Family Legacy

I think a lot more about family legacy, since losing my dad. I think of the generations before me and how soon they are forgotten. I didn't know my Linville side. His mom, Opal, died before I was born. His dad died when I was in middle school. I remember my mom taking me to his funeral but not much else.

I have heard stories of his family from my mom--how his father was an abusive alcoholic and how he had mistress's, said my mom with distaste. My dad didn't like to talk about his past and after one frustrating question and answer question, his wife at the time (Barbara) said, "Your father had a sad life and he doesn't like to remember it."

I know his mom was obese and diabetic and heart conditions. My mom says she ate her sadness and became bedridden with rampant diabetes. My father privately showed contempt towards overweight people. I don't know if this was due to the influence of his father shouting racial epitaphs across a street or due to his private frustrations with his mother, the person she had become.

I don't know if I could call them survivors. They certainly weren't victors in life, but they hung on. They married as pregnant teens and raised seven children. They existed through poverty and alcoholism and illness. Most likely they never traveled on an air plane or visited more than 2-3 states.The hand they were dealt (and their children) wasn't easy in life. I wish I knew more, but even if my dad were alive today, I don't think he would find the strength to tell me. He was an avoider of his painful past.

Just like my husband.

Cleaning out my closet

Today I cleaned out my closet. You know, the kind of  'spring cleaning' one does but I am just getting to it in the fall, kind of thing. It felt good to purge, I spent hours trying on clothes, saying good-bye to my past life of tweed and courderoy wide legged pants, remembering my teaching interview outfits from ten years ago. It seems like a lifetime ago when I felt like a princess after shopping in nicer stores than just the Gap and Target. I felt like my world was so full of hope and promise. I felt on the cusp of having it all.

As I looked at my stream lined closet, a relevation hit me. My dad wouldn't recognize the clothes I now owned. He would never see me in anything in my closet. He wouldn't know me.

I immediately reminded myself how childish and dramatic I was being, of course he never would have noticed my clothes, he's a guy, and all of that...

But, I know. I know that I am slowly becoming unrecognizable to him. The grey in my hair, wrinkles at my smile, curve of my back are all things he didn't get to see. Would he have even noticed or cared? That question mystifies me, because I have no idea.

I am missing the grown up relationship I would have had with him. The kind where I would welcome his advice and listen to his thoughts. The kind of relationship where I could have asked him when he first grew grey and so much more.

His death is a kick in the gut and it literally hits me at unexpected moments. If someone would have told me that I would feel devastated after cleaning out my closet, I would have shook my head at them. Maybe a polite smile and nod and then, just as quickly, a sure dismissal.

I wish someone would have warned me.