my dad and i used to be close. now he never calls. when i do talk to him he's too busy. did i mention that we used to be close? yeah. we were. we used to talk on the phone or in person every day. every single day. but not anymore. now i don't even know who my dad is. i don't recognize him. i don't know the person he's become. i've supported him through everything--even when it was difficult--and, my god, difficult is an understatement. life is complicated and, in the end, i just wanted to see him happy. now the divorce is final. my mom is like a new person--but in a good way. my dad is still telling half-truths and lies. he does not realize how many times i have cried over the loss of our relationship. nor does he care.
so how the fuck do i write about the day that my dad calls and says blah, blah, blah... "and, by the way, i gave j. a ring."
which is when i stammer something like, "oh wow really...blah, blah stammer, stammer"...which doesn't satisfy his need for an excited response and so i offer several congratulations and a few questions (feigning interest) about how he went about it. i'm searching desperately for some part of me that is happy for him...but in my mind there is a screaming hollowness and i want to yell into the phone that maybe i would be more excited if he hadn't dropped us like hot rocks (my sister and brother, too) in exchange for j. and that my lack of enthusiasm has nothing to do with her, but everything to do with him and i don't even know who the hell he is anymore and i haven't had a dad in a long time and everything out of his mouth has turned into just a whole load of lies and, to be quite fucking honest, i really don't want to go to his wedding and pretend that i'm happy for him and the fact that he doesn't give a shit about anything but himself and his new life and fuck my head is screaming hollow...
and for the life of me, i can't seem to care.
but, god...even trying to write about it is a lot like opening pandora's box...i don't know where to begin. and so, instead, i go to an old diner and share a chocolate malt and greasy fries and a cheeseburger with my husband and listen to old michael jackson and queen and ottis redding and lionel richie songs play on the jukebox....and, for awhile, i can't help but feel better...even good.
but somedays i wish i could tell my dad everything that i've been thinking and feeling, not just today, but for the past 3 years...except that i know if i do, my relationship with him will plunge even further into nothingness...and so,
(...whatever it's worth.)