My dad feared my story, refused to read it
My mom and my dad both died before I published my memoir or this website so they have yet to read the story that would not be possible without them. When I was a child, I hated my dad. Now, my mother, she could do no wrong. She was the martyr, my saint—except for on those occasions when she insisted I was just like my father, and that really pissed me off.
But I could not seem to convince my dad that it was the very process of writing my memoir—that is, the unexpected gift of self-reflection and self-analysis—that made me realize I am just like him, and that the characteristics I hated about him most were actually projections of my own anger, greed, and selfishness. I had hoped he would see that through my process of Self-discovery, I eventually realized that he was not the bad guy. He was a remarkable man, especially considering what little he had to work with. But when I offered him my first drafts to read, he tapped them with his knuckles and then went outside to tinker with the lawnmower or his car.
Through my process, I also realized that my dad and I chose to come into this life together, and that we had a contract to fulfill, and that the circumstances need not be personalized. But I may have realized it too late. My dad and I had a terrible argument five months before he died, an argument which stemmed back to an event that happened when I was 12 years old, so now to this day I wonder: “Did we fulfill our contract? It seemed we had come so far, only to end where we had begun.”
I hope my dad will come to me in a dream and give me the assurance I desire. If and when he does, I will ask him why he locked me out of my brother’s house that day, a few months after he died. My brother said it was absolutely impossible for the sliding glass door lock to latch behind me accidentally, which only confirmed for me that it was my dad who locked me out. But it also confirmed for me that even after his death, my father was still troubled and angry, which further confirms for me that we do not die—our spirits do not die, our energy, whether positive or negative, does not turn to ashes—just our bodies.