I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking
Of all the things I should’ve said,
That I never said.
All the things we should’ve done,
That we never did.
All the things I should’ve given,
But I didn’t.
Oh, darling, make it go,
Make it go away.- “This Woman’s Work” by Kate Bush
When I was in college (the first time), I went through a very depressive phase. When I say very, I mean VERRRRYYYYY. It’s kind of strange to think about now all these years later but, here I was living my dream: I was attending college (at a Christian school, no less!) but I just couldn’t seem to pull myself out of the funk that I somehow managed to get myself into. I was missing my family (yeah, the one I’d tried so hard to escape from). I was missing my little sister (the one who I tried to convince that I hated- I know…I’m weird). I was missing Tucson (freaking Tucson?!?! Seriously?!) and everything about it. I got so low that I began to miss my dad.
My dad and I have one of the rockiest relationships. I seriously told him that I hated him (more than once)… and I meant it. With every fiber of my being. I hated him for not being around when I was a kid. I mean, he worked and stuff but he was not that dad who went to awards ceremonies or end of the year elementary school performances or anything like that. He worked and he sometimes barbecued at the house. In most of my memories (the few that I haven’t managed to erase) he just isn’t there. When he is “there” he’s listening to his music on his headphones and singing in a really high pitched voice and playing the drums with drumsticks and a couch cushion. Or he’s walking out the door to go hang with his friends (he was always very popular… would- and still will- talk to ANYONE). But I cannot remember a single instance of spending any sort of quality time with my dad… or really any time.
But, when I was in my first semester of college, I called him ( I was super desperate) and he answered the phone. He would listen to me complain about everything (I am a master complainer when I want to be) and attempt to give me soothing advice about how things will get better and I’ll feel better soon and that stuff that people tell you that doesn’t really work because even you don’t know what will make you feel better but you know “that thing” isn’t meaningless words. Not to say that my pops didn’t mean the words he said, I’m assuming he meant them but what I’m saying is that after all of these years (or, rather, in hindsight) his words seem kind of empty. Why?
Because he didn’t know me well enough to know what sort of things he could say to me to feel better (which would be none). He didn’t know me at all. I was (and still am) his daughter but my dad had no idea who his girl was. He had no idea whatsoever. Who is to blame?
He is. Because he was never ever there.
I am. Because, now, I can try to make a relationship where none existed and I. don’t. want. to.
There. I said it. (Must explore this topic further.)
Now, back to the song lyrics.
I have regrets about the way that I’ve handled my relationship with my dad. There is no reason that I should still be hurting over things that happened so many years ago. There are so many things that I need to say to get them off my chest (although, I have a feeling that “dumping” all my feelings isn’t the mature way to go). There are so many things that I wish my dad and I had the opportunity to do. So many things that I should have given to my dad (like my trust). So many things that I feel he should’ve given me (like love and TIME)…
But now… I’ve got my own family with Wes. And our growing BB. We’re making our own memories. We’re doing our own thing. What I really know is that when BB becomes an adult, I don’t want to have any regrets.