Pretender

Since you’ve been gone Bobo, I pretend alot. As time has marched on, I’ve gotten better and better at it.

I pretend like missing you doesn’t hurt all the time. When I interact with people, I put on a smile and pretend like I’m getting better. I think some might even believe it. Certainly those that don’t know the story don’t realize anything. To me, that’s the test. Does the person who is meeting me for the first time notice my broken heart? I think I’ve gotten that part down. It’s the people who know me, and know what has happened that can still notice. But I think I’m able to fool them some of the time. With a side remark or laugh at their joke, they don’t have to worry about me any more. And that seems like what people (on average) want. They want to know that I’m fixed. Or, as fixed as I can be and they don’t have to think about it anymore. Is he going to break down? Is he going to cry on me? Is he going to check out? For some, that’s all they want. For it to not be obvious so they don’t have to think about it. For some, it’s less selfish. For them, they want to think that I’ve “gotten past” it. Or I’m “fixed” in some way.

I’ll tell you this Bobo. The further I get into this lifetime without you, the more I know that it’s never going away. That my broken heart is here to stay. That if it seems like I’ve gotten my feet back under me, it just “seems” that way. There is no fixing this, as you and I both know. The huge hole you left is unfixable. It’s unfillable by anything I do or say. The waves come upon me in relation to some reminder of you, or at times, they just come from the black hole that exists near me all the time. Like an arm that reaches out and pulls me back in, as I mentally spiral on my way back down.

I wonder if I ever get to that point where I will be able to find things to be focused on that will keep you with me and help me exist in this place without you. As time has marched relentlessly on, I feel like that won’t ever be the case. That all I can do to continue and to make people believe I’m “ok” is to put on a face that covers up the chasm inside of me. I take some solace that if this depression that hangs inside me continues for very much longer, it will take my physical being as well. And then the pain will end, and I can hold you in my arms again and we can laugh and play and sit quietly together and just be.

Then this ridiculous play can end, and all can acknowledge that once you left, your Dad was just a great pretender.