I miss you like hell. I don’t know if I miss you or just what I thought was you. That you that I connected with. That you that talked to me for hours. That you that understood everything and judged nothing. That you that accepted that new me and embraced everything I was becoming. Maybe I just miss those feelings. Maybe it doesn’t have to do with you. I am passion. I am fire. I ooze soul out of every pore and cell of my being. That is me. And always has been. Maybe I just became me and you were just there. I miss love. I miss being able to say it, to share it, to feel it. I miss being able to pour all of me all over someone else and have it felt, accepted, reciprocated. Maybe. I’ve been missing it a long time. I guess she’s right – my wise friend. I hate her words – those sounds that underline that there is no hope. No possibility. No way. I don’t care. I miss you like hell.
Long and deep, covered with new skin, I showed it off, “Look it’s just an old wound. It’s almost healed.” Ready to go on, free from the past, I can breathe! I am better! And then you ripped it open – once again. Flesh torn apart, blood running down my body, The scar is gone. I am wounded again. Crying for 2 days, regretting the past, Feeling old feelings, Unable to move on. It’s just an old wound.
Homemade peanut butter ice cream, Begging Dad to turn the crank, Echoes of music from below my bed, Jammers in the basement playing familiar songs. Bluegrass festivals, bands on the stage, pickers in the grass. Sermons from above – notes on my paper every Sunday. Smiles and laughter – eager to please, ready to entertain. Family band – complaints from the daughters on fiddle, an education in performing. Warm snuggles with hairy arms and a baritone voice. Older and wiser – both of us. All of us. Changes – so many they seem unreal now. Falling in love, babies, more love, sadness, heartbreak. But always Love. And always Music. A tie that binds – or maybe just a thread in common – weaving its notes in and around us. And always around us. Watching each other age. Finding new ground. Turning over old ground. Here we are today – Father, Daughter, Music, Love. Radically different. Still the same. Happy Father’s Day.