Tales of Dad

From my private blog...

There was a part of me that feared my dad.

I had been told how my mother didn't trust him with me, and how the unborn baby before me, never was, because of him. We didn't have many encounters. He was locked up in jail the majority of the time. When he was out, we might go out to eat, or over to see one of his sisters. When he wasn't out, we were connected through timed collect calls, letters and hand drawn cards. I had been told he was an artist...

He once asked me about a kiss. He wanted to know how I would kiss him. Would it be on the lips? I suppose he was asking because he was infected with HIV, but in that moment, all I could think about were the reasons that my mother didn't trust him with me. His inquiry made me nervous and uncomfortable. I didn't tell him that. We'd been separated. I suspected that he felt bad enough about that truth...

He gave me a ring. I spent a few minutes with it this morning as I poured through the stuff in my jewelry box. It looks like an engagement ring. Mama said he probably stole it. I kept it anyway. I also kept his letters and cards - in shoe boxes. There were so many. Now I only have the most recent. I re-read some, and felt the love that he had for me, through his words. And then I re-read the cards that he'd sent for Emma, and felt what he must have felt for her...

Near the end, I think our past must have flashed before his eyes. He say no future in us. Deep down he felt that he'd fucked off the perfect opportunity to be who and what I had asked him to be, up until the time that I made it clear to him that I wasn't going to ask it of him anymore. He decided that he should not burden me with his deterioration.

So, he died alone, in a hospital room, and left me with ashes and penmanship.

Happy Birthday Leslie Henry Jr.

I love you.