Today is the third anniversary of my dad's death. In some ways, it feels like I have just begun the grieving process. I've been so busy learning how to be without him - how to represent him in the world now that he is gone, how to represent myself in the world now that he is gone - that I think I forgot to just feel the pain of it all.
I mean, I did feel pain, months and months of it. For awhile it felt like I had no skin. I was a raw, open, vulnerable vessel, and it was impossible. And so for awhile, I self-medicated my way to buffer the suffering. And I'm glad I did. It was too much. But, as we all know, when you delay the pain, that is all you are doing, delaying it. And so now I get to feel it, and that is okay, because I feel like now I CAN feel it, and hold it, and rock it like a baby and tell it, "It'll be okay. You will be okay."
I'm no longer afraid of the pain because I now see that it is my pain, and the more I feel it, the more I feel like myself. I am Kelly. I am a daughter. I am a woman. I am a thinker. I am a feeler. I am a writer. I am here to think and feel and write and share. This is who I am. I can't help it anymore than I could keep my father or mother from death. It is what it is.
This afternoon, I'll be going down to Venice to eat a cheeseburger in honor of my dad and his favorite hole in the wall bar. The memories I have with him and of him, I will stitch together into a little pouch and crawl into to find some warmth this week. And then I will let them echo through me as I step back into the river of life that rushes by and wants to take me along with it. But for a moment, it will be 1972, I will be seven, and my dad and I will be happily eating a cheeseburger enjoying our endless summer together.
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I am glad you are finding your place in the ache that belongs to you and that you are beginning to reconcile with it. Having lost both my parents, I understand your loss but I had the luxury of dealing with my grief - when I was ready - in privacy. I couldn't flip on the television and see my dad or have him pop up on a web search. That must be mostly painful but somewhat wonderful all at the same time. I wish for you the peace you need so when you're alone with your memories or sharing them, they will bring you only joy.
ReplyDeleteAnyone who lives long enough has to go through this - it is the true cost of living. I have experienced the delayed reaction to death - from self medicating and in sobriety too. Glad you have found a healthy way to come to terms. Hope that cheeseburger was as delicious as you remember. Regards
ReplyDeleteI love you for writing that little ditty.. and I love you for being out there in my cyber-life ... yer Dad's proud.... hope you know you're not alone... genetically speaking you never stood a chance of being anything but real, raw and cool.... the burger the beach the memories the life - magic - that is your's.. they're yours and yours alone.. we are after all our parents children - they are the ones who shoot the arrow with a keen eye and hand hoping for something better for their kids... *hugs* ENJOY!! Sal.. Give Peace A Chance xoxo
ReplyDeleteYou're incredible Kelly. You're Dad would be so proud of everything you are doing. My own father was awful and I've sought out wise men older than myself throughout the years as a way of compensating for his absence. You're father is the one that I've found to be by far the wisest. You are every bit as intelligent and remarkable as he was. You have inspired me more than I could ever put into words. That inspiration has given me a direction which is something I've never really had in life. Very glad to have connected with you. Thank you for everything you do :)~John S.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting that someone should introduce me to you (internet facebook introduction that is) at this time. I have been dealing with the loss of my father lately as well.
ReplyDeleteI have only ever had two heroes in this life. One was your father and one was mine. However I worked in the film industry long enough to know that your father was not a real person to me and unfortunately, my father, having been a real person, was then a little too human to end up being an untarnished hero lol
As the years roll by though, the tarnish wears off and is forgotten. My father left behind no objects so I don't see him or his objects. I only feel him.
My father was a brilliant man who absolutely loved your father's work. My Dad didn't have the Dad thing down that well but he was excellent at doin the human thing. He was also one of the funniest men I had ever met with a huge following of friends who idolized his ability to make them laugh. Still he never stood on a stage in his life.
I was never a very funny person around my Dad. It seemed nearly impossible to pull off until my Dad died. One he was gone, it just seemed to seep into me and then because an obsession. It just became the way I dealt with him being gone.
So I don't have my Dad's stuff. I grew up in Hollywood with kids who had famous parents and I sort of envy their ability to go back and look at their parents work and surround themselves with the stuff.
On the other hand, there is this other thing. I'll be telling a story, and there will be my Dad's words. "I'll get up in the morning, there is my Dad's noise (as Kaplin used to joke). I look in the mirror sometimes and there he is. I'll laugh and every so often there is his voice. His ethics are here, his common sense it's all still here. With me, every day.
I see my friends and family laughing at my antics and realize who I really am. So, once I get back to LA, (Child induced tour in the Ozarks of Missouri right now...ouch) I am takin Dad up on stage with me. An I don't care how well I do or how bad I bomb. It's just gonna be good to do something fun with Dad again.
It's normal to be crying now right?
Lol
I look forward to reading more of your stuff. Go look in the mirror and tell yer Dad I enjoyed his work.
Sincerely
DAve
Well-spoken and honest. Thanks for sharing that and for sharing your father with so many.
ReplyDeleteMy dad died when I was a child, and listening to/watching yours as I grew up helped fill in the blanks.
My own dad wasn't comedic, but he could walk funny. Sometimes not on purpose. ;)
Much love
I lost my dad in Sept. '10. I understand your pain; I feel it myself often. As a fan of your father, I just wanted to let you know that someone on Twitter has co-opted your dad's name and photo (@georgecarlin) to link to a very lame humor website. It annoys me as a fan and is annoying others. I'm sure you'll hear about it but in case you don't, please have it nuked.
ReplyDeleteThanks, take care. I wish you well. Your dad is missed.