Cissy's note: I will always think of my father on Veteran's Day. My feelings and thoughts will probably always be complex and that's just how life after ACEs can be. I've made peace with that. It's not only grief either, it's just the reality of being human and the texture and details that going along with that which are both unique and universal at the same time. I wrote this piece two years ago and before I found out that he died. The photo of my actual father is not from the article. It's mine. It's blurry but it's what I have and so I leave it that way. It's true and real. It's so strange to me how young he was. I never got to see him age and he never got to see me grow up beyond more than a baby and toddler. I am now much older than he was when this photo was taken and even though I'm 50, I still think of his as "Daddy" which defies logic and reason for many reasons. But humans aren't all logic and reason. Lost fathers (and relatives) can be like ghosts who stay fuzzy and stuck in another time, lodged in spaces in our hearts and minds.
"Want to support the Disabled Veterans?" she asked as I pushed my cart out of Stop and Shop.
"Why not?" I said.
"Why not? That's what they said when they enlisted."
"Yeah," I said to prevent her from giving me a speech "My father is a veteran."
I was surprised by my words and voice. I rarely speak of him.
"Is he still with us?" she asked.
She said "us" like it was a pot of tea we could all sit and share. It isn't.
She asked if he was alive as though it were a yes or no question. It's not.
"He's homeless," I said.
"He homeless?" she asked, as though maybe she hadn't heard me.
Full essay link.
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