Memories of my father.
| It was meant to be that I would be born to a normal life and then have it taken away. It was meant to be that my father would die and leave me with my mother and grandmother and sister.
When you think of circumstances you are told that there is God's plan and that you fit into God's plan.
I got a glimpse when I found out that my quest from the time I was about thirteen was to find my father. Not the dead man himself, but what he was. I was about forty six when it hit me.
My memories may be distorted by my admiration. Others who knew him feel the same way though.
I can never find him outwardly, but can I look inside myself and recognize what he left me that is part of who I am? I need to keep him alive that way.
He is not here to remind me now. I have my memories of him to sort out who he may have been. Maybe who I might have been.
I thought at first that I wanted to know Jesus.
I thought once that I wanted to know Juan Mathus.
I thought at one time that I wanted to know Buddha
I found in my solitude that it was he that I was seeking.
And to be like him.
My lifelong quest to be my father. To be a man who knows life and can dispense wisdom.
I am not that man. I am still a selfish festering angry healing self-pitying man.
I try to say the right thing but I am not able to move out to the other's side. I am stuck in mud of my own making.
Mud of pretense.
Mud of self loathing.
Mud of my life's work
I have come to find myself not to be at all like my father.
He was a much better man than me.
Most men are.
I am 57 now and soon to be 58 and it is just occurring to me that I should have lived a better life.
I am sure I am not alone in this respect, but I am alone with my own retrospection.
It is my life that I need to mend or amend.
Or make amends for.
My sins of omission and my sins of commission
Some sins are both.
I am a horrible friend.
I take the easy way out.
I am a coward.
I felt spent and wasted.
That was my excuse.
I thought all was lost and I was just waiting to die.