September, Memories, and a broken boy

I don’t always get this personal.  As a matter of fact I try to keep it kind of slightly impersonal.  And I didn't plan for this to be a post, but I said this was going to be a personal blog, and this is what is going on in my life at the moment. So huzzah …

Autumn is one of my favorite seasons. It finally starts to cool off, and for a fat guy like me, who is always hot that is a beautiful thing. And living in New England we are coming up on apple season. And nothing beats freshly pressed apple cider or a nice crisp apple. But getting thru September is always hard. My mood naturally slumps and I get depressed.

To those of you who actually know me, I promise you that, while I may not be okay right now, I will be soon.

We are coming up on the 20th anniversary of my dad’s death. And it still hurts. I still feel like that helpless 12 year old I was when he died. I…How long can someone grieve for loosing someone they barely knew? This year I was able to reconnect with my Aunts and uncles on my fathers side.  And I constantly hear how much I look like him or how much I act like him, and even that hurts.

You have to understand that my father spent most of my early life in prison. And what he did I still have no clue and it doesn't matter. I fight hard to hold the few memories of him that I have in my memory, and in my heart. But time marches forward and memories grow hazy and start to loose their sharpness. And that is a part of what depresses me. Happy memories, things I should be able to look back on and smile about are hazy. While the parts of my life that I wish I could forget are seared in my brain.

I grieve for the loss of my innocence,  because on that day my fragile world crumbled and has never been whole since. I hold in my heart an irrational longing for the chance to know my father, a child’s longing.


I have so many questions for my father. So many things I would love to know about him, my family. I wish I could hear his voice one more time, to tell me he was proud of me, or to give me advice when I am feeling lost like I am now. Someone to say the things to reassure me like on a father can for his son.

I have been thinking that maybe writing a letter to my father might be cathartic, but I don’t even know where to start…

I think that is enough of my broken ramblings. Hopefully soon I have something happier to tell you about. Until next time. As always thanks for reading.