My sorrow used to define me. It still does with no utter blame to lay at one's dirty feet. It has taken me a while to think about the sorrow and put into words. Sometimes it can be the hardest thing to do.
I visited my grandmother's grave on a trip to Georgia in November. My mother and I had other plans, we made time to lay flowers for her honor. The darkness of morning still loomed before dawn. This was the first time I had visited since, well, I do not remember. There was a more decernable death amongst the soil that I had not encountered before. As much as I refuse to understand, death is nothing but the rare certainty of human life. All else fails to make certain, death is always there patiently waiting. I always held a strong belief that it is a bad omen to step onto someone's final resting area. I will always heed that belief out of respect and humility.
My sorrow does not end there.
I visited my father and his new wife, K. I felt no connection with my father now as I had always never felt growing up. My father and his wife live in my great grandmother's house. He has renovated it. The house held a lot of memories. My great grandmother is my father's grand mother. Even after my grandparents divorce, my great grand mother always considered my grandmother a part of the family. The house has been forever changed and the sorrow just keeps flowing. I say words that do not hold any sacred meaning. My father has grandchildren, not by me! His wife's daughter has three. I do not know her at all. I don't know the wife either.
Keep it rolling. . . .
My grandfather used to have me as his beneficiary. I no longer hold that position. He is still my grandfather no matter how many emotional implosions occur. I only know this out of his blatantly telling me this. I did not ask, I will not give him ammunition for ire. What will my father do to that house? My grandmother lived there, my deceased uncle lived there, and I stayed there for a while. The house holds what memories I cannot.
I have memories that are locked in Pandora's Box. I do not wish to open; however, it does not have the strongest lock! One word aches my heart and flows the tears is abandonment. It seems as if this was the finality of the family - of my connections to the long departed. What irony this is, the finality of will and emotions. The last little string seems to have been cut. I do not consider genetics to be a part of this equation. There is no answer, not a logical one anyway. I do not know what is worse, knowing how much of a bastard my father was to utterly give my life permanent disfunction or not knowing a father. I essentially had both at different stages of my life.
My father is my father genetically. Sorrow is a powerful force that will not leave. It is like a heart or lung, a long requirement for a life that will not fully recover. I have tried to make a life worth living which I have been successful and I am grateful.
Sorrow is destitute, a life long journey into an abyss you know. I have hope that I may move forward with a different familial circle.
