My Father's Daughter

Well, I've neglected my blog long enough and after fighting with myself over whether or not to keep writing or just give it up, I've come to a conclusion. I really enjoy it, but without much of a following, I wasn't sure if it was worth the effort. I've decided that it is quite worth the effort, even if no one reads it. Writing can be therapeutic for many people, and sending my thoughts out into the universe via blogger not only helps me stay connected with my writing, but also the inner workings of myself as they relate to the daily events of my life.

Now, back to the blogging. My last post gave a little teaser about a mysterious trip. In May I went to the small Caribbean island of Grenada with my sister. I hope to recap that trip in a future post or two, but for now I want to write about something a bit more pressing on my heart. Last night as Baba Sanfour and I were driving home from eating out, we passed by an abandoned building that had once housed a "Ride the movies" attraction. For some reason this figure of the past took me back to a family trip to Tennessee in which we participated in a similar tourist trap. At the age of eight or nine it was wonderful, and I'm pretty sure the rest of the family loved it too - especially my dad. My father died when I was sixteen and I've come to terms with the events that led to his death and become a better person because of it. While I think of him in passing at least once a day, every now and again I get awfully nostalgic and can't help but feel as though a mocking bird is flittering in my heart, reminding me of the words that went unsaid during his life. As we drove past the old interactive theatre, the bird rose again and brought tears to my eyes, leaving Baba Sanfour more confused than normal at my feminine outbursts.

Today I thought of my father again and for some strange reason decided to look for his obituary online. After several Google searches I was left fruitless and distraught at the thought that my father was gone. Not just gone from the world, but gone from memory. After my mom, brothers, cousins and I are gone, my father will forever be just another man who walked the Earth. No one will remember him. No one will read his name and know what he did, or what he liked or where he went. It pains me to know that I can't ask him what he thinks, but it hurt me even more to know that the world will never know. The internet has become such an integral part of our lives that we almost expect to be able to learn about people by simply typing in a name. It scares me to think that my father is recollected only in the memory of our family.

But this recollection has inspired me in a new way. I want my father to live. Just like Simba learned in The Lion King, my father will live in me. I want people to know my father, the good and the bad, through me. I carry the baggage of a dysfunctional paternal relationship and my journey to overcome it and find peace with it everywhere I go. As I unpack the folded memories of deceit, treachery, fear, and love I learn more about myself and my father. I literally am a part of him and he is a part of me. And while his name may not produce anything of worth on a Google search, I carry it with a full heart and hope to fulfill the dreams that he helped to nourish. I remember Patrick Joseph Deveney. I am his legacy.