My mother and father circa I don't know when.
I found yet another photo that I had stashed away for years. It's one of very few existing photos of my mother and father together. By the time this was taken, I know for sure my father already had several children from a first marriage and he was on to the next marriage (to my mother) when I was born. I was the last of a brood that I have never really known. I don't want to know my half-brothers and sisters either. I'm a minimalist when it comes to loyalty and one (or two) sisters is all I the siblings I want or need.
The older I get, the more my life becomes a mystery to me. I used to think I loved this man with all my heart, but now? I look at this photo and I do well to muster a vague inclination as to who he even is to me.
I used to let this man drive me right around the bend, too. I have cried more tears from the trauma of his death than I care to recall. I've heard all kinds of stories, and they are all good stories, but they forever remain stories only. From what I can gather, to know my father was to love my father, but I didn't know him and I love(d) him like the sky loves a passing cloud. It's not a love that can linger because the sky is busy and has other clouds to tend to. In any case, whatever innocence that might have once operated within me is long long long gone and I think it was naive of me to carry that sorrow around for so long. I think I chewed on it a bit too often and I think I let it drag me down a bit too low. But, he does look so much like my son that I'd be lying if I said I am not pleased about that.