So it has come down to it at last. The final nail in the coffin. The ending waltz on the dance floor. The last Pringle in the can. Or something. Either way, we have sworn in another president, we have upheld our particularly American brand of Democracy, and we are all certainly awaiting every politician to be taken into custody, executed, and then for Trump to rule forever. Q just has to be correct right? The track record is.... stunning? Pictured: Q at his computer, or something. Creator: Rembrandt | Credit: Hermitage Either way, our country has reached the dawning of a new administration. An event that has happened 45 previous times, and will undoubtedly happen many many more. But along the way, there was a bit of... discourse, if you could call it that. Most of it was spurned on by the greatest of all threats in this day and age, the Keyboard Warriors. Yes, this multi-class, 12th level, 5h Edition DnD champion has, for the last 5-6 years at least, had an alarmingly large a
Retrospectives are something our society seems to be slightly obsessed with. We relish the chance to look back on what was, what could have been, and how far we've come. It seems almost every awards show, sports channel, or talk show has some type of "Where are they now?" or "The Way things Used to Be" type look into the past of said program or profession. I suppose it's human nature to look back to the past and compare it to the future, but I still think it is a somewhat odd practice in this day and age, where every young person seems to be telling the older generation to get with the times, and the older one is telling the rest to respect the old ways. I understand the value of nostalgia of course, but I simply never put too much emphasis on reliving your own personal past.
And then my father died.
At the time of this writing, I am less than a week from turning 30. While I have other apprehensions about turning the dirty thirty, one of the biggest thoughts in my head is one that kept popping up in the days before my father's passing, "What could I have done differently in life". Oh sure, we all think this. Some of us more than others. But for me, it was less, "where did I go wrong", and more "how could I have done things differently?" It ate away at my thoughts for a time, but once life came crashing to a halt around me, I found myself thinking of only one other thought. This single thought has now been all that I can think of when I think about my father: "How could I have used my time with him better?"
29 years is a while, but in a time when people routinely die in their 80's, this really isn't a comparatively long amount of time. My father passed at 72, so I took up roughly 40% of his life. Not bad considering, but it feels so short when you think of the memories. And that brings me to my point from the opening. Nostalgia is all I have left of him. After 29 years, the only thing that has left an irrevocable impact on my mind and heart, are my memories.
The sad thing about memories, is that they fade, they change, they alter themselves to fit our remembrance of events. This is why you can tell a story to the first person in a line and tell them to dictate it to the next person, and them the next, so on, so forth, and by the time you get to the last person, the story has taken on a different telling. This isn't intentional, that's just how the mind works. One of my oldest memories is having a birthday party when I was about six years old. All my friends were there, and many of my family members too. My dad had hoisted a pinata up on an old tree in our backyard, and we took turns hitting it. It was a great fun day. But as I get older, things become fuzzier. I look back at this, one of my most cherished memories, and I realize I can only remember the broad details. I don't remember what I got for presents. I don't remember what the pinata looked like. I don't even remember the exact people who were there. But I remember him.
It's memories like this that stand out to me. They aren't specific, they are general. And I can't help but shake the feeling that if I were to watch old home movies of this event, things would be much different than I remember. But the constants are there; pinata, birthday, dad. It's funny to think that this is how our brain, one of the most complicated organs in our body, memorizes things. Some people can remember everything they've ever read, others can barely remember what they had for breakfast two days ago. But ask them about a memory from their childhood, and they can recall it like yesterday. This is because we make our own memories, because they are only for us. No one else. This is why my dad stands out so much. Because no matter the troubles we had at times, he was the defining person of my childhood.
My mother spent the most time with me, and I love and cherish all the memories I have with her. Dad was often working or relaxing after a hard day, and so I didn't see him nearly as much as I did my mom. This made his presence a treat, and when we would spend time together, it seemed all the more special. We didn't do things like go fishing or play catch every Saturday, but routines like going to get the paper every morning, or saying goodnight to him before bed, they became cornerstones of my day. It feels comforting to know that those small things impacted me so much. I hope they impacted him as well.
As I write this now, I am overcome with emotions. Sadness that he is gone. Happiness that he is without pain and at peace. Anger that he didn't stay longer. Regret that I didn't do more. But that's what nostalgia does. It tugs and rips and thrashes at the heart until you are forced to remind yourself of bygone times and a past that isn't as clear as you may have thought. But that is fine. That is what keeps us going. I now walk past my dad everyday. He rests upon a bookshelf, surrounded by pictures of him in better times, and candles to light his way. It brought me great sadness to carry him home, just as he had once carried me. But now, I feel as though I have repaid a debt. I feel as though I saw him through all the tough times, and there is only peace and rest for him now. I hope he looks upon us with happiness. I hope he is proud of what he accomplished.
I will never set out to say that my father was perfect, very much against his half-joking assertions that he indeed was. I will however say that he was perfect for me. I remind myself of that thought, that niggling, anxious thought, "How could I have used my time with him better?" But now I realize, I couldn't. Anything I could have done different, would have changed things. I live my life with regrets, but any change could drastically alter how my life would have ended up. I cherish every moment of my 29 years with my father, and I hope I get that much longer with my mother. All the fights, all the trials, they all lead up to what I consider the defining moment of my relationship with my dad.
The night before he passed, as the last thing I said to him before goodnight, I got close to where he was sitting, looked into his eyes and told him in the most sincere way I ever have, "I love you dad." And he looked back at me and told me "I love you too". 15 hours later, he was gone. Although it did little to assuage my grief in the early days, I now know why I had such a sincere moment with him. It was the universe's little way of giving me closure. Not for all the unanswered questions or the missed life events that will impact my family and I, but for the simple question, "Did I do enough?" In that moment, I had. In that moment, all we were, was father and son, expressing how much we mean to each other and saying it in the most simplest of ways. Although I spoke to him more the following day, I consider those four words to be my last words to my father. And I know my memories will make it so.
And then my father died.
At the time of this writing, I am less than a week from turning 30. While I have other apprehensions about turning the dirty thirty, one of the biggest thoughts in my head is one that kept popping up in the days before my father's passing, "What could I have done differently in life". Oh sure, we all think this. Some of us more than others. But for me, it was less, "where did I go wrong", and more "how could I have done things differently?" It ate away at my thoughts for a time, but once life came crashing to a halt around me, I found myself thinking of only one other thought. This single thought has now been all that I can think of when I think about my father: "How could I have used my time with him better?"
29 years is a while, but in a time when people routinely die in their 80's, this really isn't a comparatively long amount of time. My father passed at 72, so I took up roughly 40% of his life. Not bad considering, but it feels so short when you think of the memories. And that brings me to my point from the opening. Nostalgia is all I have left of him. After 29 years, the only thing that has left an irrevocable impact on my mind and heart, are my memories.
The sad thing about memories, is that they fade, they change, they alter themselves to fit our remembrance of events. This is why you can tell a story to the first person in a line and tell them to dictate it to the next person, and them the next, so on, so forth, and by the time you get to the last person, the story has taken on a different telling. This isn't intentional, that's just how the mind works. One of my oldest memories is having a birthday party when I was about six years old. All my friends were there, and many of my family members too. My dad had hoisted a pinata up on an old tree in our backyard, and we took turns hitting it. It was a great fun day. But as I get older, things become fuzzier. I look back at this, one of my most cherished memories, and I realize I can only remember the broad details. I don't remember what I got for presents. I don't remember what the pinata looked like. I don't even remember the exact people who were there. But I remember him.
It's memories like this that stand out to me. They aren't specific, they are general. And I can't help but shake the feeling that if I were to watch old home movies of this event, things would be much different than I remember. But the constants are there; pinata, birthday, dad. It's funny to think that this is how our brain, one of the most complicated organs in our body, memorizes things. Some people can remember everything they've ever read, others can barely remember what they had for breakfast two days ago. But ask them about a memory from their childhood, and they can recall it like yesterday. This is because we make our own memories, because they are only for us. No one else. This is why my dad stands out so much. Because no matter the troubles we had at times, he was the defining person of my childhood.
My mother spent the most time with me, and I love and cherish all the memories I have with her. Dad was often working or relaxing after a hard day, and so I didn't see him nearly as much as I did my mom. This made his presence a treat, and when we would spend time together, it seemed all the more special. We didn't do things like go fishing or play catch every Saturday, but routines like going to get the paper every morning, or saying goodnight to him before bed, they became cornerstones of my day. It feels comforting to know that those small things impacted me so much. I hope they impacted him as well.
As I write this now, I am overcome with emotions. Sadness that he is gone. Happiness that he is without pain and at peace. Anger that he didn't stay longer. Regret that I didn't do more. But that's what nostalgia does. It tugs and rips and thrashes at the heart until you are forced to remind yourself of bygone times and a past that isn't as clear as you may have thought. But that is fine. That is what keeps us going. I now walk past my dad everyday. He rests upon a bookshelf, surrounded by pictures of him in better times, and candles to light his way. It brought me great sadness to carry him home, just as he had once carried me. But now, I feel as though I have repaid a debt. I feel as though I saw him through all the tough times, and there is only peace and rest for him now. I hope he looks upon us with happiness. I hope he is proud of what he accomplished.
I will never set out to say that my father was perfect, very much against his half-joking assertions that he indeed was. I will however say that he was perfect for me. I remind myself of that thought, that niggling, anxious thought, "How could I have used my time with him better?" But now I realize, I couldn't. Anything I could have done different, would have changed things. I live my life with regrets, but any change could drastically alter how my life would have ended up. I cherish every moment of my 29 years with my father, and I hope I get that much longer with my mother. All the fights, all the trials, they all lead up to what I consider the defining moment of my relationship with my dad.
The night before he passed, as the last thing I said to him before goodnight, I got close to where he was sitting, looked into his eyes and told him in the most sincere way I ever have, "I love you dad." And he looked back at me and told me "I love you too". 15 hours later, he was gone. Although it did little to assuage my grief in the early days, I now know why I had such a sincere moment with him. It was the universe's little way of giving me closure. Not for all the unanswered questions or the missed life events that will impact my family and I, but for the simple question, "Did I do enough?" In that moment, I had. In that moment, all we were, was father and son, expressing how much we mean to each other and saying it in the most simplest of ways. Although I spoke to him more the following day, I consider those four words to be my last words to my father. And I know my memories will make it so.
I love you dad. Forever and Always.
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| Alfonso M. Velasquez July 16th, 1947 - March 8th, 2019 |
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