My father Bo died when I was two years old.
It may have happened in 1984 but, it still hurts today. My brother T, was still in the womb when it happened, it was horribly unfair to him. I frequently wonder who I would have be if I'd had Bo in my life longer, it's an unusual struggle.
We were fortunate to be raised by our mother & when she remarried D in 1987, he adopted us. Sometimes I feel a little guilty for missing Bo because it's almost like downplaying the role my Dad has/had. I should probably skip the guilt & instead feel lucky to have two men that were willing to be our father, we have a father(Bo) & a dad(D). And because we have dad, we have a little brother, B. But, my brain makes assumption-would be-comparisons between fathers because my relationship with my Dad has never been perfectly smooth, which, I think it's no ones fault, just that my spirit has always known a different father.
A few years ago I asked my mom why when I was three, did I had name a pet rabbit Pooter? She explained that Bo called me Pooter & that I had been a little daddy's girl. It felt like a punch in the gut since I'd never known I had at one time been a daddy's girl, it was the complete opposite of where I stand in my Dad relationship. With Dad I have always insisted on my independence.
We were fortunate to be raised by our mother & when she remarried D in 1987, he adopted us. Sometimes I feel a little guilty for missing Bo because it's almost like downplaying the role my Dad has/had. I should probably skip the guilt & instead feel lucky to have two men that were willing to be our father, we have a father(Bo) & a dad(D). And because we have dad, we have a little brother, B. But, my brain makes assumption-would be-comparisons between fathers because my relationship with my Dad has never been perfectly smooth, which, I think it's no ones fault, just that my spirit has always known a different father.
A few years ago I asked my mom why when I was three, did I had name a pet rabbit Pooter? She explained that Bo called me Pooter & that I had been a little daddy's girl. It felt like a punch in the gut since I'd never known I had at one time been a daddy's girl, it was the complete opposite of where I stand in my Dad relationship. With Dad I have always insisted on my independence.
My wedding day was especially tough for me in this respect. I wanted to honor both men, so I had my biological last name hyphonated to my middle name on the invitations, my Dad walked me down the asile, & then the pastor acknowledged that Bo was there in spirit. But I still wished Bo had been sitting there on the front row as I began that new part of my life.
I got an email today with a picture of Bo & I in 1982 & it stirred up the emotions that prompted this post. I am the spitting image of my father & as my brother T gets older I see more & more of Bo in his eyes, they make some of the same facial expressions too.
Not knowing Bo as more than a face in pictures-I sometimes feel as though he wasn't real. My little arm resting on his shoulder proves that he was, I actually touched him, that he held me & loved me. Looking at this picture it's hard not to feel cheated that I can't reach out to him now.
My grandmother spent so much of her time with me telling me about him but, I don't think that she ever recovered from his passing-his life & death were a huge part of her identity. I'm grateful for her commitment to keeping his memory alive but I don't think of him everyday, I have my moments when I look at photos or have a life event.
Like I said: it's an unusual struggle, I have difficulty processing & absorbing being the child of a dead father & a living dad.
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