Fathers, Part One
There’s something profound to be said about my day on Saturday, but I don’t know what that is. I’m writing this on Tuesday morning, having had quite a long while to compose my thoughts, but I still have nothing. So, really, I can’t wait for inspiration any longer. This entry needs to be written and I need to move on, so that’s what I’m going to do.
I spent Saturday morning with Stephanie and my Mom setting up a baby registry. I spent Saturday afternoon thinking about how I hadn’t bought anything for my Dad’s 50th birthday, which was the next day. And I spent Saturday evening, or at least small portion of it, attending the wake of one of my best friend’s fathers. The thread running through all of this: fathers. There’s something profound to be said about this. During the day, I felt something profound. But it’s gone now.
All I can tell you is that by the end of the day I was telling Stephanie that I needed a drink. My fear of death and aging combined with this terribly deep feeling that was washing over me had me thinking far too much for my own good. As I shopped for baby stuff, I wondered whether I would always be there for my own child. I wondered when I would leave her, and how much it would hurt. I wondered about how I might react to losing my own father. And when I went to give my support to JonMartin later in the evening, I felt guilty for not spending more time there, despite the fact that my heart was beginning to race, and my mind to wander.
I never did get that drink. All of the restaurants we tried for dinner were overcrowded, with hour-plus wait times, and we ended up at Pizza Hut, of all places. I suppose they sell beer and wine there, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have done the trick. In the end, Stef and I just got to talking and that made me feel better.
For the first time in a long time, I needed to put a movie on in order to get to sleep. The silence, the emptiness was too much for me.