Part V:
After that fiasco, I didn't see him again until my cousin's father's funeral when I was 23. I was a first year teacher at the time in my hometown and I had just come back from a month long trip with my cousin traveling and we were very close. Even though I hadn't seen her father in years and I would have to travel a good distance, I felt that I needed to go and support her at the funeral. It wasn't until my long drive there that I thought it might be possible that I would run into my father. I knew he was friends with my cousin's father at one point, but I didn't really expect him to be there. I walked in with my other cousins and stood in the funeral line. I faced forward and kept my head down. I didn't want to look around and I didn't want to make eye contact with anyone. I was essentially hiding behind my cousin. I whispered to her what I was concerned about and she understood. I asked her to look around for me, but she had only seen my father in pictures and probably wouldn't recognize him. Of course, he came in through a side door and it was impossible to miss him.
Once again, I choked up and this time I couldn't control it as well. I ran to the bathroom with the speed of someone who was about to hurl and I let myself bawl for just a minute or two. My cousin knocked on the door and I let her in. She told me it was okay and that I could do whatever I wanted. If I needed to sneak away, she would go with me. I kept splashing my face with cold water hoping to clear away the red eyes and blotchy cheeks, it wasn't working. I cried, I washed, I dried, and then I cried again and started the whole stupid ritual over again. This is exactly why I never cry, I thought to myself. Someone knocked on the door wanting to get into the one-stall bathroom. I wanted to jump out the window. I pulled myself together and came out. I saw my father's sister who wrapped me up in a big hug and wouldn't let me go for far too long. She was always sweet and I felt for her, but I wasn't about to let my guard down to anyone. He gave me another awkward hug and asked me if I would be willing to go outside to speak with him. I was stronger than I was at 14 and felt like I could do it by myself this time. Everyone stayed in the funeral home and I went outside. He was in a long foreboding black overcoat again. He looked fatter and older than he did 7 years earlier. Both of his parents had died of heart disease at this point. His father and brother (and probably him) were drunks and he feared dying young like both of his parents who had heart problems. He wasn't too worried about it or he would have lost some weight and stopped drinking so much wine and beer. It seemed he was illogical about this issue as well. As usual, he was focused on himself and told me how rejected he felt when I told him I didn't want to have a relationship with him at 14. I asked him some of the questions I always had-- did I have a sibling? why did you leave? was there something mentally amiss? what happened when you destroyed my house? I didn't really get any answers on anything except for a firm no on the sibling part. The one good thing he could have given me, he failed at that as well. He told me he was a creative writer too. He said that whether I liked it or not, I had pieces of him in me, that I was probably more similar to him than I thought.
After that fiasco, I didn't see him again until my cousin's father's funeral when I was 23. I was a first year teacher at the time in my hometown and I had just come back from a month long trip with my cousin traveling and we were very close. Even though I hadn't seen her father in years and I would have to travel a good distance, I felt that I needed to go and support her at the funeral. It wasn't until my long drive there that I thought it might be possible that I would run into my father. I knew he was friends with my cousin's father at one point, but I didn't really expect him to be there. I walked in with my other cousins and stood in the funeral line. I faced forward and kept my head down. I didn't want to look around and I didn't want to make eye contact with anyone. I was essentially hiding behind my cousin. I whispered to her what I was concerned about and she understood. I asked her to look around for me, but she had only seen my father in pictures and probably wouldn't recognize him. Of course, he came in through a side door and it was impossible to miss him.
Once again, I choked up and this time I couldn't control it as well. I ran to the bathroom with the speed of someone who was about to hurl and I let myself bawl for just a minute or two. My cousin knocked on the door and I let her in. She told me it was okay and that I could do whatever I wanted. If I needed to sneak away, she would go with me. I kept splashing my face with cold water hoping to clear away the red eyes and blotchy cheeks, it wasn't working. I cried, I washed, I dried, and then I cried again and started the whole stupid ritual over again. This is exactly why I never cry, I thought to myself. Someone knocked on the door wanting to get into the one-stall bathroom. I wanted to jump out the window. I pulled myself together and came out. I saw my father's sister who wrapped me up in a big hug and wouldn't let me go for far too long. She was always sweet and I felt for her, but I wasn't about to let my guard down to anyone. He gave me another awkward hug and asked me if I would be willing to go outside to speak with him. I was stronger than I was at 14 and felt like I could do it by myself this time. Everyone stayed in the funeral home and I went outside. He was in a long foreboding black overcoat again. He looked fatter and older than he did 7 years earlier. Both of his parents had died of heart disease at this point. His father and brother (and probably him) were drunks and he feared dying young like both of his parents who had heart problems. He wasn't too worried about it or he would have lost some weight and stopped drinking so much wine and beer. It seemed he was illogical about this issue as well. As usual, he was focused on himself and told me how rejected he felt when I told him I didn't want to have a relationship with him at 14. I asked him some of the questions I always had-- did I have a sibling? why did you leave? was there something mentally amiss? what happened when you destroyed my house? I didn't really get any answers on anything except for a firm no on the sibling part. The one good thing he could have given me, he failed at that as well. He told me he was a creative writer too. He said that whether I liked it or not, I had pieces of him in me, that I was probably more similar to him than I thought.
I said good bye in a colder, firmer fashion than I had 7 years earlier. He tried to tell me we could eat at a local restaurant near my house. I told him that I was moving to CA. I told him I had no interest. I watched his face fall again for the second time in my life. I had rejected him all over again and I didn't care. I didn't feel anything.
6 months later, I made my trek across the country and started a new life on the West Coast.
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