A FATHER FOREVER GONE

Can you imagine losing all contact with your father for 32 years, and then happily reunite. Only, to have him snatched away by Death, that invisible presence, that always lingers, attacking at the first sign of weakness and vulnerability.

This is my reality. I'll give a synopsis of the last 32 years. I left London as a child, with my mum, who was in love with an American Army Sgt. They were engaged, and we were moving to America. Oh my God. As a child, you can imagine the resentment I had for this man, who destroyed my life. I wanted to stay with my friends and family. I loved my life. Why did I have to go?

But go we did, and never thought about coming back. Life was going to be better. But it wasn't. The man my mum married, wasn't what he portrayed his self to be. The great love didn't last. He was killed by a speeding truck, while changing a flat tire on the highway, not even a year later. Now I really resented him. He made us come to America, and now he left us. This is what ran through my young mind. My mum was distraught, a possible nervous breakdown, I believe, as I look back now. We had nothing, no family locally, and no friends. We had a neighbour named Faye, that took control of our situation. She had to. My mum was a mess.

We ended up in New York, with family, and that's where we lived ever since. We ended up going back to England briefly, in 1987. I saw my dad, and met a few of my siblings. I always thought I was an only child. Surprise on me. I was the last of six. I never saw and spoke to any of them again, until 2019. I would have to write a book to tell you how we reunited, as it is truly amazing.

As soon as I saw him, I saw myself. I walked into his house as if I had seen him yesterday, and not 32 years prior. We talked for hours. One of my brothers and his partner, came over. We talked as well. My dad's wife, Sandy, made a delicious dinner. We drank, we talked some more. I felt a sense of comfort, and an overwhelming feeling of belonging. I can't really explain it.

Over the next seven months, I couldn't see my dad enough. I wanted to make up for lost time. I wanted to get to know this man, who fathered me. And I did. For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of true happiness. I blamed my dad for my mum going to America, and I blamed him for not wanting me. All silly childish beliefs. It was far from the truth.

While I'm sitting here, writing this short story, I find myself reflecting on lost time. What could have been. My dad became sick, right after Christmas. In and out of the hospital for a few weeks. I saw a deterioration in him, ever so slowly, but it was there. He was supposed to come home on March 9th, 2020. He went home alright, but not to his marital home.

I have no regrets. My dad and I had numerous conversations. We both knew what we meant to each other. That's all that matters. He didn't get to see me going to prom. He didn't walk me down the aisle at my wedding. He didn't get to chase away the boys sniffing around when I was young. He didn't get to do a lot of things.

But what he did get to do, was, make this woman so so happy. The seven months, made up for all of the lost years. I want to be selfish for a moment and say that he was waiting to see me again, before leaving this World. When one is contented, one can rest.

Time is so short. Life can be snatched from you, like a thief in the night. During these awful times, I see Corona Virus, destroying lives. Physically, and Mentally. I have always looked at life differently than most. I was told I'm a Fatalist. I have to look that up one day. Now, I approach life as if there is no tomorrow. I have to. Prior experiences has taught me to do that. I go to bed every night, without anger in my heart, against anyone. My conscience is clear.

So in closing, someone asked me how I feel about coming back to London, finding my dad and family. In one word, Elation.

Joan Marsh