Daddy.. Pop…19 years and I miss you more

Daddy

I never called you that or did I?

Daddy… when I was small

Then “Pop”. Yep you were Pop when I got older

I remember running down the street cleaned up by her. Dressed in a beautiful dress, Bobby socks and patent leather white shoes. You were walking home from work. I ran as fast as my little feet would carry me. Grinning cause I was so happy to see you. You represented more than love. You represented safety. I ran, I ran and swish in an instant I was swooped up in your arms. My daddy was home. Smiling from ear to ear. “Bumpkin” you called me. You were MY daddy and I was your daughter. I was little and innocent still. No I was little and my childlike innocence’s had just started been shattered but I didn’t yet have the language to articulate what was going on. Looking back on that time. That swoosh up in your arms was the best. I now know that it was love, safe from harm, protection, a feeling of being adored, acceptance, freedom to be, freedom to be me. Freedom to enjoy being a child and the apple of your eye.

Fast forward to right before you passed. I couldn’t hug you. You couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t even hold your hand. I was afraid of all that she said, done and implied. None of her lies were true. But I was too lost to fight against the fear of her interpretations. As you lay on your death bed. I didn’t know you were going to die. Rather I knew you were going to die but I couldn’t understand exactly what that ment. You would not come back from death. Shocking for me, death ment forever.

Those last days I had no reference point of what to do or say. I had no instincts. Just do what everyone expects was my goal. But I didn’t even know what that was.

I remember the call as if it was yesterday. You had died. I didn’t cry then but every year since my cry can only be described as a wail. MY God my Daddy is gone.

I went into what is best for my children mode. I needed them to be cared for so that we could handle the business of the funeral. I didn’t want them to see or experience what was to come.

My family proved to be dramatic at its worst. Comments mother made. The arguments that would ensue.

Arriving at the funeral home to view you before the funeral. I still remember that long walk to your casket. Once I got there. You were not there. I mean you body was there but my Pop wasn’t. I think I was I shock. I knew to behave a certain way for the world and my kids. I had learned as a child to disassociate. This tool was helpful during this time.

My memory of that day is filled with shutter images of moments. The church, the car ride to the burial site, the gun salute, the handing of the flag to my mother. She didn’t deserve that flag.

Pop I’m sorry!!!! So sorry that I didn’t fight for your life. I could have done more. I should have done more. I should have fought harder against the fears. I should have held your hand. I remember holding your hand as a child. She is the reason. Mother ruined it. I was afraid that all that she said and told people was my fault somehow.

You see she used to tell people that my dad had sex with me. She told people that I was the other woman.

To set the record straight. This NEVER happened. My father never did or would have done anything so vile.

She ruled my mind. She knew how to control me. She knew what to say and who to say it to. She knew how to manipulate me. With this lie she manipulated me out of years of being able to enjoy my dads life. Once she started with these lies. I couldn’t hold my dads hand anymore. I was afraid I had done something wrong to make her think this. Further more I was afraid that others would see me holding his hand as a child and think she was right. I stopped being able to hug him. I couldn’t even brush his hair. I remember as a little child I liked running my hands over my dads head. He had baby soft straight hair cut close. It was so soft. As a young tiny child I remember sitting on his lap and playing with his hair. I was fixing my daddy’s hair. Once she implemented her words of accusations it all ended. She robbed me.

Daddy

Pop

If I could go back I would hold your hand. I would hug you and never let go. I would scream from the rafters that this is MY Pop! I would have stood between her and the pain I know she caused you before you died. I would have fought for you.

I would have fought because 19 years later the regrets are still fresh. The pain is worse now than it was then.

I miss my Daddy!!!!

I miss my Daddy!!!!

I miss my Daddy!!!!

I miss my Daddy!!!!

I miss my Daddy!!!!

I want to scream it and jump up and down! I want to yell and cry and sob and break stuff. I want to shake something and bang something else. I want to wail for hours and cry myself to sleep.

I want what I haven’t had since I was a little girl running down the street. Dressed in a beautiful dress, Bobby socks and patent leather white shoes. You were walking home from work. I ran as fast as my little feet would carry me. Grinning cause I was so happy to see you. You represented more than love. You represented safety. I ran, I ran and swish in an instant I was swooped up in your arms. My daddy was home.

I want what my daddy represented for me…. home.

On this day and everyday I love you Pop.

I survived … oh but this pain today…

God how I want my Daddy!

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