6/12/2012

Dear Papa,

Today is the 5th year anniversary of (my grandmother)'s death. You remember.
Mama keeps talking about how important dinner tonight is to (my grandfather). Really, what she means is that it's important to her. That's why she's so worried about who he invites, and what he makes. She wants it to honor her mother, but she also thinks it shouldn't matter to her. It's ok if it matters to him. If it matters to him, her follow-through becomes her respecting the grieving process of her elderly father. It's the difference between her duty towards her living parent and her dead one.

It's just a day. June 12, really any day in early June, they all feel the same to me.
But we mark it, and the significance we give it rides heavy. I remember things.
That's the point of birthdays, and anniversaries, and days of remembrance, I think.
A little reminder to look back and reflect on what we learned five or three years ago, and how things have changed.

Mama was a mess, remember?
She told me that she didn't get a chance to tell (my grandmother) that she loved her before she died.
I didn't know how to react. I just said "She knew."
and I think she did know.
then Mama told me my hair smelled good, like coconuts.
I hope that if[when] you die, if I don't find a time or way to say it, you know that I love you.
and I wish I could explain it in words, pack the meaning in,
like a poem,
before you gave up on poetry.
It doesn't matter that it wouldn't impact many people, Papa. That's not the point.
It would only need to reach you.
but it's a moot point; I can't.

I hope my love for you is as obvious as yours for me.
and even if it isn't, I hope someone tells me that it was, that you knew. 

Three years ago today, you were first diagnosed. I know, that means even less. Just the day of your doctors appointment, after the weeks, the months, that ended when R---- noticed the night sweats.
I remember that day with such clarity though. For you, for biology, for reality it wasn't a first day, but for me it was.

I didn't come to a single appointment. I didn't want to see it. I escaped.
I'm ready now, though.
We can watch that movie you wanted to see, something about Forks and Knives?
and pretend that we're just upstairs, or in the study.
Or I can watch a Rom Com, and you can look over my shoulder and tell me how silly it is.
I'll pretend not to notice when you cry at the end.

Love,
yr daughter