad's passing on my old blog back in 2014. As I mentioned, he and I had a complicated relationship, and there were things that he did that even as a pre-teen drove me nuts. I realize now that he was trying to protect me, probably knowing that I was autistic before society (and science) knew that it could affect people who didn't fit the regular mold for the diagnosis.
In 2014 I wrote as to the things he has missed since his passing. That list continues to grow. Me living on my own. A failed engagement along with some other failed relationships. Me being chosen by my peers to hold leadership roles (the Electric Railroaders' Association, the Rail Passengers Association). Me getting my commercial driver's license. In 2021, he will miss me starting graduate school, depending on getting accepted to the particular program I want to study. But most importantly he would be proud of the gentleman that I have become (not to toot my own horn!). He will miss if/when I get married, he will never get to meet the children I hope to have some day, he will never get to see me embrace life as all that is wonderful about it. The best I will get is a cardboard cutout of my dad at my wedding.
What has blown my mind more than a few other things out there is the realization I had yesterday that my dad has been dead for more of my life than he was alive for it. He passed away a few months before I turned 14. I will be 30 on Election Day this year. I have known my stepdad longer than I knew my own dad.
I miss Alex. He was a cool dude. In some ways, I wish I was more like him: the athleticism, how things came really easy to him (he was one of the most talented people I've ever met, with sports and music), his love of literature.
The fact that my stepdad has been so good at his role is a blessing that I will never be able to repay/live up to, no matter how hard I try. Sure, Pops (as I call Mike, my stepdad, never referring to him except around certain people) has expected a lot from me, and I have definitely have done my best to deliver. My stepfamily has embraced me as their own and my paternal grandmother, until her passing in 2012 held my stepdad in high regard.
But sorry Pops, this isn't about you. This is about Father Alex. But this day is kind out about you too, at least yesterday. Sixteen years ago yesterday I almost lost you as well, when a piece of roadbed hit you Hyundai on your way to work. The Accent was never the same after that, and a shame too as that was a wonderful car. I don't know where I would be if I had lost both my biological father and stepfather within days of each other. It's things like that that make me wonder that sometimes the Lord is merciful. He will take, but He will also grant too.
I'm blessed that I never was without a father figure as a child. And I hope my father is looking down at me, beaming with pride. Pops, I hope I make you proud every day. Just don't overdo the speakerphone.