The Weight of All Things

Out of all my tasks, I will admit, this is the one I dreaded the very most. I haven't been to my Dad's grave since the day he was buried. Partly because I felt uncomfortable with the idea of going to visit him. Visiting is time for missing someone, and honoring their memory, and I don't know how to do that for him. It's hard to miss someone that wasn't a big part of my life, hard to honor someone who I had limited, and mostly negative memories of. I googled where to find his grave, just in case, although my Mom ended up coming with me, and she visits his grave often.

The Ft. Bliss Cemetery is an intense place. The way that the rows are perfectly straight is pretty crazy. It's a testament to the way the military expects their people to be; on the straight and narrow in life as well as in death. My dad was a Marine and he served in Vietnam when he was really young, only 17. The effects of that choice have reverberated in my parents' marriage, divorce, and subsequently, in my life.

Looking at his grave, I didn't feel a desire to cry. I wish I did. I wish I could mourn him, but I find it very hard to do so. I see how my Mom misses him, despite their divorce, and all the arguments I saw them in growing up. I wish I would have seen those good sides to him, but all I ever saw was someone who was broken, someone who was tired. I wish things could have been different, and ended differently, but I have let go of the bitterness I used to attach to that desire. I can't be mad at him for the things he didn't do. At least, now I can see his grave, and hope that wherever he is, the struggle I remember seeing in his eyes has ended.