Death

Today, I received the news that no one my age wishes or wants to hear.  My father, aged 50, died this morning in his workshop.  At first, and even still, the shock is full on - coupled with tears.  I never really got to know him.  He and my mother separated in 1986, when I was only 6 years old.  The animosity she had towards him was always something that kept my brother and I from having a fruitful relationship with him.  I wouldn't see him again till I was 16. My birthday.  He came over and gave me a birthday present: an acoustic guitar.  My mother never nurtured my music in that manner - she would never come to any of my concerts.  But yet, this man who I shared blood with - the very man, my mother called a jackass daily - acknowledged my musical talent.  I wouldn't see him again till 2003 - 2004, when he had a severe seizure that ended him up in the hospital.  I was naive then.  I wanted the relationship with my father - but was afraid to actually get that relationship.  Today, after receiving the news this morning, I regret my naivete.  I know, dad, that you are in a better place now.  Where you won't have to deal with the pangs of existence.  I will miss you.  I wish I had had the chance to share the joys the future holds for me.  I wish I had the chance to share the fruits of my work with you.  I wish I had the chance to get to know you.  To learn from the lessons you saw in life and to relish every moment of life - right to your old age.  I love you, Dad.