Solace

Today is the second anniversary of my daddy's death. I sure did love him.

Yes, he was scary, and violent, and left us for months at a time. Yes, he blamed me for things that weren't my fault, and used his tears to make me feel guilty. Yes, he put himself before us, refusing treatment for his mental illness, when medication may well have made a difference. I was livid for years, and a big part of me still is.

But I still love him. He had a twinkle in his eye, and he told me I was the apple of it. He sang silly songs sometimes, and played the spoons in old-time jam sessions like nobody's business. He loved the old spirituals, too--they still take away my voice when I turn to them in the hymnal and the rest of the congregation begins to sing. Precious lord, take my hand, lead me on, help me stand. He loved to swim, with a beautiful, long, lazy, comfortable stroke. He read my palm and pointed out the "mystic cross," telling me I would accomplish great things one day, change the world. I believed him.

These are the reasons that, in spite of everything, my tears begin to flow before the sun even rises.

Goodbye, my daddy.